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

by Henry Downes Miles

DAVID HUDSON, BROTHER OF THE RENOWNED “JOHN BULL FIGHTER”—1818–1827.

David Hudson, a younger brother of the renowned Josh., made his appearance about two years after his celebrated senior, namely, in July, 1818; Josh’s first battle with Jack Payne dating in 1816. He was a smart two-handed fighter, of the inconvenient middle weight and height, which is too much for the light ones, and not enough for the big ’uns, namely, ten stone ten pounds, and five feet seven inches and a half in height. He was born in Rotherhithe in 1798, and in 1817, when in his 19th year, defeated Pat. Connelly, a reputed good man. His first regular battle was with Richard West (West Country Dick), for 50 guineas a-side. It was the second fight following the defeat of Tom Oliver by Neat, of Bristol, at Rickmansworth, on Friday, July 10, 1818. Randall and Tom Jones were seconds to Dick; Painter and Hall for Hudson. Dick was the favourite, seven to four and two to one.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—This was a good round. The combatants soon closed, but broke away. A sharp rally succeeded, and Dick was thrown.

2.—Sharp fighting. Reciprocal nobbers. A smart rally, and both down.

3.—Dick put in two facers. Some exchanges, when, in struggling for the throw, in going down Hudson was uppermost.

4.—This was all in Dick’s favour. He planted some heavy hits; and both going down, they rolled over each other.

5.—Hudson’s ear was bleeding, and Dick threw him.

6.—This was an active round; and in the corner of the ring Hudson fibbed Dick till he fell out of the ropes, (Applause. “Bravo, Hudson.”)

7.—Both of them went to work, and some sharp exchanges occurred, till both down.

8.—This appeared a severe round, and Dick got a hit on his ribs and went down.

9.—When time was called, Dick tried to leave the knee of his second; but on getting up seemed as if bent double, and pointed to his ribs, when Hudson was declared the conqueror. This sudden termination of the fight electrified the amateurs, and the backers of Dick were chapfallen indeed. Great murmuring prevailed that “all was not right;” but Dick declared, that in falling against the stakes he had hurt his ribs so severely that he was not able to stand upright. The battle was over in fourteen minutes and five seconds.

David fought with Ballard for a trifling stake, on Wednesday, April 15, 1819, on Kennington Common. Purcell and West Country Dick seconded Hudson, and Ballard was waited upon by Holt and Hares. It was a most determined battle on both sides; and one hour and three-quarters had elapsed before Ballard was compelled to acknowledge himself defeated. He was punished severely. Hudson also did not escape without considerable beating. The science and game he displayed on this occasion gave him a lift among the amateurs.

After the battle between Turner and Cy. Davis at Wallingham Common, on Friday, June 18, 1819, there was an interval of upwards of an hour, during which time the ring was filled with amateurs, endeavouring to get up another contest between some of the “good ones.” Sutton offered to fight Carter, but the latter boxer pleaded want of “condition.” Hall was also called, Martin, etc., but objections were made, when at length Harry Holt threw up his hat, which was immediately answered by David Hudson. Randall and O’Donnell seconded Holt and Tom Owen and Josh. Hudson waited upon David. It was for a purse of 20 guineas. Holt was the favourite, five to four.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The game of Holt had been ascertained upon more than one occasion, and his character stood well as a “pretty, scientific boxer.” He was not very well, and had walked all the way from London down to the fight. Hudson, nothing else but a “good one,” was also out of condition; in fact, he had only been discharged a week from the doctor’s hands for the jaundice, and, on stripping, his frame had a yellow appearance. They set-to with much spirit, when Holt rather took the lead. It was all fighting, and Hudson was nobbed down.

2.—Reciprocal facers; sharp hitting, full of work; milling the order of the round. Both down, but Holt undermost. (“Bravo! this will be a good fight;” and the amateurs were much interested.)

3.—Holt stopped in fine style, and planted same heavy hits. Both down.

4.—Sparring. Both offering and eager to hit, but awake to each other’s intention, and dodging. This round was really a treat to the lovers of science. Holt was hit down in the corner of the ring. (Even betting.)

5.—More science was displayed, when Owen began to sing “Tol de rol,” and said it was all right; that Hudson, of his weight, was the best little man in the kingdom, and that he should have nothing to do but merely look on. Hudson took the lead, followed his opponent over the ring till Holt was hit down.

6 to 24.—To speak impartially, it would be almost impossible to say which had the best of the majority of these rounds. Holt repeatedly nobbed Hudson so severely that his head went back; but he still returned to the charge unconcerned. In the last round Holt got Hudson on the ropes, where the latter was hanging almost on the balance; but he threw up his arms and walked away, amidst the shouts of the ring. (“This is true courage,” exclaimed a Briton.)

29 to 49.—All these rounds were contested with the utmost determined resolution and science on both sides. But Hudson was now the favourite, and Tom Owen offered ten to one. He also placed the white topper on his head; but would not let his knee-string, which was loose, be tied, for fear it should change his luck.

50 to 64.—Holt continued as game as a pebble, and nobbed Hudson desperately; but he could not take the fight out of him. (The odds were now decidedly against Holt, and cries of “Take him away.”)

65 to 83.—Both of their nobs were terribly punished, particularly Holt; but he had not the slightest intention to resign, though persuaded so to do by his friends and backers. It was thought Holt had lost it, from going down without a blow. (“Never mind,” said Owen, “we’ll give them that in; we can’t lose it.”)

84 to 89 and last.—Holt continued to fight, but he could not stand up to receive the hitting of Hudson, and went down repeatedly; while, on the contrary, Hudson seemed to be getting fresher, and he often ran and jumped to get in at Holt. The latter would not give in, and he was taken out of the ring by the desire of a noble lord and other amateurs. It occupied an hour and three-quarters.

Remarks.—This was a capital fight on both sides: the men covered themselves with pugilistic glory. Holt was rather too stale for his opponent; he had also some of his teeth dislodged. Hudson promises to be conspicuous in the ring: a better bit of stuff cannot be found. A handsome subscription was made for Holt.

Hudson had now got so greatly into favour with the amateurs that he was backed against the fearless Scroggins for 50 guineas a-side. The battle took place on Monday, March 13, 1820, at Dagenham Breach, Essex, about eleven miles from London.

The road exhibited much bustle about ten o’clock in the morning, and the distance being short, the amateurs arrived at the destined spot rather earlier than usual. However, owing to neglect somewhere, to the great chagrin of the fancy, Scroggins had not been made acquainted with the scene of action, and it was two to one whether he appeared at all. The “hardy hero,” somehow, at length reached the Ship and Shovel, and waived all impediments like a truly game man.

At half past one o’clock, Hudson, attended by his brother Josh. and Tom Owen, threw his hat up in the ring. Scroggins, followed by Oliver and Randall, repeated the token of defiance. The odds were both ways in the course of a few minutes; and, from the remembrance of what Scroggins had once been, the old fanciers rather took the latter for choice. Tom Owen, to give an air of importance to his protégé, graced the ring with his hair curled and powdered, to the no small merriment of the multitude.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On stripping, the fine condition of Hudson astonished the spectators, and to give him a showy appearance, he sported silk stockings. Scroggins did not look well; but it was observed he was not so bad as had been represented. The combatants sparred for upwards of two minutes, when Scroggins let fly with his left hand, slightly touching his opponent’s eye. In attempting to make another hit, Hudson got away. More sparring. Scroggins now went to work in his usual heavy style, and drove Hudson to the ropes, when, after some exchanges, Hudson went down, receiving a heavy hit on his ear. (The shouting was loud; and “Well done, my old boy, you can’t lose it. The stale one for £100.”)

2.—Hudson did not wish to be idle, and went up to his man and fought with him, when a rally ensued, in which Scroggins had rather the best of it. The men separated, and Hudson put in a severe facer that brought the claret. In struggling, both went down.

3.—The men were on their mettle, and fighting was the order of this round. Scroggins received a jobber in the front of his nob; but he returned to the charge with vigour, till he went down from a slight hit. (“Go along, Davy! a young one against an old one any time.”)

4.—Scroggins received a sharp hit in the body; he, nevertheless, went boldly in to his opponent, and put in three nobbers. In struggling for the throw, Hudson undermost. (“Bravo, Scroggy!”)

5.—The face of Scroggins was much pinked, and one of his eyes rather damaged. Some good exchanges, till Scroggins was undermost. (Shouting for Hudson.)

6.—Hudson stopped the hits of his adversary well, and went again to the nobbing system till both down.

7.—This was a terrible round. It was all fighting; and the struggle at the ropes was desperate in the extreme, till Scroggins found himself on the ground, undermost. The applause on both sides was liberally dealt out, and the combatants were pronounced good men all round the ring.

8.—Scroggins began to pipe, and symptoms of a worn out constitution could not be concealed from his adversary. The advantages of youth were evident to every spectator, and Scroggins went down.

9.—Well contested on both sides; but although Scroggins repeatedly hit his opponent in the face, he did no damage to him. Both down.

10.—In this round a faint ray of the original quality of Scroggins was conspicuous: he put in a severe hit under Hudson’s right ear, and also bored him down. (Six to four was, however, offered on the latter.)

11.—Sharp exchanges; but Scroggins went down so weak that Tom Owen offered four to one.

12 to 15.—Scroggins had rather the best of some of these rounds, but never the best of the battle. He, however, threw Hudson over the ropes.

16 to 18.—The first of these was the sharpest round in the fight. The men exchanged hits like game cocks, struggled for the throw at the ropes, broke away, fought at the ropes again, till both down.

19 to 23.—It was evident the once terrific Scroggins was gone by; his milling period was over. He took like a glutton of the first appetite, but could not give as heretofore. (Six to one was current against him.)

24 to 28.—In some of these rounds Hudson held up his opponent, and punished him down. (Owen, in the exultation of the moment, offered ten to one, and said he should go home, as his man did not want any more seconding.)

29 to 33.—In the last round Scroggins turned his head away from the severe punishment he had received, and went down.

34 and last.—Scroggins attempted to hit, but it was all up, as he was quite exhausted. Forty minutes and three seconds had elapsed. Hudson had scarcely a scratch.

Remarks.—It is a standing proverb among good judges that youth must be served, and a clearer demonstration of the proposition was never witnessed in the P.R. The constitution of Scroggins was gone, and no training could restore it. It is, however, singular to remark, that a knock-down blow did not occur throughout the fight. Hudson, gay as a lark, confident, and a boxer that can stay a good while, is not a hard hitter. In Scroggins’s day a different tale must have been told; but his once terrible mode of hitting had left him, and, as a boxer, he was a shadow of his former self. It is, however, but common justice to state that Scroggins never exerted himself upon any occasion more to win than he did in contending against the young one. His gluttony astonished all present.

Hudson and Scroggins meeting at Chelmsford Races, on Thursday, July 27, 1820, the amateurs made a subscription purse of £20. It was suggested by the seconds that Hudson and Scroggins should divide the purse; but the latter boxer refused, saying, he would win if he could. It was a sharp, good fight; but Scroggins, being very much out of condition, was again defeated in twenty-five minutes.

Hudson had risen so high in the estimation of the amateurs, that he was backed against Jack Martin; nay, more, his friends said that he must win, and nothing else. This battle came off at Moulsey Hurst, October 24, 1820. Martin had beaten David’s brother Josh. the year previous. The event proved that Davy’s backers were too confident; it was soon seen he was overmatched, and he was signally defeated. (See vol. i., p. 406.)

On Thursday, January 11, 1821, David Hudson and Green fought in a barn at Chelmsford, at eleven o’clock at night, for £10 a-side. This fight had been a long time “hatching up,” particularly on the part of Green’s[^[32]] friends, and, from every appearance, he had been in training on the sly; while Hudson was never in such bad condition before.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Green soon let fly with his right hand, which Hudson stopped with his left. He then went to work till Green was floored.

2.—A determined rally, in which Hudson met his adversary well, till Green was again down.

3.—Cautious sparring. Green, however, went in without ceremony and napt two muzzlers, right and left, for his temerity. The claret appeared in profusion, and Green again down.

4 to 7.—The men were now extremely weak. Hudson received a tremendous hit on his right eye, and he was blind for a few seconds, having lost the sight of his left eye since he fought with Martin. (“Go along, Green, it’s all your own; you can’t lose it;” and five to four offered.)

8.—Hudson’s right hand made a dent on Green’s side; and with his left Davy put in such a conker that not only produced the claret in profusion, but he was quite abroad, and went down. These “Pepper Alley” touches brought it to even betting, and Hudson for choice.

9 to 13.—The pepper-box was again administered by Hudson, who caught Green under his right arm, and with his left he fibbed him so severely that Green called out “Foul,” and said he would not fight any longer. The umpires were appealed to, and decided Hudson’s conduct to be fair, and “a bit of good truth.”

14.—Green, determined to try every move on the board, went sharply to work, but Hudson stopped his efforts with the utmost ease. (Seven to four on Hudson, but no takers.)

15 to 17.—Davy came to the scratch as fresh as his out-and-out badger, and hit Green all to pieces. By way of finishing the round, if not the fight, he cross-buttocked his opponent so severely that it was twenty to one he did not come again. Green said he would not fight any more while sitting upon the knee of his second. Hudson then went up to Green and shook hands with him, observing at the same time, “You are not half so good a man as I expected, from the chaffing there has been about you; nevertheless, I will give you half a guinea.” The friends of Green thought he could have won the fight if it had been in a ring; but Hudson’s backers were so confident of his success, that they immediately put down £50 to £80 for Davy to fight him in a ring in any part of Essex. The partisans of Green wished it to take place in the same ring as Oliver and Spring. This money was drawn, to the great disappointment of Hudson’s party. The Essex friends of the latter offered to back him at any time for £100. The battle lasted forty-five minutes.

One Jack Steadman, a big one, and a good fighter, was beat off-hand by David, to the astonishment of the spectators; Steadman standing over “little David” like another Goliah of Gath, and weighing thirteen stone.

David now became a publican at Chelmsford, where his house was well frequented by sporting men. In February, 1820, we find him exhibiting sparring, having taken the Chelmsford Theatre for the purpose.

Hudson’s old antagonist, Green, seems to have by no means been convinced by his first defeat, and, after much cavilling, a second match was made for 50 guineas, which came off, by desire of the London patrons of Davy, at Old Marsh Gate, Essex, about eleven miles of turnpike from town, on Tuesday, the 27th of February, 1821. Hudson having made Chelmsford his place of residence, and a bit of a favourite in that part of the world among the sporting men, they were anxious that he should again exhibit. He was backed by Mr. Thomas Belcher, of the Castle Tavern. It was reported Hudson was upwards of twelve stone, having increased so much during his training. This operated against him in the opinion of the amateurs. At one o’clock Hudson, dressed in a white great coat, appeared, and threw his hat into the ring, attended by Oliver and his brother Josh. Green shortly afterwards entered the ropes, with Randall and Martin. The “President of the Daffies”[^[33]] was appointed the time-keeper. Five to four on Hudson.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On stripping, Green appeared in the highest state of condition, but it was thought that Hudson was much too fat. The combatants, on placing themselves in attitude, stood looking at each other’s eyes for upwards of four minutes, without making the least offer to hit. Green made a trifling offer to put in a blow, when Hudson got away, and they dodged each other over the ring till they made another complete stand-still. Green made a hit, but Hudson parried it. Both the men seemed under orders, that is to say, not to go to work too quickly. Green got away neatly; and Hudson also stopped a severe left-handed hit of Green’s. The latter then put in a body blow, when David returned. The battle had now commenced. Green put in a facer, when Davy stood to no repairs, and tried to slaughter his opponent, till they got into a struggle, when they both went down side by side. (Loud shouting from the “over-the-water boys,” the Chelmsford fanciers, and the Jews, who all united in backing Davy for anything.) This round occupied nearly fifteen minutes.

2.—This round was altogether short. They both complimented each other upon the nob sans cérémonie, and “Pepper Alley” was the feature, till Green went down undermost. (Six to four on Hudson.) The mouth of Davy showed claret.

3.—Not quite so fast as before, and some little science necessary. Hudson undermost.

4.—The claret was now running from the cheek of Green. Both combatants appeared a little distressed. In struggling, Hudson was again undermost. These were two tie rounds; but some of the spectators thought Green had the best of them.

5.—Hudson took the lead gaily. Some severe exchanges took place, when Green was hit down. (Loud shouting, “Davy, repeat that, and it’s all safe to you.”)

6.—Hudson got away well, and nobbed Green, who followed him. Some heavy blows passed between them till both down.

7.—This round spoilt Green. The latter, with good courage, gave hit for hit with his opponent; but Davy, in finishing the round, had the best of the blows, threw Green, and fell so heavily upon him that the claret gushed from his nose, the shock was so violent. (The East-enders were now uproarious, and two and three to one were offered on Davy.)

8.—David fell on Green again.

9.—Almost the same, as well as the best of the hitting.

10.—It was really a capital fight, and Green fought like a trump. He could not, however, change the battle in his favour. Hudson undermost.

11.—Green experienced another dreadful fall. (Four to one against him current.)

12.—Hudson now endeavoured to take the fight out of Green, and planted four facers in succession that Green went staggering from the hits; he, nevertheless, made several returns, till both down. (Five to one.)

13, 14.—In the first round a most determined rally; but in the second Green was hit down on his knee. (“You can’t lose it, Davy.”)

15.—Hudson fell heavily on Green, and nearly knocked the wind out of him. (“It’s all up.” Any odds.)

16.—The nob of Green was now terribly punished, and the left side of his throat much swelled. He was quite abroad, hit open-handed, and went down exhausted. (“Go along, Davy; it will be over in another round.”)

17.—Green repeatedly jobbed Hudson in the face; but none of the blows were to be seen—they did not leave a mark. As Green was falling from a hit, Hudson caught him in the face with a right-handed blow that almost sent him to sleep.

18.—“Look here,” said Oliver, “my man has not a mark upon his face.” Green came up to the scratch much distressed. He, however, fought like a man; and at the ropes Hudson again fell upon him. The claret was running down in profusion.

19.—Green still showed fight, and put in several facers. Hudson went away staggering from one of them; but the latter followed Green up so hard and fast that he could not keep his legs, and went down. (The poundage was here offered, but no takers. “Take him away; he has no chance.”)

20 and last.—Green behaved like a man, and he stood up and fought in a rally till he went down quite done up. When time was called he could not come to the scratch, and Hudson was proclaimed the conqueror. It was over in forty minutes.

Remarks.—Davy, either fat or lean, out or in condition, is not to be beaten easily. A strong novice must not attempt it; and a good commoner will be puzzled, and most likely lose in the trial. There is a great deal of gaiety about Hudson’s fighting: he will always be with his man. He has a good notion of throwing, and also of finishing a round. Green was not destitute of courage, and it was not a little milling that took the fight out of him. He endeavoured to win while a chance remained; in fact, till he could fight no longer; but he is too slow for Hudson. It was an excellent battle, and the amateurs expressed themselves well satisfied. One of Hudson’s eyes is defective since he fought with Martin, which operates as a great drawback to his execution, particularly in judging his distances; but nothing can abate his courage. Both the Hudsons stand so high in the opinion of the amateurs as out-and-out bottom men, that they are designated the “John Bull” boxers. They increase in flesh rather too fast; and, from being “light ones” when they first appeared in the prize ring, they are now termed “Big Chaps.”

This was Dav. Hudson’s last victory. We find it noted, incidentally, in the remarks on the above fight that the sight of one of David’s eyes was defective. Under these circumstances, it was indeed unfortunate to match him against the “Streatham Youth,” Ned Neale. It is true that Ned’s wonderful fighting qualities were then comparatively unknown. He had defeated Deaf Davis (a slow man, but a hard hitter), one Bill Cribb (called “the Brighton Champion”), and Miller (the “Pea-soup Gardener”); but these, as well as Bill Hall, were looked upon as mere stale men or “roughs.” The defeat of Hudson (September 23, 1823), on the appropriately named Blindlow Heath, will be found in the Memoir of Ned Neale, Period VI., Chapter V.

David’s last appearance in the prize ring was with an Irishman, Mike Larkins,[^[34]] who had beaten Simon Byrne in Ireland, in 1825. The battle took place at Bulphen Farm, Essex, May 8, 1827, when “One-eyed Davy” was defeated in twenty-eight fast rounds, occupying twenty minutes. David, in his latter days, assisted “brother Josh.” at Leadenhall; and when the latter died, in Milton Street, Finsbury, in October, 1835, David lost his best friend. He was already in ill health, and survived his brother but six weeks, his death taking place November 27, 1835, in the London Hospital.

PERIOD VI.—1824–1835.
FROM THE RETIREMENT OF TOM SPRING TO THE APPEARANCE OF BENDIGO.

CHAPTER I.
JEM WARD (CHAMPION).—1822–1831.

Albeit this period does not mark any change in the “school,” or style, nor in the rules which govern the practice of public boxing, there are reasons to be found for a division, in the more copious, accurate, and systematic reports of the prize-fights of this and the following periods, due greatly to the exertions and ability of the late Vincent George Dowling, Esq., of the Morning Chronicle, the editor, founder, and establisher of Bell’s Life in London, for many years afterwards “the Oracle of the Ring,” a title and function now well-nigh abdicated. About this time, too, other able pens lent their aid. George Daniels, Esq. (the D—— G——, whose criticisms on the drama lent large value to the series known as “Cumberland’s Plays,” and who was for a time editor of the Weekly Dispatch), was among the number. That journal also had the services of George Kent (an enthusiastic milling reporter, whose son and grandson yet wield the stylus of manifold writers for the daily and weekly press),[^[35]] and of Mr. Smith, during the period of his editorship. “Paling its ineffectual fire” before the rising glories of Bell’s Life, and having lost its best writers, a late Old Bailey attorney and alderman, finding the Dispatch had lost caste with the sporting community, turned his coat, and betook himself with the zeal and virulence of a renegade to revile and slander the sports by which his journal had grown and prospered. But this is by the way. From the period we have mentioned the chronicles of pugilism have been more accurate and minute, and therefore more worthy of preservation; hence the greater bulk and volume of this portion of our history.

On the retirement of Spring, which that boxer announced shortly after his second battle with Langan, the public attention was occupied with discussing the worthiest candidate for the vacated belt. In the first instance Langan was spoken of as the “coming man;” but though there was some correspondence, as already noticed, with Tom Shelton and Ward, the Irish champion suddenly retired without making a match, and went into business at Liverpool. The champion was now to be looked for elsewhere. Three men had at this time their respective admirers and partisans—Tom Cannon (the great gun of Windsor), Josh. Hudson (the John Bull fighter), and Jem Ward (the Black Diamond). The friends of Josh. urged his claim, on the ground that he had defeated Ward on the 11th of December, 1823; but then a fortnight after the second fight of Spring and Langan (on June 23rd, 1824), Tom Cannon had beaten Hudson in twenty minutes and seventeen rounds, and again (see Memoir of Cannon) in the November following, in sixteen rounds, twenty minutes. This led to Cannon’s challenging Ward for the championship, the details and results of which we shall notice in due course. We now return to the biography of Ward.

Jem Ward, the eldest of seven children of Nat. Ward, a tradesman in the vicinity of Ratcliff Highway, was born December 26th, 1800, the day of all days of the year, known as “boxing day,” and at an early age exhibited the talents of a boxer and wrestler, which afterwards won him fame. At the age of sixteen, his father having failed in business as a butcher, Jem was put to the then lucrative, but heavily laborious calling of a coal-whipper. Jem soon became the lion of a sparring club held at Bromley New Town, where he dimmed the shine of those who were ambitious of a turn with “the Black Diamond,” and was never loth to accommodate any customer, regardless of weight or strength. Ward’s fame spread, and it was resolved by his admirers and friends that he should quit the narrow circle of his triumphs, and give the general public the opportunity of judging of his qualifications. Accordingly, on Tuesday, January 22nd, 1822, on the occasion of the benefit of Sutton and Gybletts, at the Fives Court, Jem was introduced to the aristocratic patrons of pugilism. His appearance is thus recorded in the “Annals of Sporting” for that month. “The principal novelty was the introduction of a new Black Diamond, and although a little bit in the rough, yet now and again his shining qualities so far peeped out that curiosity asked, ‘Who is he?’ ‘Where does he come from?’ ‘Is he a novice?’ The replies were ‘His name is Ward; he is an East-ender; he has put the quilt on all who have tried him; he is a sharp one in a turn-up, but what he may do in the ring is another matter. However, he can be backed against anything of his weight (twelve stone) barring the Gas (Tom Hickman).’ Ward was pitted with Spencer. Like most newcomers, he displayed too much eagerness, and more milling than steady science. He received good encouragement from the amateurs present, and his nob was pronounced to be a fighting one.”

JEM WARD (Champion).
From a Painting by Patten, 1826.

The fancy were not slow in discussing the merits of Ward, and a purse was immediately raised for the purpose of testing his capabilities. Dick Acton,[^[36]] considered a resolute boxer, was named as Ward’s opponent, and on Wednesday, June 12, 1822, the battle came off on Moulsey Hurst. Josh. Hudson (soon after to meet and vanquish his principal) seconded Ward, assisted by Tom Jones. Acton was waited upon by Tom Spring and Eales. The fight is thus reported in the Dispatch:—

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Acton on the defensive, as if wishing to ascertain what novelties in the art he was likely to be that day treated to by Ward. The latter, after a little dodging about, let fly with his left, but was short. Acton likewise missed; he, however, followed Ward, who kept breaking ground and retreating. Acton tried it on, but some exchanges followed without effect. The Diamond suddenly put in a straight one on Acton’s nob, and got away smiling. Acton followed him to the ropes, where he got a sharp blow on the cheek; Ward making good use of his legs and getting out of the corner; nor was he long before he planted a heavy blow on the right side of Acton’s conk, which drew the claret. (“That’s as good as a pinch of snuff to him,” cried Josh.) A pause. Ward’s left hand now took liberties with the other side of Acton’s nose, and the pink followed. Ward got away. (“Mind and keep your hand closed,” said Josh.) Some more blows passed, when Ward again got away. Acton already seemed tired and slow; indeed he had been following the new one to a very poor purpose. Ward put in a heavy hit under Acton’s right eye that produced the claret, then closed, and after some hitting both were down, Ward undermost. This round occupied eight minutes and a half, evidently to the disadvantage of Acton. (Eleven to four on Ward offered.)

2.—Acton could not stop Ward’s left. The latter put in several facers, and got away without receiving any return. In closing, Acton pummelled away, and both went down, Ward again undermost.

3.—Acton made play and put in a heavy one on Ward’s mug, but on endeavouring to repeat it, Ward stopped him neatly. Acton bored his opponent to the ropes, and, after a sharp struggle to obtain the throw, Ward got Acton down. (Shouts of applause for the new man.)

4.—This round decided the fight. Acton seemed to depend more on stopping than hitting, and Ward had it comparatively all his own way. He made a good right-handed hit, and again got away laughing. Acton also got nobbed right and left; but Ward following him to force the fighting, received some heavy hits that drew the claret from his nose. A pause, the men looking at each other. Ward made play and put in so severe a body blow as to make Acton drop his arms. In the close, Ward had also the best of it, and in going down Acton was undermost. (“It’s nearly over,” was the cry.)

5.—Acton came to the scratch staring. Ward put in two or three nobbers, and ran Acton to the ropes; but in the fall Ward was undermost.

6 and last.—Heavy counter-hits. Ward planted a severe blow on Acton’s left eye that made him wink again. The left hand of the former was repeatedly at work, and by a sharp blow on the left ear Acton was finally floored. When “Time” was called, he was deaf to it, and three or four minutes elapsed before he was able to get out of the ring. Time, fourteen minutes and a half.

Remarks.—The science, activity, and quick hitting exhibited by Ward satisfied his backers, that, with a little more experience, he was calculated to make a noise in the milling world. Acton was too slow for his opponent.

Ward, who was now anxious to do business, challenged Jack Martin for £150; and in order to keep the game alive, after Josh. Hudson had defeated Barlow, at Harpenden Common, on the 10th of September, 1822, a subscription purse was entered into to give Ward another chance of showing off with Burke, of Woolwich, brother to the pugilist who fought with Jack Randall. After he had put on his clothes, Hudson went round the ring with his hat, and collected the needful. This fight lasted only seven minutes, it being rather a display of wrestling than milling on the part of Burke. The Woolwich hero was seconded by Tom Oliver and Abbot; Ward by Tom Shelton and Harry Holt. It was a mere gift to Jem.

Some meetings were afterwards held between the parties as to the weight of Ward, and he was eventually backed to fight Bill Abbot, for £50 a-side. And here it devolves upon us, as faithful biographers, to detail a circumstance in the life of our hero, over which we would fain draw a veil. In order that we may not identify ourselves with any party, we prefer giving the account of the matter as it was published at the time, leaving our readers to decide for themselves:—

Pugilism between Ward, the Black Diamond, and Abbot, the conqueror of Oliver, for £50 a-side, at Moulsey Hurst, on Tuesday, October 22, 1822.

An unusual degree of interest had been excited throughout the fancy, respecting the event of this battle, in consequence of the superior milling talents displayed by Ward in his fight with Acton, and also in his various exhibitions at the Fives Court, but more particularly in his set-to with Cy. Davis. At one o’clock, Abbot threw his hat into the ring, followed by Richmond and Josh. Hudson, as his seconds; and, in a few minutes afterwards, Ward attended by Eales and Tom Jones, made his appearance.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Both men appeared in fine condition; and a minute or two elapsed, when Ward hit short with his left hand; but he soon rectified this mistake, by nobbing his opponent, getting away, and laughing at him. In a close, both went down, but Ward had the throw.

2.—It was already seen that Abbot was a plaything in the hands of Ward, for he not only nobbed him with the utmost ease, but put in so severe a hit on the body that Abbot went back three yards, staggering, and must have fallen, had not the ropes prevented him. Abbot, however, returned to the charge, when the round was finished by Ward hitting him down. (Seven to four.)

3.—Ward, from his tapping, light play, was denominated the Chinaman; nevertheless, the head of his opponent was so much at his service that he kept pinking without getting any return. Abbot was severely thrown.

4.—The backers of Ward were in high glee—it was all right; and Abbot received another fall ready to burst him.

5.—Abbot received a severe hit, and fell on his knees.

6 to 8.—In all these rounds Abbot appeared perfectly stupid from the repeated conkers he received, and the severe falls he experienced. (Five and six to one.)

9 to 12.—Abbot was so much at a loss that his blows were thrown away; in fact, he had not the shadow of a chance. In the last round he received a tremendous cross-buttock.

13 to 17.—The whole of the minds of the amateurs were so much made up in consequence of the superior talents displayed by Ward, who did as he liked with his opponent, that ten to one was offered, but no takers.

18.—Abbot hit down, and the battle was considered all but over; so much so that Belcher left the ring to get his pigeon to convey the intelligence to town of the defeat of Abbot. On crossing the river at Hampton, the first party he met in a boat he asked who had won the battle. “Abbot,” was the reply. “Impossible!” said Belcher. He also inquired of another party. “Abbot,” was the answer. “It can’t be—you certainly must be mistaken,” rejoined the hero of the Castle. In the third boat he saw Abbot and his second, when he repeated his inquiries; and on being informed that Abbot was the winner, Tom replied, “I’m now satisfied,” and immediately sent up the pigeon, with Abbot’s name attached to it instead of Ward’s.

19.—At the conclusion of this round, Eales, observing something wrong in his man, called out to Ward’s backer, who immediately stepped into the ring, when Eales, with much indignation, observed, “Ward says he means to cut it this round, he shall lose it.” “No,” replied his backer.

20.—Ward now endeavoured to drop fighting, in order to give Abbot a chance; and actually, in an under tone, said to Abbot, “Now hit me.” When Eales remonstrated with him for such conduct, he observed, “I know my orders—I must not win it.” (A hundred to one on Ward.)

21.—Ward gave his opponent all the opportunity he could; but Abbot was so distressed that he could scarcely knock a fly off a leaf. Ward took care to go down.

22 and last.—Ward went down after a slight skirmish, and on being picked up and placed on his second’s knee, he smiled, but recollecting “his orders,” and for fear that Abbot should give in, he went off in a swoon, and when “Time” was called, he would not notice it till he thought proper to come to, and quit the ring.

Remarks.—It is impossible to describe the consternation, as well as the indignation, expressed by the amateurs; so bare-faced a robbery was never before witnessed in the annals of pugilism. The umpire, when asked his opinion, replied, “He could not swear it was a cross; but he was quite satisfied there was wrong conduct somewhere.” The most honourable part of the sporting people declared they would not pay at present; and several gentlemen who had lost heavy stakes agreed to meet next evening at the One Tan, in Jermyn Street, in order to investigate the matter. Ward, on recovering from his swoon, made his way out of the ring, and in his eagerness to get across the water to Hampton, jumped with the utmost ease over some ropes.

Thus far the ring-reporter of the day. On Wednesday evening, October 23rd, a numerous meeting of sporting men took place at the One Tun, Jermyn Street, to investigate the suspicious circumstances connected with this affair, when, after hearing evidence, all bets were declared off, and a second meeting appointed at Tattersall’s, on Monday, November 4, 1822; on this occasion, after a great deal of chaffing and murmuring amongst the betters, the president of the Daffy Club, who held the stakes, offered the £50 a-side to each of the backers, but they refused the offer, and the president put the £100 into his pocket, and left the meeting. It was ultimately agreed that the matter should be laid before the Pugilistic Club and Mr. Jackson, and that their decision should be final; however, after considerable disputes upon the subject, the stakes were drawn, and the backers of Ward and Abbot agreed to receive £50 each.

We cannot help remarking here, that although it was proved beyond a doubt that Ward committed the cross above alluded to, there was also sufficient evidence to prove that it was more an error of the head than of the heart; for, on his being called upon for an explanation, at the meeting at the One Tun, in Jermyn Street, he burst into tears, hung down his head, and admitted it was a cross. He further stated that he had been instigated to commit it by his backer, who promised him £100 if he lost the fight. Eales, the second to Ward, also stated, “that towards the conclusion of the battle, he wished him to go in and win it, but was greatly surprised to hear Ward say he had his orders, and must not win the battle.” Towards the conclusion of the meeting, Tom Cribb came forward, and in a very animated manner said, that he had never done wrong in his life; that Ward was a deluded and ignorant young man; that he believed he had been led away, and that he had told the truth; as a proof of his opinion he should make him a present of a sovereign, which he did, several gentlemen present following his example.

Ward also addressed the following letter, publicly confessing his fault:—

“To the Editor of the Weekly Dispatch.

“Sir,

“I trust you will excuse my obtruding upon you in requesting the insertion of a letter from me, whom I hope the sporting world will consider as much sinned against as sinning. My late fight with Abbot having given rise to much, I may say much merited animadversion, I hope in extenuation some consideration may be made for my inexperience in the world, and a too great reliance on those who have seduced and deceived me. Had I taken the advice of my trainer, in lieu of lending a too ready credence to the apparent friendly promises of my backer, I should not have to deplore the commitment of an act which has caused me the most bitter regret. I should be most happy, by way of retrieving in some degree the credit I have lost, to fight Abbot again for the present stakes. If I ask for too much in this, I am willing to meet him in the same ring with Hudson and Shelton, on the 19th instant, for a purse, or even for love.

“I am, Sir, with the greatest respect,

“Your obliged servant

“JAMES WARD.

“November 12, 1827.”

At this time Ward was considered completely defunct in the milling world; the P.C. expelled Jem from the use of their ropes, and it was the general opinion that he would never again be permitted to enter the prize ring. In fact, so strong was the feeling entertained against Ward, that, on a proposal being made shortly afterwards to back him for £100 against Barlow, the friends of the latter scouted the proposition, and said that he should not disgrace himself by contending with a man who had been expelled the P.C. ropes.

Ward now remained quiet for a short time, expressed his sorrow for his misconduct, and promised his friends to do all in his power to gain the confidence of the sporting world. It was not long before an event occurred which brought Ward again before the fancy, and which tended greatly to do away with the ill-feeling which existed against him. After the fight between Hall and Wynnes, at Wimbledon Common, on Tuesday, February 4, 1823, he entered the ring for a subscription prize of the value of £5. His opponent was White-headed Bob, then unknown to the London ring, but by no means a novice. This was a good battle, Ward finishing his man in twenty rounds, nineteen minutes.

The judges now pronounced Ward the best twelve stone man in the ring; and he, in order to reinstate himself in the good opinion of the amateurs, inserted three separate challenges in the Weekly Dispatch; but that not having the desired effect, he determined to rusticate for a few months. He therefore started on a sparring tour with two or three of his pals. Bath races was the first object. There a match was made between Rickens, a Bath man, and Jem Ward, for £20 a-side, and a subscription purse. The battle took place at Lansdown, on Friday, July 2, 1823, Ward winning it without a scratch on his face or body.

Jem and his pals pursued their excursion, and now determined upon astonishing the natives at Portsdown Fair. A sparring-booth was soon knocked up for the edification and instruction of the yokels, and the amusement of the younger branches of the “Green” family, who had never had an opportunity of witnessing a bout at the Fives Court, in which his companions gave their assistance. The Black Diamond (who showed himself a brilliant of the first water) did all he could to accommodate the numerous customers who wished for a taste of the mufflers. Much mirth was excited by a “Knight of the Rainbow,” whose length, weight, and vanity, led him to believe he could polish the Diamond. Jem’s mawley was constantly rap, tap, tapping on Johnny Trot’s frontispiece, and occasionally rung the bell of his ear, until poor Trot did not know whether he had his own hair or a wig on. “Why don’t you look?” says Jem; “and not wink your peepers in that way.” “Because,” says Sir Rainbow, “you play so sharp, and I’ll have no more on’t.”

Ward next went to Southampton races to fight a man of the name of Johnson, alias Jemmy the Black. The battle took place on Shirley Common, August 24, 1823, and Johnson was beaten to a stand-still in three rounds—time, seventeen minutes.

These victories induced our hero to think that he might now venture to show with a good grace in London; accordingly, at the Fives Court, in September, he informed the amateurs that a nobleman would back him against Josh. Hudson for £100 a-side. The match was made to take place at Moulsey Hurst. Ward’s peace was now considered to have been made with the fancy in general, who were anxious to witness the fine fighting of our hero, opposed to one of the highest-couraged boxers upon the list; but, unfortunately for Ward, on November 11, 1823, in the course of fifteen rounds, occupying thirty-five minutes, he was obliged to strike his colours to resolute Josh. (See Life of Hudson).

This defeat was attributed by many to mere want of condition, and his friends readily came forward to back him for £100 a-side against Phil. Sampson, the Birmingham Youth.[^[37]] On this occasion Sampson weighed twelve stone three pounds, height five feet ten and a-half inches; and Jem weighed but three pounds more, and was of equal stature. The match was therefore in these respects even. The battle took place on the 21st of June, at Colnbrook, in the same ring as that in which Barney Aaron and Arthur Mathewson had just decided their differences. Aby Belasco and Harry Harmer waited on Sampson: Tom Oliver and Tom Owen esquired Ward.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Ward stood with the left arm extended, and Sampson ready with both hands. Five minutes passed in sparring—attitudes of both beautiful. Sampson backed to the ropes. Ward threw out for a draw. Sampson returned and hit short. Sampson dropped, from a slip. No mischief.

2.—Sparring again. Sampson evidently afraid of his man. Ward let fly—stopped; again at the body—stopped. Sampson countered, and slipped half down. Ward stood over, made up to hit as he rose; but at the moment Sampson put his hand to the ground and saved his bones.

3.—Sampson began left and right. Ward broke away in gallant style, then countered upon him, and tapped the wine-vat. Sampson followed. Ward met him again. Sampson rolled down. (Three to one on Ward.)

4.—Sampson backed to the ropes, and made up for counter-hitting. Ward showed fine science to get at him. Sampson let fly; Ward stopped it, went to work, but Sampson dropped on his knees to avoid Ward’s wrestling.

5.—Ward closed on him, and played left and right on his head. He seemed to lay Sampson across his right hip, while he jobbed him with the left hand until Sampson slipped away and went down.

6.—Sampson made play, and got one hand on Ward’s left eye. Ward hit, and Sampson stopped well, and tried his long shots, but he could not make them tell; he then dropped. It was easy to tell how all this was to end.

7.—Ward made play—whack on the head at both sides, then at the wind. (“Well stopped, Sampson.”) Ward then hitting out plump, he knocked him down.

8.—Sampson, furious from punishment, was kept writhing, from the rapidity of Ward’s blows, up and down. Ward chopped him on the ear, under the chin, and as he pleased, the blood flowing in a broad stream. Sampson went down.

9.—Ward broke away from a desperate hit, and Sampson followed, giving the chance away. Ward met him, and closed for a fall, but Sampson again dropped. (Six to one on Ward.)

10.—Ward caught him in the wind. Sampson went away nearly doubled. A good rally. Ward unwise to stand it. Sampson made his right hand tell a trifle. A close, and open fighting again. Ward’s hand, darting like a viper’s tongue, scarified Sampson’s face all over. Ward aimed a settler. Sampson ducked and dropped.

11.—Ward chopped him over his guard on the ear, and then bang on the nose. Sampson, all blood and bluster, followed him like a savage. Ward played with him and dropped him easy.

12.—Ward hit him left and right. Sampson down in an instant.

13.—Sampson had no chance. Ward put all his fine fighting aside.

14.—Sampson got Ward into a wild rally. (“Softly, Ward. What are you at?”) A round hit sent him under, but he jumped up merrily without his second’s aid.

15.—Sampson made play, but Ward met him and knocked him clean down.

16.—This round was all in favour of Ward.

17.—Ward closed Sampson’s left eye, which blinked a little, and chopped his ear, while the blood flowed profusely. Sampson all abroad, looking sick and sorrowful. Down he goes again.

18.—Ward got away from some desperate body blows. Sparring a little. (“Fight, Jem!” on all sides.) Jem did fight, and threw his man like a plaything.

19.—Sampson hit out well, but Ward, all coolness, stopped him and dropped him.

20.—Sampson made play, but was at once felled by Ward.

21.—Sampson down again. Ward without a mark.

22.—Ward began—one, two, both on the head; three on the ribs. Sampson, nearly up, rushed for a chance. Ward stopped a mill from him.

For the next three rounds Sampson was brought up but to receive, and in the twenty-fifth round he gave in, after fighting fifty minutes.

Remarks.—It was delightful to witness the fine tactics of Ward, who reminded the spectators of the renowned Jem Belcher. His winning so easily against a skilful boxer and hard hitter like Sampson was a great feather in his cap. He won his battle in a style seldom witnessed, without a scratch. Another report simply adds to its description, “Ward may be champion if he does the right thing. He is far the best big man out, as a natural fighter.”

Shortly after this Cannon beat Josh. Hudson (June 23rd, 1824), and as Josh, engaged Cannon for a second trial, Jem issued a challenge to fight Langan for £300 a-side. This was not accepted, and Ward put forth another challenge for the championship, in which we read,—“Having observed in the sporting journals a great deal about who is entitled to the championship—some saying it is Langan (who has retired), others that it belongs to Shelton; while Hudson and Cannon, who are about to fight a second time, have intimated that the winner of their battle will claim it,—I beg to inform the public that I will fight any man in England, Ireland, or Scotland, for £300 a-side; and if I do not meet with a customer in a month, I shall lay claim to the title myself.” This offer was not accepted; but his old antagonist, Phil. Sampson, soliciting a second meeting for £100 a-side, Ward cheerfully closed with the proposition, and a match was made to come off December 28th, 1824. In the interim Tom Cannon and Josh. Hudson had fought a second time, and Cannon had utterly crushed up his brave and broad-bottomed antagonist.

The second mill of Jem Ward and Sampson came off at Perry Lodge, on the estate of the Duke of Grafton, about four miles beyond Stony Stratford. The attendance of the London division was not large, but from the neighbouring counties the muster was numerous. The total of the whole assemblage is estimated by a contemporary chronicler at 5,000 at the least; and although heavy rain fell throughout the day, every spectator remained till the conclusion of the interesting contest. The men arrived upon the ground about half-past twelve; Paddington Jones again attended upon Ward, and had upon the same side, as his brother second, Tom Oliver, known till our own time as the Commissary of the P.R. Peter Crawley and a Birmingham Friend (not a Quaker) picked up Sampson. Both men were in excellent condition; Sampson, whose weight was nearly thirteen stone, is praised for “looking better than in their former encounter;” we suspect the lack of physiological judgment in the reporter here, and should say “there was too much of him.” Ward was twelve stone seven pounds. The betting was anything but brisk—Ward, the favourite; but his partisans were lukewarm, and the “hardware lads” wanted long odds.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The men were brought to the scratch at a quarter to one, and instantly threw themselves into position. Sampson’s manner was firm and imposing, and his looks betokened a determination to do his best. Ward gathered himself into as narrow a compass as possible, and, throwing his head and shoulders back, worked about his terrific left hand with an evident intention to bring it into action as speedily as circumstances would admit, while with his right he kept a steady guard. Sparring for a short time. Ward let fly his left, but was stopped. Sampson countered, but was stopped also. Sampson broke ground, but was again stopped, when Ward rushed to fight, and caught Sampson on the pudding-trap, rattling his grinders in a very musical manner. Sampson returned very slightly, and in a close, Ward was thrown, Sampson on him. Ward picked himself up and laughed.

2.—On coming to the scratch, Sampson showed first paint, from the larboard corner of his muzzle, but he was still firm and cheerful. Ward came up steady, and after a short manœuvre threw another chattering smack on Sampson’s gob with his right. Sampson rushed in to fight, but was well stopped. In the close, Sampson fell, and Ward close to him.

3.—All doubts of Ward’s meaning to win had now passed away, and two to one was offered freely upon him, but no takers. Sampson, anxious to go in, hit out at Ward’s nob, and caught him slightly. Ward was with him, and returned with interest. Sampson, not dismayed, went at him again, and caught him on the face. Ward fell from the slippery state of the ground, and the force of the blow.

4.—Ward stood for no ceremony, but delivered right and left on Sampson’s canister. Sampson rushed to a rally, but Ward got away with his customary activity. Ward then jumped in, was stopped at first, but repeating his effort, he hit Sampson on the auricular, and then dropped him by a blow on his frontispiece.

5.—Sampson came up rather open-mouthed, and a little worse for the paintbrush. Ward commenced fighting, hit out with his left, rather out of distance, and slipped. Sampson, anxious to take off Ward as he rose, rushed in. Ward, however, was quickly on his pins, and met his determined antagonist with a slight tap on his victualling office. Sampson, in getting away, fell outside the ropes. Ward stood up fresh and full of spirits.

6.—Good stops on both sides. An excellent rally followed, in which nozzlers were interchanged. Sampson, in getting away, fell on his nether end.

7.—Ward came up merry, and Sampson was not a whit less disposed for mischief. Sampson bored in, but Ward got away. The men came again to close quarters, when Sampson delivered a slight compliment on Ward’s snuffler. Ward fell on his knees.

8.—Ward delivered another unpleasant compliment on Sampson’s mouth. Sampson returned quickly. Ward rushed to in-fighting, when hits were interchanged, and Ward again fell on his knees. As this latter fall was supposed to have originated in the desire of Ward to escape punishment, there were some slight marks of disapprobation.

9.—Sampson came up game, although rather in the piping order. Ward, after a flourish, once more tapped him on the mouth, and got away. Sampson followed him up, and on going to in-fighting, Ward again slipped down.

10.—Ward busy rapping at Sampson’s ivories. Sampson rushed to rally, but two well-intentioned visitations to Ward’s nob were stopped, and Ward catching him round the neck, fibbed him severely. It was a ratti-tat-tat. Sampson fell, and Ward also slipped.

11.—Sampson came up blowing like Boreas. He was determined not to be idle, and went in right and left. Ward, cautious, caught the blows on his wrists as they were given, and, in retreating, Sampson dropped, through the slippery state of the ground.

12.—Ward again took the lead, and hit Sampson a terrific blow on the nose, which immediately entered into co-partnership with his mouth, in the claret line. Short sparring. A rally, in which blows were interchanged, and Ward fell, through a slip.

13.—Oliver was now in the highest spirits, and exclaimed he would lay ten to one that Ward would not get a black eye. Sampson came to work a little the worse for wear, and went in manfully to fight, but Ward stopped him with inimitable skill, and then rushing in, delivered facers left and right. Sampson fell on his back, and Ward fell on him.

14.—Sparring for a short time, when Ward again went to work with his left, and napped it slightly himself on the mouth from Sampson’s right. A spirited rally followed, in which Sampson received three flush hits on the nose and lips. Sampson received with the courage of a lion, and returned on Ward’s head; but Ward was with him again, and hit him down with a tremendous gobster.

15.—Sampson still preserved his game, and attempted to plant a left-handed lunge on Ward’s head. Ward parried the blow, rushed in, and delivered three times in succession on Sampson’s now disorganized physog. He then jumped away, followed by Sampson, who, on receiving another tap, went down.

16.—It was now manifest that, however well disposed Sampson might be to punish his man, he was unable to get at him, and his blows left but little impression, although we observed a slight tinge of claret from Ward’s proboscis. This was a short round; Ward, endeavouring to put in a body blow, over-reached himself, and fell on his hands and knees.

17.—Sampson put in a slight blow on the side of Ward’s head. Ward jumped back, but again returned to the charge, hit Sampson on the sore spot, threw him heavily, and fell upon him.

18.—Ward planted a severe blow on Sampson’s wind, again caught him a rap on the nose, closed, and threw him, adding his own weight to the impetus of the fall.

19.—Sampson came up boldly, although more cautious than heretofore. At last, on coming in, Ward hit him a terrific right-handed whack on his face, and floored him, in a twinkling.

20.—Sampson rather more on the standoff, from a deficiency of wind, and a consciousness that he was getting the worst of the in-fighting. Ward, not disposed to let him remain long in suspense, rushed and peppered his mug with great severity; and at length catching him round the neck, fibbed him with effect on the nut-crackers, and grassed him.

21.—Ward scarcely bore marks of the effects of his engagement,

“And had everything now, as Bill Gibbons would say—

Like the bull in the china-shop—all his own way.”

Two to one was offered on Ward, but no takers; and the Brummagem, though no counterfeit, was evidently fast on the wane. Still he came up manfully, and in no way inclined to cry “enough.” Ward, with his customary caution, met Sampson as he came in, and fought at him with vigour; when Sampson fell, Ward on the top of him.

22.—Sampson came up groggy. Ward saw his situation, and rushed in. Sampson fell weak, Ward again on him.

23.—Sampson, although unsteady on his supporters, again went boldly up, when Ward floored him with a heavy spank on the throttle.

24.—Ward, as fresh as at the commencement, came up cool and collected. Sampson was almost stupefied. Ward tapped him on the snuff-box, and again downed him, falling upon him. It was thought it was all over, and Ward went to shake hands with his friends at the side of the ring. To the surprise of all, however, Phil. came again.

25.—Sampson tried a rush, and just reached Ward’s head. The latter laughed and popped in a right-hander on the body, when down went Sampson. Two more rounds took place, but they were all one way. Sampson, although the spirit was willing, had not the strength to carry out his intention, and at length, at the end of twenty-seven rounds, and thirty-seven minutes and a half, his friends took him away.

Remarks.—The reporter adds: Ward, by the result of this battle, and the manner in which he conducted himself throughout, entitled himself to the approbation of the fancy, and we trust he will not now find any difficulty in obtaining backers against a more worthy opponent. We believe him to be the best fighter in the ring, and we know not with whom his chance of success would not be equal to his merits. With regard to Sampson, we should be unjust if we were not to say that he fought with a bravery and determination worthy of a better result. His confidence was certainly mistaken; but having done his best, his backers have nothing with which to charge him. He is a good man, though somewhat slow, and there are many men in the ring with whom he may be fairly matched; but with Ward, it was “Mr. Justice Burroughs’ wig to a farthing rushlight” against him.

This last conquest placed Ward upon “the topmost round of Fortune’s ladder.” He at once proposed to try his weight of metal and accuracy of aim against the “Great Gun of Windsor,” Tom Cannon, and thus he framed his—

“CHALLENGE FOR ONE THOUSAND POUNDS TO THOMAS CANNON.

“Sir,

“I am happy to inform you that my friends possess so much confidence in me that they have asked me, unsolicited on my part, to have ‘a shy’ for the championship of England. In consequence of this unexpected and very liberal support of my backers, I am enabled to dispute your self-elected right to the above title. My heart is in its proper place on the subject; my hands are ready to support my claim; and my legs are on the alert to perform their office, when called upon, in the hour of battle. It now only remains for you, Tom Cannon, to name your day to make a deposit; also the time when it will be most convenient for you to peel, and I to strip; and likewise the sum you will put down, to set the thing a-going. In order to show you that it is no bounce upon my part, and that the sporting world may not be baulked as to a mill between us, to obtain that pugilistic honour which Tom Cribb so nobly maintained for many years, Pierce Egan has authority from my friends to make a match on my behalf for £1,000. A letter addressed to P. E., 113, Strand, respecting your answer, the blunt will be fobbed out in a twinkling.

“Now, Tom, having made myself perfectly agreeable as to the terms of your challenge, and which I am sure, must also prove agreeable to your feelings (as I am well assured you fancy me as a customer), I have only to add that I sincerely wish you in good health, and likewise success in all your undertakings, except obtaining the honour of the championship. On that head I profess myself your rival; but if the chance of war should prove you the better man, the £1,000 will be awarded to you, without any grumbling on my part, and the proud title of champion into the bargain. Till then, Tom, I remain, with a couple of hands at your service,

“JAMES WARD.

“February 20, 1825.”

Ward felt highly delighted when the match was made between him and Cannon for £500 a-side.

We have now arrived at the mill which decided definitively Ward’s right to the championship. On the 26th of May, 1825, Tom Spring took a farewell benefit at the Fives Court, when he finally retired from the ring. After some excellent setting-to, Spring addressed the company, and took his leave of them in the character of a boxer; and in his address, he impressed, upon his brother pugilists the importance of integrity. He said this was the key-stone to their success, and without it they would find it impossible to preserve the respect or support of their patrons. In the course of the evening Tom Cannon, after a set-to with Tom Oliver, came forward and said that he could be backed to fight Jem Ward, who had challenged him, and would make the match for £500 a-side. He had promised Mr. Hayne, his backer, that he would never more enter the P.R., but that gentleman finding he was extremely anxious to fight Ward, had not only absolved him from his promise, but, as on former occasions, had consented to post the coal on his behalf. This declaration on behalf of Cannon was received with acclamations, and a friend of Ward’s at once intimated that he would attend at Tom Cribb’s, and make the match. During the same evening, Peter Crawley also advanced to the edge of the stage, and said he had intended to challenge Ward, but as Cannon had been beforehand with him, he would only put forward his claim to fight the winner. At the meeting at Old Tom Cribb’s, in Panton Street, articles were duly signed, and the men were sent into training, Cannon to Henley-on-Thames, and Ward to York. The meeting was fixed for the 19th July, 1825. As the day of battle approached, Cannon removed to Marlborough, and Ward to Stony Stratford. With regard to weight there was little difference, Cannon being twelve stone eight pounds, and Ward twelve stone three pounds.

The celebrity of the battle, combined with a second treat—between Dick Curtis and Warren—produced many competitors for the honour and profit of fixing the scene of action, and at length the inhabitants of Leamington and Warwick wrote and made a liberal offer to the men, if they would fight in their district. Freedom from interruption was guaranteed, and the combatants had the choice of the race-course, or an enclosed ground adjoining a factory, which would contain 10,000 persons, and to which no person could obtain admission without leave. The latter spot was fixed upon, and the bustle on the road and in the town was fully equal to that which was witnessed on the occasion of Cannon’s last fight with Josh. Hudson. Cannon, accompanied by Mr. Hayne, and some friends, arrived at Leamington on Sunday evening, but being refused admission to the principal hotel there, they adjourned to Warwick, from whence, after dinner, they moved to Stratford-on-Avon. Ward arrived at Warwick the same evening, and took up his quarters at the Hare and Hounds. Preparations commenced early on Monday morning, but before they had proceeded far, the Mayor of Warwick intimated an intention of spoiling the sport. He said it would be too much to permit two mills during one mayoralty in his bailiwick, or he would be called the “Fighting Mayor.” On enquiry it turned out he was influenced in his determination by the clamours of certain spoilers of sport who are always busy on such occasions. It was known that his worship was fond of the art pugilistic, and would not interfere of his own free will. It was represented to him that the fact of the mill coming off at Warwick would materially benefit the tradespeople of the town, and other good reasons for non-interference were also brought forward, but in vain, and at length it was determined, in order to be on the safe side, that two stages should be erected, one in the factory-yard originally selected, and one on a spot not far distant, which was beyond the jurisdiction of the mayor; and as it was still thought that his worship would not, in reality, prove “rumbunctious,” it was ordered that the men should meet at first in the factory-yard, and only resort to the second stage in the event of necessity.

The bustle in Warwick on Monday night was something extraordinary; every house in the town was crammed to suffocation. Some of the fancy, who had been to Stratford, returned with the intelligence that Cannon was in the highest condition and spirits, but still they were shy of backing him. What little was done was at five to four on Ward.

On the morning of fighting both stages were complete, and around that in the meadow beyond the jurisdiction of the mayor, wagons were placed for the spectators. These vehicles were not required in the factory-yard, in which there was ample accommodation for every one to see without difficulty. At ten o’clock the mayor, accompanied by other magistrates, intimated his final resolution that no fight should take place in the borough, and consequently there was no alternative but to take advantage of the second stage. Mr. Hayne arrived in the town at twelve o’clock, and with the friends of Ward, proceeded to choose umpires and a referee. Sir John Radford and Mr. Mann officiated in the former capacity, while Mr. Osbaldeston, “the Old Squire,” obligingly accepted the office of referee. After this ceremony, a little more betting occurred, at five to four on Ward, and then a general move took place to the scene of action, which was about a mile from the town, on the Birmingham road. By the time the men arrived, there were about 12,000 persons present, including an unusual number of the patrician class. The heat was intense, the thermometer standing at 91 degrees in the shade. By half-past twelve the men were on the ground; they were in first-rate condition, but both were affected by the heat. They quickly mounted the stage, which was similar in form to that on which Spring and Langan fought at Chichester. Cannon was seconded by Tom Spring and Tom Cribb, while Ward was valeted by Tom Oliver and Jack Randall. On peeling, both seemed thin, and Cannon appeared to have aged considerably since his last encounter, at least there was not that ruddy plumpness observable on former occasions. Ward was fair and sleek as a greyhound, but there was a slight rash on his body, produced, no doubt, by the heat. He smiled, and had an air of confidence, which put his friends in high spirits. The toss for corners was won by Cannon, who was, of course, placed with his back to the sun.

At the moment of setting-to, there was a general bustle, and some confusion in the crowd, but order was soon restored, and all eyes were fixed on the stage. The men were brought to the scratch at five minutes to one, and the seconds and bottle-holders retired to their corners.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Cannon came up as if determined to lose no time in going to work. The position of Ward was firm; he seemed armed at all points for defence. Cannon advanced towards his man, broke ground, and hit right and left. Ward stopped him, retreated, and smiled. Cannon followed him, when Ward let fly with his right, and caught Cannon over the eye, and drew first blood. Cannon still busy, came in, but was stopped with a left-handed hit in the throat, and a ruby tinge was again visible. A sharp rally followed, Ward retreating, stopping, and nobbing his man as he came in. At length they closed and, after a short struggle, went down together. (Cheers for Ward, who decidedly had the best of the round.)

2.—Cannon came up on the bustling system, and tried for an opening. Ward stopped him right and left, and, stepping backward a pace, jobbed him as he approached, with his right hand, over the left eye. Cannon, not dismayed, took this compliment kindly, and returned slightly on Jem’s cheek. A sharp rally followed, in which Cannon bustled to his man, and got to a close. Ward twisted his leg between the legs of Cannon, and threw him heavily, adding his own weight to the severity of the fall.

3.—On coming to the scratch, Ward let fly with his left; it was cleverly stopped by Cannon. Cannon then bored in, and Ward retired fighting. As he retreated he succeeded in putting in two facers, but was at length bored down at the rails, and Cannon fell over him. Ward had a lucky escape from his head coming in contact with the board which skirted the stage, in this round. Had this accident happened, in all probability his fate would have been decided. The chance of such injuries forms one of the strongest objections to stage-fighting.

4.—On coming up it was seen that Ward had not received a blow which left a mark. He smiled, and stood to his guard, while Cannon, all energy, rushed to the attack. Cannon made a right-handed hit, but Ward was awake, stopped it, and drew back. Cannon immediately rushed in, and after a short struggle both fell, Ward under.

5.—Cannon again endeavoured to take the lead, but Ward was too quick, and delivered several facers. Cannon, not discouraged, continued his assault in gallant style, and finally Ward, in endeavouring to escape a right-handed blow, slipped down on his hands. This was claimed by Spring as the first knock-down blow, but we did not view it in that light.

6.—Cannon renewed the bustling system, but fought wildly, and was evidently exhausting himself by his own exertions. He missed several well-intentioned blows, and as he followed his man he was met with a nozzler. A sharp rally followed, in which Ward received a severe blow on the side of the occiput, and finally slipped down close to the posts.

7.—Both came to the scratch panting. Cannon hit out right and left with great wildness. Ward retreated to the corner of the stage, and Cannon closed in to him. Ward met him as he advanced with a facer, but was unable to break away. In this situation they both stood for a few seconds. Ward fibbed slightly; when at length Cannon threw him heavily. (Shouts for Cannon; and a bet of £15 to £10 was taken by a good judge.)

8.—Both men were the worse for their efforts in the last round. The excessive heat of the sun seemed to oppress them, and, on coming to the scratch, Cannon, for the first time, sparred cautiously, while Ward waited for him open-mouthed. At last Cannon broke ground, and hit Ward under the ear. Jem retreated, but Cannon fought to a rally. In a close Ward put in a severe muzzler, threw Cannon a heavy fall, and at the same time dropped upon him.

9.—On Cannon being lifted to his second’s knee, the mischievous effects of the last fall were obvious; he appeared quite groggy, and was evidently much exhausted. On time being called, however, he came up to the scratch with his accustomed game. He lost no time in rushing to his man, but Ward stopped him with a tremendous blow on the side of his nut. Ward then retreated to a corner of the ring. Cannon followed him, and as it were fell into his arms. In this state they stood for some seconds, and both were apparently exhausted. Ward smiled, and attempted to fib, but his hand fell almost powerless. At length Cannon dropped nearly senseless, and Ward, unable to stand, fell upon him. It was now clear that the game was nearly up, and five to one was offered on Ward, but not taken.

10.—Cribb and Spring both exerted themselves to restore their man to animation, but he seemed quite stupefied, and came up reeling as if tipsy. Ward saw his advantage, and instantly came up, hit him right and left, on each side of the head, and on the nose, and the poor fellow dropped to rise no more. He was immediately lifted on his second’s knee, but was deaf to all encouragement. His head dropped powerless on his shoulder, and the carmine was seen trickling from his nose and mouth. Loud shouts of congratulation burst from Ward’s friends, and he walked to the side of the stage and shook hands with several of them. He afterwards approached Cannon, and took him by the hand, but the latter was insensible to his kindly feeling. Ward then descended from the stage, and mounting his straw tile, he was placed on a grey pony, and was conducted out of the ring in triumph. A surgeon who was on the ground mounted the stage and attended to Cannon, but a full half hour elapsed before his senses were restored, and he was then so weak that it became necessary to lift him into the carriage of Mr. Hayne, which was drawn up at the side of the stage to receive him. The fight lasted but ten minutes, and the amount of money which changed hands upon the result was immense.

Remarks.—This battle afforded but little scope for observation, and still less in the way of a pugilistic treat to the amateurs who were present. Cannon, from the outset, pursued his bustling system, and seemed to think that upon that alone depended his chance of success. By his exertions in this way, however, from the excessive heat of the day, he only tended to expedite his defeat; and we have no hesitation in saying that his final overthrow was more occasioned by exhaustion than by punishment. In fact, on looking at him while in a senseless state, there appeared to be no very great severity in the blows which he had received. His principal injuries were to be attributed to his falls, which were certainly very heavy. Ward fought throughout with great steadiness, presence of mind, and caution, and may be said to have won without a scratch; but, like Cannon, we do not think he could have stood up much longer, notwithstanding the excellence of his condition. He had two severe falls, but received only one blow of any importance, which was under the left ear.

The friends of Ward, in the course of the evening, sent up a message to Mr. Hayne, at the Swan Hotel, that Ward should fight any man in England for £500 a-side. Spring, being present, immediately waited on Ward’s backers, at the Warwick Arms, and said Brown should fight Ward for the sum mentioned; but Brown was objected to on account of his weight. Spring then said he would fight Ward for £500 a-side, and come within a stone of Ward’s weight, and he would put down immediately a hundred sovereigns to make a deposit. This challenge was not accepted; when Spring observed, Langan should fight Ward for £500 a-side. However, after some conversation on the subject, the parties retired without making any match.

Harry Holt took a benefit at the Fives Court, on Friday, the 22nd of July, when Ward was introduced. Jem ascended the stage amidst loud approbation, followed by Harry Holt, who, in a neat, appropriate speech, introduced the belt, which was put round the body of Ward by Oliver. The belt consisted of the blue and crimson colours worn at the late fight, bound with the skin of a tiger. The clasp or buckle was made of highly-polished steel, encircled with emblematical designs, and in the middle of the clasp was a heart, worked with gold, on which was engraved the following inscription:—“This belt was presented to James Ward, at the Fives Court, St. Martin’s Street, Leicester Fields, on the 22nd of July, in commemoration of his scientific and manly conquest of Thomas Cannon, at Stanfield Park, Warwick, on the 19th of July, 1825. This battle, at the present time, entitles him to the high and distinguished appellation of the British Champion.” Ward had scarcely got the belt on, when he said to a friend with a smile, “I have got it, and I mean to keep it.” Ward, on meeting with Cannon, shook hands with him, and asked him how he felt himself. “Very well,” was the reply; “the heat licked me, Jem, and not the blows. The hits that passed between us could neither hurt you nor me, Jem.” “I feel rather stiffish,” observed Ward: “it was hot, indeed; and at one time I had no power to strike. They all talk of fighting me now; but I shall not enter the ring for twelve months. Let some of the big ones fight—Peter Crawley and Brown; but, Cannon, if you wish to fight me again, I will fight you when you like.” “I am very much obliged to you, Jem, for the preference; and if I can raise the blunt, you may depend upon it I will make another match.” Harry Holt returned thanks on the conclusion of his set-to with Ward; and the court was cleared.

A great muster of the heavy betters took place at Tattersall’s, on Monday, July 25, to receive and pay on the above milling event. Considerable surprise was manifested throughout the circle, when the following letters were read by the stakeholder:—

“Dear Sir,—

“Mr. Hayne has desired me to request you will not deliver up the stakes of the fight between Cannon and Ward until the umpires and referee meet to decide the fairness of the battle.

“Yours, etc.

“W. A. CARTER.

“Furnival’s Inn, July 25, 1825.”

---

“Furnival’s Inn, July 25, 1825.

“Sir,—

“In consequence of serious doubts expressed by Mr. Hayne of the character of the late fight between Thomas Cannon and James Ward, and those doubts having been confirmed by others, I feel it my duty as umpire on the part of Cannon, both for the sake of Mr. Hayne and the sporting world, to request that you will retain in your hands the stakes until a meeting shall have taken place between the umpire of Ward, the referee (Mr. Osbaldeston), and myself. The articles specify, ‘that the stakes are to be given up according to the award of the umpires and referee;’ and no award having been made on the spot, I am perhaps justified in begging this short delay. In the interim I shall expect that any evidence which can be produced to sustain Mr. Hayne’s doubts will be brought forward. By Monday next our decision will, no doubt, be accomplished.

“I have the honour to be, etc.

“J. R.”

The delay required, “as to something wrong,” was objected to by almost every amateur present; it being asserted there was no necessity for time, as it was the general opinion that a squarer fight had never taken place in the annals of boxing. After some little argument in the subscription room on the subject, it was decided that, as the umpires and referee made no objection at the conclusion of the battle, Ward was entitled to the stakes, and the stakeholder had a right to give up the £1,000 to the backers of Ward. Cannon was present, and stated that he had lost the battle against his will; and, as he went £200 in the battle-money, he desired, at all events, that sum might be given up to Ward. An indemnity was offered to the stakeholder, should any legal proceedings be brought against him. The stakeholder, with much promptness, immediately gave up the stakes, to the satisfaction of all sporting men. In consequence of the decision of the stakeholder, some thousands of pounds changed masters in the course of an hour. The conduct of the stakeholder prevented shuffling in any part of the kingdom.

It was generally expected that Jem’s easy conquest of Tom Cannon would at once bring forward Peter Crawley, to redeem the promise he had made in print to make a match with the winner. Peter, however, remained silent; nor did he make any response when Ward issued a challenge to fight “any man in the world” for £200 or £300 a-side. It was at one time thought that a match would be made between Ward and Tom Spring—a “tiff” having taken place between the champions,—but when the thing was proposed Spring stated that he would not re-enter the ring, and Ward said he would not fight Spring unless the latter would confine himself to thirteen stone. No other claimant at this juncture appeared to dispute Ward’s title to the championship. Wishing to enjoy some retirement from milling, and, like a star belonging to another stage, to make good benefits in the provinces, he issued the following notice of his future intentions:—

“To the Editor of ‘Pierce Egan’s Life in London.’

“Sir,—

“It is my intention to start on a sparring tour for a few months. I beg you will do me the favour, through the medium of your journal, to inform those who have a wish to meet me in the P.R., that I shall not be at leisure for seven or eight months. In the interim, the various aspirants to the championship may contend with each other, and I shall be happy, at the expiration of the time specified, to accommodate the winner of the main.

“I am, Sir, yours respectfully,

“JAMES WARD.

“Mulberry Tree, Commercial Road, July 26, 1825.”

In Bell’s Life of the 2nd of July, 1826, the turn-up with Sampson is stated to have been the result of a quarrel as to the division of the proceeds of some sparring exhibition given by the erewhile rivals at Norwich and elsewhere. It says: “Ten determined rounds were fought, in which as much mischief was done as in many of those fights which have cost a hundred miles trot to witness. The superiority of Ward was, however, conspicuous throughout. He met Sampson’s fierce rushes with coolness and scientific precision, drew his cork, and floored him in every assault. Sampson succeeded in planting some heavy facers, and was even with Ward in the claret way; but still he was overmatched, and although he proved himself no mean opponent, he was constrained, as he had been before, to knock under to one who may be fairly pronounced the most accomplished boxer of the age.”

In the same paper, of the following week, a letter from Sampson appears, denying the accuracy of the above account, and stating that it was not caused by a quarrel, but was the result of a mutual agreement to see which was the better man, and that it took place, with the gloves, at York. Sampson further affirmed that he had the best of it throughout, and that he intended again to enter the ring with Ward, when the public would have an opportunity of judging which was entitled to pre-eminence. This intention, luckily for the “Birmingham Youth,” he never carried out, for in two months after he made a match with Ned Neale, the Streatham Youth, an inferior boxer to Ward, by whom he was defeated in eleven rounds, occupying sixty-six minutes. (See Life of Ned Neale).

Seventeen months had elapsed, notwithstanding all his challenges and industry to get a job, before Ward met a customer in the person of Peter Crawley. During this period Jem was viewed as champion of England. The backers of Ward having consented that he should fight for £100 a-side, a match was made between them; and on Tuesday, January 2, 1827, the battle was decided upon Royston Heath, Cambridgeshire. In twenty-six minutes, occupying eleven rounds, the title of champion passed to Peter Crawley, as will be found in the memoir of Peter. The backers of Ward were so satisfied with his brave conduct, although in defeat, that at Holt’s benefit, two days after the fight, at the Tennis Court, they offered to make another match for £1,000. Peter, however, refused, said he would not fight any more, and left the championship open to those boxers who wished to fight for it.

In the same paper with the speech of Crawley at the Tennis Court appears a letter from Ward, in which, after regretting that Peter would not give him another chance, and declaring that to the accidental blow in the second round his defeat was attributable, he says, his friends will back him against any man in England for £200 to £300 a-side. He concludes by saying, “I still hold the champion’s belt, and certainly shall not resign it to any man who will not fight for it.”

On Tuesday, the 6th of January, 1827, Ward took a benefit at the Tennis Court, which was crowded by his patrons, who then bore testimony to their approbation of his manly conduct in his fight with Peter Crawley. Ward was anxious to get up a fight with Brown, of Bridgnorth, but as the latter would not come to the scratch under £500, for the present the match went off, Ward’s friends not being strong in the shiners to that extent. The challenge, however, was again sent by Brown, and accepted at the price by Ward, in May, but went off after much dispute on the point of fighting on a stage, Brown declining to fight on turf. To this Ward’s backers would not allow him to agree. Their objection was that a stage fight with so big a man would be such a manifest disadvantage to Ward, that it would be throwing away too great a chance. Brown, they urged, would fight all fifteen stone, while Ward would be twelve stone four pounds to twelve stone seven pounds; and it must be obvious that on a stage a heavier body propelled against a lighter must increase the danger to the latter, as the chances were that the lesser man would more frequently come in contact with the rails, planks, or skirting boards, and thus suffer twofold punishment from blows and contusions. At a meeting at Tom Cribb’s, in April, 1827, they said, “It was true that Ward himself had no objection to the stage, that he would as soon fight Brown there, or even in a saw-pit, and it was only to be lamented that Brown did not show a similar spirit. It was their duty to curb the natural and courageous impulses of Ward’s heart, and to mix up, on his behalf, prudence with valour. The stake to be fought for was not only great in a pecuniary point of view, but great in point of glory, for the winner would be champion of England. This was a prize of too much magnitude to be treated lightly, or to be risked without due foresight, and without equality in point of advantage.” Cribb, on the part of Brown, could not make the match except on the terms authorised by Brown himself, and therefore nothing was done. A long angry correspondence, not worth preserving, ensued, in the course of which Brown offered to stake £320 to Ward’s £300, if Ward would fight on a stage. Ward, on the other hand, offered to fight for £100 a-side on a stage, or for £300, or even £1,000 a-side, on turf. This was declined by Brown. Finally, the question of superiority was decided in another way. Phil. Sampson (thrice defeated by Ward), challenged Brown, and beat him, April 28, 1828, after forty-two hard-fought rounds in forty-nine minutes. This, in the judgment of those who can get “a line” by the comparison of performances, set at rest the question of the respective merits of Brown and Ward.

Bell’s Life remarks on this fight: “Brown turned out a blank in the wheel of fortune. His main dependence seems to be on bodily strength and a terrific hit with the right hand. These requisites may be fearful when opposed to a novice, but with a scientific professor they prove of little avail.” These remarks must convince any one that the big man of Bridgnorth would have proved a chopping-block for the skilful and ready Jem Ward.

An accident happened at this period which had nearly deprived the ring of Jem’s services. On the day after the battle on which Ned Neale (see Life of Neale) a second time conquered Jem Burn (November 13, 1827), the defeated man took a benefit at the Tennis Court, Windmill Street. The principal sparring bout was between Ward and the gigantic Bob Burn. The fine science of Jem was greatly admired, and he jumped in and out, nobbing the big one with both hands till Bob was so hit to a stand-still as to hold on the rail for support. Another round was called for, when Jem drove Burn, hitting away rapidly; Burn’s back came forcibly against the rail of the stage, which broke, and he fell backwards to the floor of the Court. Jem, who was in the act of delivering, pitched after him head foremost, and every spectator feared a disastrous result. Jem, who was lying partly upon Burn, was first picked up. He was partially stunned by the fall, but soon recovered, and said that, except a sprained feeling in the back of his neck, and a barking of his shins over the lower rail which added to the ugliness of his descent, he was scarcely hurt. Burn escaped with even less injury—“a surprising fact,” says the reporter, “seeing he weighs sixteen stone. That neither man was killed, or had broken bones, is astonishing.”

We have seen Jem engaged in all sorts of correspondence with leading pugilists, especially Simon Byrne and Big Brown, when, at the beginning of 1828, a challenge appeared from the once-renowned Jack Carter, the “Lancashire Champion,” a former opponent of Tom Spring. Jem had been on a tour in Lancashire, and his Liverpool patrons testified their esteem by giving him a bumper-benefit at the Gothic Rooms, at the close of the year, and he, together with Dick Curtis, Young Dutch Sam, and Stockman, reaped a rare harvest in that metropolis of the north at the commencement of 1828. Being now in capital feather and high favour, he returned to London, and on Friday, the 28th of February, 1828, a strong muster of the fancy took place at the Castle Tavern, to witness the arrangements for the match between him and Jack Carter. Jem, who had come up from Liverpool to answer Carter’s challenge in person, and who looked extremely well, was early at the scratch, and was soon after joined by Carter. Jem said he was ready to post the pony forthwith, according to Carter’s proposition, to fight for a hundred; but Jack’s friend having, on reflection, backed out of his original pledge, and all of a sudden discovered that he liked Ward too well to lay his money against him, poor Jack was thrown on his beam end. In this dilemma he proposed to match himself for £50, and trust to fortune to enable him to get the goldfinches. Ward objected to fight for so small a sum, on the ground of its letting him down from that station in the ring which he had hitherto maintained. When being hard pressed, however, and entreated as a particular favour to oblige his customer, his good nature would not permit him to resist, and, to the satisfaction of all present, articles were drawn up and signed, by which it was agreed that the men should fight for £50 a-side, in a twenty-four feet roped ring, half-minute time, on the 27th of May, within a hundred miles of London. Ward then offered to fight Simon Byrne, of Glasgow, who had been “chaffy,” for £250 to £200, and after this took his departure for Liverpool, where he had at this period many staunch friends.

Carter had not fought since his battle with Spring, in 1819, and, at the time of his present match, was thirty-eight years of age. In this respect of course Ward had an immense advantage, his years only numbering twenty-seven. In height and weight Carter had the advantage, in the proportions of five feet eleven inches, and thirteen stone six pounds, against five feet nine inches and a half, and twelve stone seven pounds. In science Ward was known to be A1, and of course the odds in his favour were very considerable. The fight took place on Shepperton Range, on the 27th of May, 1828, in the presence of a large muster of the fancy. Ward was seconded by Phil. Sampson and Dick Curtis, and Carter by Tom Oliver and Young Dutch Sam. On stripping, Ward was in fine condition. Carter also was in robust health, but his corporation partook a little too much of civic importance.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Both men looked “unutterable things,” and each approached the other as if perfectly conscious he had his work to do. Ward worked his guard, and poised himself on his toes in his customary form, ready to let fly as an opportunity might offer. Carter stood erect, hands back on his breast, rather on the defensive than otherwise. Some time elapsed in mutual caution, Carter getting away, and keeping out of distance. At last, after nearly four minutes had elapsed, Carter threw out his left, but Ward was awake and stopped him. The blow was too short for effect. Twice did Carter try the same manœuvre, with as little success. Ward now crept in, and caught Carter with his right on the side of the head. Another little pause, when Ward again got in, and hit left and right. Carter now fought to a rally, but hit wildly, while Ward showed great quickness and tact in in-fighting, planting a heavy blow on Carter’s mouth with his left. Carter returned slightly on Ward’s cheek with his left, and in the close was thrown.

2.—More caution on the part of Carter, while Ward worked his left for a shy. Carter hit out with his left, but it was short, and stopped, as was another trial of the same sort. Ward now got within distance, planted his one, two, and three, and catching Carter round the neck with his left, hit up with fearful precision, gave him another deep cut on the lip, and floored him. (Five to one on Ward.)

3.—Carter came up bleeding from the lip, and flushed in the face. Jem was ready, and all on the tip-toe for mischief. Carter again tried his favourite left hand, but was prettily stopped. Jem made a feint; but, although Carter left himself open, he did not go in. Carter kept away for a time, and got away from a well-intentioned smack from Ward’s left, and smiled. At last Jem stood on no ceremony, but rushed in right and left, jobbing well on Carter’s nob. Carter fought with him, but wildly, and received a fresh visitation to his mouth. In the close for the fall, Carter was thrown over on his head.

4.—Each stopped a left-handed compliment. Carter at length went in left and right, in rather a scrambling manner and open-handed. Jem drew back and jobbed him severely on the mug. Carter caught him round the neck, but Jem was alive to his opportunity, and his in-fighting was excellent; he hit up well, and in the close threw Carter a beautiful cross-buttock, falling heavily upon him.

5.—Carter stopped Jem’s left with great quickness. Jem neatly rushed in with his one, two, and then drawing back, hit up in admirable style. Carter broke away, but Jem was with him, and counter-hits were exchanged. Jem now made himself up for execution, and having tried his right at Carter’s body, got to a rally, hammering away with all his might. Carter stood manfully to him, and popped in a good left-hander on the side of the nose. This roused Jem’s choler; he rattled in, delivering left and right, and hitting up. A long struggle ensued for the fall, during which Jem fibbed with great quickness. Carter got down, Ward falling easily upon him.

6.—Carter hit short at the body, and stopped Jem’s right and left with excellent precision. He then planted a slight blow on Jem’s nob. Jem, all alive, saw his opening, and hit away left and right with the rapidity of lightning, and the activity of a two-year old. His execution was wonderful, and Carter’s left eye was puffed to a close; still Jem peppered away, until at last Carter fell on his knees somewhat groggy.

7.—Carter came up game, but Jem gave him no time for reflection. He at once rushed to work, delivering with terrific precision, left and right. Carter was wild in his returns, and on closing was dropped.

8.—(Thirty to one on Ward.) Jem jobbed severely with his right, and then with his left, drawing more crimson. Carter fought manfully with him, but without precision. Jem was busy at in-fighting, and in getting away fell on his back, while Carter remained standing.

9.—Carter stopped Ward’s left and right with good science, but Ward was quick upon him, made a good left-handed job, and was ready to let fly, but Carter kept his distance. Carter made a good stop with his right, but left himself open, and Ward, alive at every point, went in to work left and right, and again hit up with wonderful rapidity. Carter fell on his knees, the claret visible from all parts of his face, his left eye completely dark.

10.—Carter came up strong on his legs, though winded, and stopped Jem’s left. Jem then closed for in-fighting, and hit as he liked with telling effect, and Carter was grassed without a hope.

11.—All in favour of Ward, who had it his own way and dropped his man, after he had hung for a short time on the ropes.

12.—Carter was not to be stalled off; he hit short with his left. Ward stopped a well-intentioned delivery, but in a second attempt he was not so successful, as he caught Carter’s left on the nose, and a slight effusion of blood followed. Jem now rushed in, and catching Carter round the neck, jobbed and hit up repeatedly. Carter’s arm got entangled in the ropes, and he tried to grapple Jem; but Jem was too leary, and continued to pepper him in the face till he fell.

13.—There was now a general cry for Carter to be taken away; but he would not have it, and again came up strong on his legs. He bored in wildly, and Ward jobbed him left and right in every direction. The deliveries were dreadful, and at length poor Jack was hit down.

14.—Carter came up in a melancholy plight. (Cries of “Take him away.”) Ward went in to finish, hitting left and right, and cutting away without leaving Carter the shadow of a shade of a chance. Carter down.

15.—(Renewed cries of “Take him away.”) Carter came up, and was immediately dropped.

16.—Jem delivered right and left, and hit Carter down weak and groggy.

17.—Spring and Peter Crawley, who were time-keepers, now entered the ring, and entreated Carter to give in, but he would not, and having received additional punishment, was dropped by a flush hit in the face. It was now clear that to prolong the fight would be inexcusable, and the referee entreated Carter to desist, as there was no chance in his favour. “Oh!” said the gallant fellow, “I can foight longer yet; there’s nought the matter with me.” The primâ facie evidence of the contrary was so obvious, however, that his seconds being convinced it would be inhuman to suffer him to be further exposed to the severity of Ward’s hitting, gave in for him, to the general satisfaction of the spectators, who, although they could not but admire Carter’s game, felt that the seconds performed their duty in the humane course they had adopted. The fight lasted thirty-two minutes, and Ward, on shaking hands with his vanquished opponent, generously forewent a claim to a purse of £5 3s. 6d., which had been collected previous to the fight. Such was the favourable impression which Carter’s conduct had made in the ring, too, that a further subscription was made, which increased the original sum to £16.

Remarks.—Few remarks are necessary where the moves were all one way. Ward had the lead throughout, and may be said to have won without a scratch; in fact, we do not think he ever had an easier, but we must add, a gamer customer. Youth and science completely served age, and poor Jack showed that in matching himself with such a man as Ward he had suffered his imagination to get the better of his judgment. His punishment was entirely about the head, and he walked from the ring with great firmness, being still quite steady on his legs, a proof that he had paid every attention to his training.

Some few months after his defeat of Carter, Simon Byrne, then “Irish Champion,” challenged Ward to fight upon a stage. To this Ward’s friends could not consent, contending that a champion was not bound to grant any unusual terms to his challengers, and that the modern and fairest practice was to fight on turf. After some correspondence, Ward gave way, and a match was made, to come off on the 8th of September, but went off by a default of Simon’s backers, who forfeited £50 to Ward. A second match was made at Tom Spring’s, on the 1st of October, to fight on a stage for £150 a-side, on the first Tuesday in February, 1829. This also went off, and a third was made for £100, to be decided on March 10, 1829, Byrne consenting to Ward’s terms. This event proved another shadow on Jem’s career, which, were we not honest chroniclers, we would have omitted, as other biographers have done. By this suppressio veri, however, men’s lives cease to “point a moral,” however they may “adorn a tale.”

The 10th of March, 1829, arrived in due course, being nearly one year from the first challenge. We will not trust our own pen on this occasion, but rather give the account fresh and fiery as it came forth at that period.[^[38]] It is headed thus:—

“HOAX UPON THE FANCY.—JEM WARD AND SIMON BYRNE.—DISGRACEFUL SCENE AT LEICESTER.

“Our readers are all aware that the fight between Jem Ward (the champion of England) and Simon Byrne (the champion of Ireland, although acting under Scotch auspices, for he was generously backed by certain liberals at Greenock) was fixed to take place on Tuesday last, at the Cricket Ground, Leicester. It would be tedious to recall to the recollection of our readers all the ‘fine spun’ correspondence which preceded this match, or to reiterate the terms of abuse in which each man addressed his opponent. It ought not to be forgotten that Ward, or his friends for him, assumed the title of ‘Champion of England,’ and that the would-be Champion of England—the most accomplished boxer of the age, and the darling of the East—was publicly charged by Irish Byrne with being a coward! To the honour of the British ring this could not be endured, and, at last, out came Ward’s friends to back him for £150. We pass by the disinclination of the Wardites to go towards Glasgow, and the spirit with which Byrne conceded, and agreed to fight within a hundred miles of London; but we cannot forget the avidity with which Ward’s friends grasped a forfeit of £50, because Byrne’s deposit came a day too late, nor avoid contrasting the conduct of the northern fancy with that of those of the south, by reminding our readers that the distinct request of Byrne’s friends was, that no such advantage should be taken of Ward. Suffice it to say that, after the forfeit of £50, the match was renewed for £100 a-side, and that Jem went into training, determined, as he said, and his real friends anticipated, on taking ample vengeance on the bouncing Patlander, who had dared to brand him with the epithet of coward. Indeed, so strong was the provocation that, many of Ward’s admirers looked on nothing more certain than that, in the very first round, Byrne would have been burst like a mealy potato.

“The morning of Monday was ushered in by much bustle at Leicester. The Fair Play Club, Tom Oliver, the commissary of the ring and his suite, the élite of the fancy, and the most distinguished amateurs thronged the streets. Other matches were made, and all appeared in high spirits; ‘but,’ says Mr. Vincent Dowling, ‘during all these scenes, we were surprised to observe the apathy which prevailed in the betting circles: scarcely a bet was offered, and nothing less than five to two on Ward would be taken, while few seemed disposed to risk such odds. There was, in truth, a mysterious backwardness on all hands, which we could not comprehend.’

“The morning of Tuesday at last broke, and a finer day was never witnessed at this season of the year. Every hour brought fresh accessions to the visitors in the town, and horsemen and carriages came rattling in from every point of the compass. Among the former were most of the distinguished members of the hunts in the neighbourhood of Melton Mowbray, whose scarlet costume and high-mettled cattle as they dashed through the streets gave a sporting feature to the assemblage peculiarly in character. The bustle and crowd in Leicester increased to a ferment: hundreds were assembled in front of the sporting houses. All calculated on a glorious day’s sport, and in turn ventured an opinion on the merits of the combatants; but still scarcely a betting man would open his mouth, either to offer or take the odds on the event.

“The Fair Play Club’s ropes and stakes were pitched by Tom Oliver, and a capital ring formed in the cricket ground. Anxiety now prevailed for the arrival of the men; that on the part of Ward was soon dissipated by his entering from a gate at the lower end of the ground in a carriage drawn by four horses. He alighted amidst the congratulations of his friends, and was conducted to the house of a private gentleman, which opened by a back way to the cricket ground. Simon Byrne arrived at an early hour in a fly with Tom Reynolds, and was soon attended by Tom Spring, who had agreed to act as his second.

“An interference on the part of the magistrates disturbed at this time the arrangements of the ring, and Tom Oliver took up the stakes and toddled to Humberston, within ten miles of Leicester. At the same time that Oliver received his directions, the post-boys of Ward’s carriage were also desired to draw up to the door, for the purpose of taking him to the ground. So far not a hint had escaped that any impediment existed to the fair decision of the fight according to the articles.

“During all these arrangements a number of gentlemen, and several persons connected with the betting circles, were congregated as a sort of council in a garden behind the house in which Ward was. In this garden was a privy, and to this privy Ward was seen to proceed, attended by Peter Crawley, who seemed to keep a steady eye on his motions. We spoke to him as he came out: he said he was very well, and again returned to the house. Shortly after this Crawley came forth by himself, and a consultation of a private nature took place between him, the gentleman who brought Ward down, and one or two other persons, which ended in Spring, the stakeholder, and the reporters of the London papers, being called into a private room. Peter Crawley now said he could no longer withhold the fact that Ward was unfit to fight, and had determined not to enter the ring that day. Had a thunder-bolt burst among the auditors it could not have produced more astonishment or dismay than this declaration. Crawley went on to say that Ward had told him he had passed a pint of blood on his last visit to the garden. To this all were disinclined to give credit, and Crawley, who saw he was on tender ground, did not persevere in this assertion, but remarked he was sure something was wrong, and that, in fact, Ward could not win the fight on the one hand, and would not lose it on the other, from a sense of duty to those gentlemen who had behaved so kindly to him. He then talked of some message which Ward had received on the previous day, the nature of which he did not know, and in fact spoke so undecidedly that no clear understanding could be formed on the subject. Ward was then called in and interrogated, when he repeated Crawley’s story of the blood, and said he was not fit to fight for twopence. He denied having received or having been promised any money to lose the fight, but said he knew some of his friends would lose thousands by the result, and he thought it was better not to put either his backers on the one hand, or those who had taken the odds on the other, in jeopardy. It was in vain to endeavour to elicit more: all he added was, that ‘he could not win, and would not lose.’ As the only alternative, it was then determined by his backers that he should forfeit the money down.

“Thus ended this extraordinary bubble. Ward was left to the enjoyment of his brandy and water; and those who had an interest in the remaining sports of the day set out for the ring, around which twelve or fourteen thousand persons of all degrees had already assembled, including at least two thousand horsemen, all of whom, being ignorant of Ward’s conduct, were anxiously awaiting his arrival. Upon this affair observation would be superfluous, as all must agree that it admits of no apology, although Ward, having got himself into the hobble, perhaps did that which, under the circumstances, was best. It was a question with him, too, whether he would have been permitted to lose the fight, for there was a party present who were backing him, and who, their suspicions being aroused, would not have failed to manifest their feelings by acts of violence.”

Thus far the leading sporting paper of the time. Heavy was the visitation on Ward for his misconduct from all quarters. His backers left him, his friends forsook him, the Fair Play Club expunged his name from their list, and the supporters of the ring, to a man, turned their backs upon him. His name was never heard until the August of the same year, when a gentleman proposed to back an anonymous person against Byrne for £500 a-side. The challenge was accepted by Byrne’s friends, but they barred Ward; and as the party alluded to turned out to be Ward, the challenge went off amidst groans and hootings. Byrne, however, got “chaffy,” and offered to have a turn-up with Ward wherever he met him, for love, not for money. Ward, in reply, insisted on fighting for a sum, and Byrne retorted by an historical sketch of Ward’s conduct and character, not in the brightest colours, concluding with a threat to “treat him as a street ruffian” whenever he met him.

This nettled Jem so excessively that he answered in a letter from Southampton, and offered to fight guineas to pounds, and as Byrne objected to meet him in the ring, he said, in conclusion, “I will fight him in a saw-pit or on the outside of a coach.” More letters of the same kind followed in their turn, Byrne still taunting Ward, but declining to meet him in the ring. Ward now found a strong advocate in a party who wrote under the signature of an “Old Patron of the Ring,” and public opinion took a slight turn in his favour.

On St. Patrick’s day, 1830, Simon Byrne had a benefit at the Tennis Court, and took the opportunity, being in high spirits and excellent humour, to propose a fight with Ward. The challenge was eagerly accepted, and the men met the next evening at the Castle to “post the coal” and settle the preliminaries. Ward and Byrne shook hands and took a drop together to make things right, after which it was agreed that the match should be made for £200 a-side. A previous battle between Byrne and M’Kay coming in the way, it was agreed that Jem and Simon should have their grand turn-up four months afterwards. The second deposit was made good on the Friday following, when Ward expressed great anxiety to prove, by his conduct in this contest, his wish to secure the respect and confidence of the sporting world.

The fatal fight between M’Kay and Simon Byrne came off on Wednesday, the 2nd of June, and terminated in the defeat and death of poor Sandy M’Kay, and the consequent arrest of Byrne. The following Wednesday had been appointed for making the third deposit on the match between Ward and Byrne. The friends of both parties attended with the money, but Simon’s backers suggested that the stakes should be drawn, as it was not decent to carry on arrangements for another fight while one pugilist was lying dead, and the victor, a party to the present match, in prison on a charge of manslaughter. Ward’s friend, however, claimed forfeit if the cash was not put down, and Simon’s party thereupon paid up the deposit, the match still standing for October the 5th. Ward, however, in the next week, despite his greedy adviser, agreed to withdraw the stakes, receiving £10 for his trouble, and the match was altogether off, thereby, as was said at the time, obtaining by his conduct the approbation of every honest man. Simon Byrne stood his trial, was acquitted, and duly feasted and dinnered by the sporting world. Ward renewed the challenge immediately for £100, but £200 was required by Byrne, and much ink-shedding, but no battle, ensued. Pugilistic protocols again passed between the parties, but still, as Byrne wanted £200, and Ward could not get it, the fight was as far off as ever, and thus ended the year 1830, Ward having now rested three years without a round.

At last, however, but not without another preliminary misunderstanding, the match which “did come off” was made at the Castle, Holborn, on Tuesday, March 17, 1831 (St. Patrick’s Day). The tin was posted, the articles formulated and signed, and the whereabouts fixed. Ward was to fight Byrne in a twenty-four feet ring, half-minute time, for £200 a-side, on Tuesday, the 12th of July, within a hundred miles of London, on the road to Liverpool. There was a clause, that if any money should be offered for the honour of the combat it should be equally divided between the men. Such an offer was made from Warwick to the amount of £60, and accepted; and, in consequence, the men received orders to shape their course in that direction—Ward from Liverpool, where he had taken his exercise, and Byrne from Norwood, where, under the surveillance of Ned Neale, he had taken some degree of training. That he had not done sufficient work, the following remarks, taken from Bell’s Life in London, will sufficiently show:—

“Both men were far beyond their weight when the match was made, topping, perhaps, not less than fifteen stone each, and to the reduction of this Ward immediately applied himself, by constant exercise; while Byrne remained in Ireland till within six weeks of the day of action, without taking any steps to qualify himself for the important task he had in view, and at that time arrived in London with all his work before him. That this was imprudent no judge will deny, and the consequence was, that a week before fighting he was full a stone heavier than he ought to have been; and even on the Thursday previous to entering the ring he took a sweat, which reduced the strength he then possessed and gave a shock to his system which common prudence should have induced him to avoid. On Sunday also he got drenched to the skin in a shower of rain, and caught a cold, from the effects of which he laboured on entering the ring. Ward, on the contrary, neglected nothing which either sense or judgment could dictate, and could not have been in better trim. We state these things as matters of fact, forming some apology in the minds of Byrne’s friends for his defeat; but we have no hesitation in saying, had he been as well as skill and strict training could make him, he would have had no chance against the matchless tactics of his antagonist, who fully realized the high opinion that had been formed of him.”

It being known that Warwick was the fixture, an extraordinary number of patrons of milling betook themselves to that celebrated fistic locality several days before that appointed for the contest. On the Saturday, however, a meeting of “beaks” took place, at which it was resolved to stay proceedings, either in the town or county, and a polite justice called upon Tom Spring, who was in attendance on Byrne, to inform him of the determination of those in authority. It being clear that their worships were in earnest, a council of war was held, when it was determined that as the inhabitants of Warwick had given the men £60, the affair should be settled as near as possible to the town, without infringing upon the bailiwick of those who had interfered. Accordingly the neighbourhood of Stratford-on-Avon, a very few miles distant, was selected, and in a field at Willeycutt an admirable ring was formed by Tom Oliver and his then assistant, the renowned Frosty-faced Fogo. There was a good gate to the field, at which a considerable sum was collected. As it was not known in London and elsewhere that Warwick had been tabooed, that town, despite the officiousness of the “blues,” reaped considerable benefit from the mill, since almost all the cognoscenti betook themselves thither on the Saturday and Monday, and sojourned there until the morning of fighting. This was exceedingly fortunate for the inhabitants, who were thus in some degree enabled to repay themselves the sum they had disbursed to induce the men to come into their district. The interest was not quite so strong as it had been on the occasion of the fights between Cannon and Hudson, and Ward and Cannon, but still the muster was very great, and on the morning there was such a demand for vehicles as far exceeded the supply; in fact so great was it that poor Simon Byrne was compelled to proceed to the ground in a mourning coach, which was looked upon by the superstitious as a most decided ill omen. The morning was anything but favourable for milling: the rain descended in torrents from an early hour until twelve o’clock, soaking many of the “toddlers” to the skin. Happily, however, at this period the clouds disappeared, and left the sky free from speck, a change which had an immediate effect in raising the spirits of the company.

At five minutes past one o’clock, Ward, attended by Harry Holt and Peter Crawley, flung his castor into the ring amidst the deafening cheers of his friends. The brave Irishman was not long after him, and on entering the arena, attended by Spring and Tom Reynolds, he also received a warm welcome. The betting at this time was £300 to £200 on Ward. On the latter being completely unshelled, he looked in admirable condition. His countenance was clear and healthful, and his eye bright and playful; his deep chest and broad shoulders gave him the appearance of prodigious strength, while the general symmetry of his person presented a fine study for the anatomist. He had evidently paid great attention to his training, for, despite the immense reduction he had undergone—from fifteen stone to twelve stone eight pounds—his vigour and muscle were unimpaired.

On turning to Byrne there was a wide contrast. He was heavier than Ward by a stone; but this bulk was more to his prejudice than in his favour, for it threw a shade of sluggishness over his form that forbad the impression of active vigour: the fat hung in loose collops over his drawers, and his full habit of body showed that he was not the thing; still he assumed an air of confidence, and prepared for action with a smiling mug.

The men and their seconds having crossed mawleys, and umpires and a referee having been selected, the heroes were left at the scratch to commence—

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Both men stood on their guard, eyeing each other with steadiness, and each waiting for the other to commence. Byrne made a slight dodge with his left, but Ward was prepared. Byrne held his right low, and his left ready for a counter-hit. Ward made a feint with his left; Byrne drew back alarmed. Ward now covered his man in good style, and gradually drove him back to the corner of the ring. Byrne was ready for the assault, when Ward, quickly playing with his right and left, rushed in to hit. Byrne stopped the blows and closed, when both tried the fibbing system. Byrne hit up slightly, and Ward caught him on the mouth. In the close and try for the fall both went down, and on rising Byrne showed first blood from a slight scratch under the nether lip. Shouts for Ward, who showed a slight flush on the chin and right ear.

2.—Ward came up all life and smiling. Byrne steady on his guard, his right still low, and his left ready for countering. Jem made play to try his man. Byrne again gradually retreated to the corner, when Jem made himself up for mischief, rattled in, and planted his left on Byrne’s mouth. A short rally followed, in which Ward had the advantage; and in the close Byrne went down to avoid in-fighting.

3.—No great harm done on either side. The friends of Ward on the chaffing system, and exclamations of “We want no Irishman for champion.” Byrne’s friends called on him to be leary; he smiled, and said, “don’t bother me.” Ward stretched out his left and nearly reached Byrne’s face, but Byrne still kept his right down. “He’ll stand it,” cried Dick Curtis, when counters were exchanged from the left. Ward stopped Simon’s blow, but popped in his own. A short rally, in which Ward stopped beautifully, and closed. Byrne would not have it, and got down.

4.—Ward made a feint with his left. Byrne steady on his guard, but made no attempt to commence fighting. Ward again made play, left and right, and darting in, planted his left on Byrne’s mug. In the counter-hitting which followed, Byrne was too short, and his right no use. He caught it again on his muzzle, and fell on his knees. Ward hit up with his right as he was going down, and Byrne showed more claret from his mouth.

5.—Cheers for Ward, who evidently out-fought his man; and Byrne gave symptoms of timidity, his legs trembling under him. Ward again made a feint with his left, and Byrne drew back. Ward smiled. Byrne tried his left, but was stopped with great precision. He then hit round with his right, but Ward caught it on his shoulder, and got away laughing. Counter-hits with the left, Ward getting home first, and drawing more blood from Simon’s mouth. Byrne’s left was short of its mark. Ward again planted his left and rushed to in-fighting. Byrne was confused, and went down amidst cries of “Stand up and fight like a man.”

6.—Jem exhibited his generalship in fine style, and Byrne could make nothing of him. Again did Ward pop in his left on Byrne’s nose, and got away. A sharp rally, in which both stopped well. In getting away, Ward fell on his knees, but was up in a moment and at it again; popped in his left twice in succession on the old spot. Byrne weak on his legs; Ward all alive. In the close, Byrne down, amidst renewed cries of “Cur!” Byrne saw he had no chance in the close, and was coming the cautious.

7.—It was clear Byrne could not hit his man, who was always so well covered as to render assault dangerous. Byrne looked bothered, and was evidently alarmed for the result. The ruby was flowing from his nose and mouth. He stopped Ward’s left cleverly, and tried his right on Ward’s canister, but Ward caught it on his shoulder, which he threw up so as to cover his lug. Jem jobbed twice in succession with his left. Byrne’s left, in attempting to counter, fell short. Jem stopped right and left. Byrne open-mouthed. Jem again busy with his left. A rally, in which slight hits were exchanged right and left, and Jem fell on his inexpressibles. The first knock-down blow was here claimed for Byrne, but disputed. The referee, we understand, pronounced it a knock-down.

8.—At the commencement of this round a wag let go a crow from a bag, which flew across the ring. Some cried “a pigeon,” others “a crow,” and a Hibernian praty-dealer exclaimed, “Oh, by Jabers, you’re not going to crow over us neither.” Loud laughter from all parts of the ring. Ward stopped a left-handed compliment, and smiled; he then popped in a left-handed snorter; but Byrne, in return, caught him a heavy body blow with his right. Ward popped in his left twice in smashing style, and in a third visitation of the same sort hit Byrne down. This was proclaimed a decided knock-down blow.

9.—Byrne weak, and bleeding profusely. Ward jobbed him with his left several times in succession with great severity. Byrne, still game, tried to plant his left and right, but was beautifully stopped. A rally, in which Ward, busy as a bee, planted right and left, hit up with his left, and, as Byrne was going down, caught him across the throat with his right, and dropped him on his seat of honour.

10.—The fight had now lasted twenty-eight minutes, and Jem had not a mark visible, save on the chin, and a trifling effusion of blood from the gums. Byrne tried his right, but Jem up shoulder and stopped him. Jem now made play, and in went his left at the mouth and nose and no mistake. Byrne tried to return, but was stopped, and in the close Byrne went down weak.

11.—Jem walked strong from his second’s knee. Byrne tried his right at the mark, but Jem caught it on his elbow, and Byrne having dropped his head, he caught him cleverly an upper-cut as he recovered himself. Byrne was broken-hearted from the scientific way in which he was stopped, but again tried a rally, in which he received pepper left and right, and in the close went down weak. (Cries of “Byrne, you’re a game fellow, but you haven’t a chance.”) This was obvious, but still Byrne’s friends looked forward to Ward becoming weak.

12.—The punishment had been heretofore all on Byrne’s mouth and nose, and they continued to bleed freely. Ward caught a visitation on his mouth, amidst cries of “Well done, Byrne.” A rally, in which Byrne missed his hits, but received on the nose, and went down by the ropes.

13.—Ward ready, and determined not to throw a chance away. Byrne tried a body blow, but was stopped, receiving in return a smasher on the nose—more claret. Jem’s shoulder again shielded his lug from a visitation. Counter-hits: Ward’s told first, and Byrne’s was stopped. Byrne rushed in; Ward hit up heavily, but missed, and Byrne went down.

14.—Thirty-three minutes had now elapsed, and Jem showed slight symptoms of fatigue. (“Take your time,” cried his seconds, “the day is long, and you must win without a scratch.”) Byrne appeared to have got his second wind, and went in with spirit, but was stopped right and left. Ward was busy with his left, and again stopped a right-hander with his shoulder. A short rally, in which Byrne was unable to plant a blow, but was hit down with a flush hit from the left. (Twenty to one on Ward, which Neale offered to take, but no go.)

15.—Ward made a feint with his left, and the next instant popped it in in good earnest. Counter-hitting. Byrne could not get home, and had it smartly on his mouth. Several left-handed jobs, and a dreadful upper-cut from Jem, when Byrne went down groggy.

16.—Byrne tried, the left at the body, but missed, and went down without a blow.

17.—Jem jobbed twice with his left, and got away. Byrne’s hits were well meant, but out of distance. Byrne received an upper-cut from the left, and went down.

18.—Ward, all confidence, had recovered his temporary weakness. Byrne tried his left, but was stopped. Jem, after his feint, popped in his left three times, and Byrne was dropped.

19.—Counter-hitting with the left. Ward’s blows told, but Byrne’s were short. Jem stopped right and left, and got away. Byrne was completely puzzled, and did not know what to be at. Jem tipped him a left-hander. Byrne once more tried the right, but Jem’s shoulder was in the way, and he laughed at the impotent attempt. A rally, which ended in Byrne being hit down by Ward’s right.

20.—One hour had now elapsed. Ward was as fresh as a kitten, completely belying the rumour that he could not stand forty-five minutes. Poor Byrne received several severe jobbers, and went down.

21.—Things were now apparently fast drawing to a close. Ward did as he liked, hitting left and right. Byrne down.

22.—It was now admitted on all sides that Byrne showed game. He would not be taken away; and after receiving additional jobbers, was hit down, catching the upper-cut as he fell. (“Take him away,” was the general cry.)

23.—Byrne made a bold effort to get a turn in his favour, and rushed to a rally, but his opponent was too good a general, stopping him at all points, and returning with great severity; in the end hitting him down with a sweeping blow from the left.

24.—Jem tapped his man with his left. Byrne nodded, showing that he was still in hopes. Byrne made play with unexpected vigour, but Jem out-generalled him, popped in his left-hand teazer, and dropped him.

25.—A guinea to sixpence on Ward. Byrne made a desperate effort, and left-handed counters were exchanged, Byrne catching Ward on the throat. (Cheers for Byrne, and the Wardites astonished.) Byrne fought away, and gave Ward his work to stop him. He at last fell from a left-handed nobber.

26.—Byrne rather exhausted by his exertions in the last round, but still determined to do his best. Hits were exchanged—slight on the part of Byrne, but heavy from Ward; and in going down, poor Byrne received a heavy upper-cut.

27.—Ward’s friends again up in the stirrups, twenty to one going a begging. Ward ready at all points and full of confidence. Byrne a heavy receiver, and hit down with a flush tap in the mouth.

28.—Ward, fresh and jolly, hit with his left twice. Byrne bored in, and tumbled Ward down at the ropes, falling upon him.

29.—One hour and ten minutes had now elapsed, and Ward, instead of getting weaker, gained strength, showing the excellence of his condition. Byrne got away from a left-handed finisher. In a new attempt he was caught. He popped in his left at Ward’s bread-basket, but as he went down had a left-handed upper-cut.

30.—Counter-hits with the left on the mouth; both told, and were allowed to be the best exchanges yet made, all before being on the side of Ward. Byrne went down, but Ward caught him as he fell with a left-handed muzzler.

31.—A slaughtering round for poor Byrne, who had it repeatedly on the mouth with the left, and in going down received the upper-cut from Ward, who was never astray.

32.—Byrne greatly distressed. Ward went in to finish; planted his left three times. Byrne down.

33 and last.—Byrne now came up to make his last effort, but he was too far gone to make a change, and this more from exhaustion than hard hitting, for the blows were not delivered in dangerous places; still he was constantly receiving, and now again he had pepper in abundance, without being able to make any adequate return. In going down, Ward made a desperate back-handed offer with his right, but missed. It was clear to Spring and Reynolds that their man had no chance, and they prudently acknowledged Ward to be the better man. Jem immediately gave an active bound, shook hands with his fallen foe and his friends, and quitted the ring amidst loud cheers. The fight lasted one hour and seventeen minutes.

Remarks.—Thus ended Ward’s last battle for the championship of England, to which it may now be said Byrne had not the slightest pretensions. He had the vanity to hold his antagonist too cheap, and, unfortunately, deceived his friends, who followed his example. Ward, throughout, proved himself a consummate general, and never gave his opponent a chance, nor did he himself throw a chance away. He fought skilfully and scientifically, and has fulfilled that high character of his talents which was never doubted. Byrne proved himself an easy customer: he was clearly not in tip-top-condition; but it was never in his nature to beat a man like Jem Ward. He must now look for a second-rate customer, and profit by experience. That he is a game man at receiving, no one will doubt; but he was clearly afraid of his opponent after the first few rounds. It puzzled his friends to account for his never trying to stop Ward’s left, nor to rush to a ruffianing fight; but the fact was, his spirit was broken, and he had not his wits about him. He says, after the third round his arms felt as heavy as lead, and that he never was so transmogrified before. It is a singular fact that neither of the men had a black eye; neither had an external cut worth mentioning; nor was there a single good fall or cross-buttock throughout the fight. Byrne was beaten solely by exhaustion and repeated slaps on the nose and mouth, which would not have prevented his coming again had such a step been wise.

The men reached London on Wednesday night, Ward without a scratch, and Byrne only exhibiting a swollen mouth and nose, rather a surprising state of his phiz considering the repetition of Ward’s left-handed jobs.

On the Thursday following the fight Jem Ward was presented with a second champion’s belt by Tom Spring, at the Tennis Court, Windmill Street, on the occasion of Reuben Martin’s benefit; and on the following evening, when the battle-money was given up, he (Ward) offered to make a match to fight any man in the world for any sum from £100 to £500 a-side. This challenge was not accepted. Young Dutch Sam, however, offered to fight Ward if the latter would confine himself to twelve stone, and stake odds; but of course, as Ward could not so far reduce himself, the offer was not accepted. On the 25th of June, 1832, Jem wrote a letter to the editor of Bell’s Life in London, in which he stated that he had taken the Belt public-house at Liverpool, that it was his intention to retire from the ring, and to hand over the champion’s belt to the first man who proved himself worthy of it. Several challenges were subsequently issued to Ward, but none of them ever led to any meeting, and Jem adhered to his intention of not again entering the prize ring. He carried on business as a tavern keeper, first at the Star and then at the York Hotel, Williamson Square, Liverpool. In 1853, Ward removed to London, and became host of the Rose, in Jermyn Street. This speculation proving unsuccessful, his friends placed him in business at the Three Tuns, in Oxford Street, renamed the Champion’s Stores. Thence Jem Ward removed to his native locality, the east end of London, becoming landlord of the George, in Ratcliff Highway. The generation, however, who knew Jem as “the Black Diamond,” had passed away, and Ward once again migrated westward, this time opening the theatrical house, opposite Old Drury, known by various signs, and then as the Sir John Falstaff, in Brydges Street, a name now merged in Catherine Street, of which it is a continuation. We last saw Jem at the ring-side, looking, as a daily paper observed, “like a grey-moustached half-pay major,” at the wretched burlesque of a championship-fight, performed by Jem Mace and Joe Goss, at Farningham, Kent, on the 17th of May, 1866.

We must not omit to note that Ward possessed an inborn gift of artistic talent. His favourite pursuit was the wielding of the painter’s brush and maulstick. On several occasions Ward’s pictures were received with credit at the Liverpool Exhibition, and were mentioned approvingly by the public journals as displaying a remarkable degree of natural talent; so much so that an art critic wrote, “had Ward devoted himself to the study and practice of painting in his earlier years he would doubtless have attained eminence.” The writer, on his visit many years ago to Williamson Square, inspected in Jem’s studio, paintings (some sea-pieces especially) which bore marks of peculiar talent and no mean skill in manipulation. At this time too (she has retired from professional life), Miss Eleanor Ward, a pupil of Sir Julius Benedict, was fast rising in public esteem to the first ranks of pianoforte performers in the best of our concert-rooms. Ward’s hobbies, painting and music, adopted late in life, we fear injured his worldly calling as a sporting boniface, and, after several failures, he retired, by the assistance and votes of his friends, into that admirable institution, the Licensed Victuallers’ Asylum, in the Old Kent Road; in the parlour of one of the snug separate dwellings of which we conversed with him, still cheery and animated, in the month of June of this present year, 1880, in his 80th year; Jem dating his birth, as we have already stated, from “Boxing Day” in the last twelvemonth of the last century.

CHAPTER II.
PETER CRAWLEY, ORIGINALLY KNOWN AS “YOUNG RUMP STEAK”—1818–1827.

The “ponderous Peter,” who in the year ’65, passed quietly, and with the fame of a fair, courageous, and honest man, from the scene of “the battle of life,” made his first public bow to the fancy in a trial set-to with a Mr. Thomas Watson, a skilful amateur and patron of the ring, whose name continually occurs in “match-makings” of that period. This took place at George Head’s sparring saloon, in East Harding Street, Gough Square, on Wednesday, February 11, 1818, Peter being then a florid youth of eighteen, six feet in height, eleven stone ten pounds in weight, and of a courage well tested in several boyish and youthful encounters. Among a collection of disjointed newspaper scraps in the second volume of “Boxiana,” p. 493, is a notice of this set-to, which is there called “a glove combat of two hours and a half.” Pierce Egan adds: “The above set-to was pronounced by the judges upon this occasion one of the best things of the sort ever witnessed.” We learn from another source, “This severe trial proved so satisfactory to his friends, from the science, coolness, and straight hitting displayed by Peter, that he was pronounced to be capable of having a shy in the P.R., and in the enthusiasm of the moment, the sire of Crawley exclaimed, ‘My boy bids fair to be champion of England!’” Before, however, we trace his rise in the ring, we will glance backward to his “birth and parentage.”

Mine host of the Duke’s Head and French Horn first saw the daylight at the house of his father, a butcher, at Newington Green, on the 5th of December, 1799, and was in due time initiated in the art and mystery of “cutting up.” Peter, who was an open-hearted lad, somewhat given to milling when attempted to be imposed upon by “the lads of the cleaver,” was placed by his father with a butcher in Clare Market, he having an idea that a boy learnt his business best away from home. Here the “ruling passion” displayed itself. Having been called upon to act as second in “the Long Fields” to a “boy” belonging to the market, words took place between the seconds as to the fairness of the fight, and one Hurst, a big blacksmith, of Holles Street, at once “pitched into” Peter before he could get his hands up. “A ring” was called, and in no more than three rounds “Young Rump Steak” had so satisfied the blacksmith’s milling appetite that he had no more “stomach for the fray.”

George Colman, a man of superior age and some milling repute, had a short drawn battle with Peter; and the same result followed a mill with a dog-dealer of the name of Bennett. Tom Price, a well-known “kill-bull,” of the same region (Clare Market), had talked much about “serving cut” “the boy Peter,” if he got a chance. He sought an opportunity, and promised him a sound thrashing. “Come along,” said Peter, “I’m quite ready to do it at the price; in fact, I’ll do it for nothing.” This contemptuous mode of treating the boxing pretensions of Price so angered him that his coat was off in an instant; and a convenient spot having been found—for in those days “peelers” were not, and day-constables only in the form of street-keepers in the great thoroughfares—a stable-yard saw the two heroes of the market thoroughly peeled, with seconds and the other appliances selon le règle. Price showed more impetuosity than skill, but was so steadily met that, at the end of twenty minutes, he declared he would not fight any longer, unless Peter would allow him time to get his wind. To this curious request Crawley agreed, and Price immediately took a walk, as his second termed it, to get a little air; but he never returned to finish the battle, leaving Peter master of the ground.

Crawley changed his place of residence, and Bloomsbury Market became the scene of his exploits. The Bloomsbury boys had quarrelled with the lads of the Coal-yard in Drury Lane, and a strong muster on both sides of the question met in battle array to decide the dispute. The pals of Crawley became panic-struck, bolted, and left Peter in the lurch. Harry Buckstone, the leader of the Coal-yard party, pitched into Peter, and had it not been for a gentleman who was passing at the time in all probability Crawley must have been soundly drubbed by the whole of the squad. The gentleman offered his services as a second to Peter, to see fair play. Crawley set-to hard and fast with Buckstone, punishing him in all directions; the latter took to his heels and bolted, followed by his mob, the spectators laughing and Peter receiving their applause.

The next customer that came in the way of Peter was Tim M’Carthy, in the Long Fields. The late Jack Randall witnessed this battle. The match was regularly made for 5s. a-side, and contested with as much spirit as if it had been for £500. In the course of twenty minutes poor Pat was done over.

PETER CRAWLEY, AT THE AGE OF 27.
From a Portrait by Wyvill.

During a visit to Bermondsey, Peter was abused by a saucy waterman of the name of Tom Tyler, who had flattered himself that, in consequence of a skirmish with Deaf Davis, he could fight a “tiny bit.” He was most egregiously disappointed in standing before Crawley. One punch from Peter, perhaps not altogether unlike the kick of a horse, so alarmed and satisfied Tyler that he would not fight any more. This ludicrous circumstance took place opposite the Green Man, in the Kent Road.

Peter had scarcely passed his seventeenth year, when he had an accidental turn-up with a strong carman, weighing twelve stone and a half, and about twenty-five years of age, belonging to Messrs. Shirley, the distillers. Peter was driving his father’s cart to collect skins, when he was met in Warwick Lane by the carman, who would not give way, although on the wrong side of the road. Crawley remonstrated with the carman on the impropriety of his conduct; but the “knight of the thong” threatened to horsewhip Peter for his impertinence. “Stop a bit,” says Crawley, “two can play at that fun.” Shirleys’ carman was well known in Newgate Market as a troublesome customer; but Peter tackled him without the slightest fear or apprehension of the result. The science of Crawley soon told on the upper works of the carman; and, although a strong fellow, in the course of less than half an hour he was so severely punished by Peter as not to be able to keep his pins. He was carried into the distillery of his master, and, notwithstanding every care was taken of him, some little time elapsed before he resumed his daily occupation. So much for the decisive handy work of Peter.

Crawley accidentally went one evening to the King’s Head, in Cow-heel Alley, Whitecross Street, to treat an acquaintance with something to drink, when he was rudely accosted by some Irishmen, and otherwise roughly treated. Peter begged the Grecians not to interfere with his company, when words arose between them. A row commenced, when Peter and his pal Oliver (not Tom), disposed of several of the hod-men in succession, and ultimately cleared the room of the Patlanders; but not until one of them had made use of the fire-shovel belonging to the landlord to crack Peter’s sconce and let out the claret. The Charleys were brought in to take Peter and his friend to the watch-house; but the landlord behaved like a trump, and planted Crawley in his bar until the watch had left, when Peter departed in safety.

Owing to some trifling dispute between Crawley and an athletic brewer’s servant in Whitecross Street, a turn-up was the result; but in the course of four rounds the big drayman was glad to acknowledge he had received too much.

One Paddy Flanagan, an Irishman, full of pluck, and not less than six feet in height, much heavier than Peter, and having also the advantage of ten years in age, had a turn-up with Crawley. Flanagan purchased a loin of pork at the shop of Peter’s father during the bustle of Saturday evening, and appearing well satisfied with his bargain, went away; but in a short time he returned with the pork, after he had cut off on the sly two of the ribs of the loin, and insisted they had deceived him with short weight. Of course this insinuation produced a row and great confusion in the shop, and Peter, at the request of his father, endeavoured to turn out Flanagan. Paddy showed fight, and for a short time was a strong, troublesome customer on the stones. Peter was thrown flat on his back into the running kennel, and was completely wetted through to the skin, and almost choked by the grasp of his antagonist upon his throat. On rising, however, from this rushing hug, Peter changed the scene. He stopped Paddy Flanagan’s rush and nobbed him, one, two, got the lead and kept it; indeed, he tipped it to Paddy Flanagan so completely, that at the end of half an hour he gave in. But Flanagan had recourse to the strong arm of the law. He appeared before the magistrates at Worship Street police office, complaining of the unmerciful treatment he had experienced at the hands of Crawley; indeed, “his face bespoke a heart full sore!” Armstrong, the officer, was despatched to execute the warrant, but the father of Peter made it right at the expense of £2. The senior Crawley, from the striking abilities displayed by Peter over the powerful Flanagan, formed an opinion that “his boy” would stand a good chance in due time with the best pugilists in the prize ring.

About three weeks after the above row, Peter was standing during the evening at the corner of Redcross Street, when three Patlanders of the same squad rudely assailed him, and nearly pushed him off his balance. Remonstrance was in vain, but Crawley said to them, “Do not attack me altogether; only stand in a line, and I will lick you one after the other.” This speech had not the desired effect—they all pitched into Peter at once; but he soon floored two of them, and the third bolted without waiting for a taste of Crawley’s quality.

We have seen, in the opening paragraph of this biography, how Peter began the year 1818 by a promising bit of gloving, and he was not slow to follow up the impression thus made. A Westminster election in those days of fierce Whig and Tory battles was a sight to see, and the newspapers of the time teem with accounts of the “scrimmages” arising out of the fierce political partizanship of the rival factions. Peter had been sworn in extra-constable at Sir Samuel Romilly’s and Sir Francis Burdett’s election, and in the discharge of his duties was threatened by Ben Sutliffe, also a butcher, and an understanding was come to that their personal differences should be settled when the political contest was over. This grew into a regular match, £20 a-side was deposited, the F. P. C. ropes and stakes engaged, and on Friday, August 7, 1818, after Ned Painter[^[39]] had defeated Tom Spring, Crawley and Ben Sutliffe sported their colours. Sutliffe was the favourite for choice; he weighed about twelve stone ten pounds, and stood full six feet in height. Peter did not exceed eleven stone eight pounds, and was not so tall as his adversary by half an inch. There was no time for training, and the combatants fought off-hand. In the short space of nine minutes and a half, the science of Peter was so excellent, his hitting so decisive, and his generalship so complete, that Sutliffe was defeated without a shadow of a chance, being punished dreadfully.

This victory brought “Young Rump Steak” into high favour with the amateurs, which Peter’s civility, respectful demeanour, straightforwardness, and good temper, strengthened and confirmed. He was now, however, matched against a desperate boxer, no less an antagonist than Tom Hickman, the formidable Gas-light Man, whose exploits will be found recorded in pages [118]–137 of this volume. Peter was as yet but nineteen years old, and was declared by the ring-goers to have “more gristle than bone;” and Pierce Egan observes, “Crawley had outgrown his strength,” which was only partially true. It is true, in this battle Peter was not disgraced, although defeated; he fought bravely, and he convinced the tremendous Gas that he (Peter) was a dangerous customer. Crawley afterwards sent a challenge to Hickman, which was declined on the ground of other engagements.

At several benefits at the Fives and Tennis Courts the sparring of Peter with Tom Spring, and all the first-rate boxers on the list, was much admired by the amateurs.

Peter about this time sent the following reply to a challenge inserted in the Weekly Dispatch:—

“Mr. T. Shelton,—

“At the time of my addressing a letter to you in the Dispatch of the 20th ult. I was not aware but my bodily health would have admitted of my doing the thing in ‘Neat’ style. At the request of my friends, I was advised to have the opinion of a medical gentleman, whose certificate is below, from which, I have no doubt, the pugilistic world will see no fault arises on my part in not meeting my challenge.

“I am yours, etc.,

“PETER CRAWLEY.

“Royal Tennis Court, February 1, 1822.”

“I do hereby certify that Mr. P. Crawley is not in a fit state to enter the ring with any one at present (labouring under a serious body calamity), neither do I think he will be able so to do for five or six months.

“THOMAS HUGHES, Surgeon.

“5, Waterloo Road, February 1, 1822.”

Thus forbidden to take part in a ring contest, owing to an inguinal rupture, Peter went on a sparring tour, and in May, 1822, he set-to with Jack Carter at the Cock-pit at Chester, at the time of the races. During the above exhibition, a chap denominated Bully Southerns, of the above place, offered to take the gloves with Carter. Southerns weighed seventeen stone, and in height he measured six feet two inches; notwithstanding, he was light as to flesh. Southerns, full of confidence, threatened to serve out both the fellows from town, and also reduce the consequence of Carter, who at that period styled himself “The Champion of England.” Carter could not get the best of Southerns, and, after two rounds, he sat down, when the bully boasted that he would mill Peter off-hand. The contest was long and severe between them, occupying fifty minutes; and numerous rounds were truly terrific. The strength of Southerns enabled him to carry on the war; but, after the first three rounds, he was so nobbed by the fine science of Peter, floored frequently, and punished in all directions, as to be laughed at by the whole of the company for his vain boasting. Crawley was not only applauded for his high courage in finishing the bully in such first-rate style, but also well rewarded for his trouble by the amateurs who viewed the contest. Peter was nearly five stone under the weight of his powerful adversary—a fine example of the advantages of science over downright ruffianism.

On Peter’s return to London, Dick Acton,[^[40]] well known in the prize ring, sent forth a challenge to our hero, who returned the following answer:—

“TO RICHARD ACTON.

“Sir,—

“As I understand you have several times expressed a particular wish to meet me in the prize ring, I hereby inform you that I am ready to fight for £50 or £100 a-side, which may be most convenient to you and your friends; and in order to give every accommodation you can reasonably require, meet me at Mr. How’s, Duke’s Tavern, Seven Dials, on Wednesday evening, the 26th inst., between the hours of seven and ten o’clock, when my friends will be ready to make a deposit, or before that time if you like it best.

“I remain your humble servant,

“PETER CRAWLEY.

“March 13, 1823.”

The friends of both the pugilists met according to appointment, and a match was made for £25 a-side. This battle was decided at Blindlow Heath, in Sussex, twenty-five miles from Westminster Bridge, on Tuesday, May 5, 1823.

For four years Peter had exhibited only in sparring exhibitions; and, labouring under hernia, it was generally understood that he would not appear again in the prize ring. Acton had at this time won a battle with Kendrick, but had been defeated by Ward. Crawley was the favourite at seven to four and two to one. At one o’clock, Peter, attended by Ben Byrne and Harry Holt, threw up his hat in the ring; and shortly afterwards, Acton, followed by Eales and Scroggins, repeated the token of defiance. Acton was in fine condition, and to all appearance weighed fourteen stone. Crawley looked thin, but was well, and about twelve stone four pounds.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—No time was lost, and Crawley, with his left hand, marked the body of his opponent. Acton missed in return, when an awkward sort of hugging took place. Both down, Crawley undermost.

2.—Young Rump Steak endeavoured to cut up his opponent, and his fine science gave him the lead. He nobbed Acton, and got away; he also endeavoured to repeat, but Acton stopped him with considerable skill. Crawley made himself up, and by a well-measured hit, planted under Acton’s right ogle, the latter went down like a shot. A more tremendous hit was never witnessed in any battle. (In the pride of the moment ten to one was offered, and the general opinion was that Acton would not come again.)

3.—If Acton had not been a truly game man, he would not have again appeared at the scratch. Milling on both sides, till Acton and Crawley found themselves both on the ground. (Seven to four.)

4.—Acton had rather the best of this round, and Crawley went down. (Loud shouting for Acton. “You shall have plenty of wittles to-morrow,” said Scroggins.)

5.—Some excellent science on both sides. Acton napped so much pepper that he turned round from the punishment he received; but, in closing, threw Peter out of the ropes. (“Well done, Acton.”)

6.—Both were distressed. Acton hit Crawley very hard, and the latter was again down. (“Go along, Acton; Crawley is getting weak.” Indeed, it was no two to one at this moment.) Acton stood up to his opponent, and fought like a truly brave man.

7.—A turn took place in favour of Peter, and the skill of Crawley in this round won him the fight. Acton received at every step, but endeavoured to ruffian it with Peter. Acton, for his temerity, napped a blow in the middle of his head, and the claret flowed in torrents; he, nevertheless, bored Young Rump Steak down. (Great applause on both sides.)

8.—Acton appeared at the scratch much better than was expected. He gave Crawley a severe body blow, calculated to do mischief. A short, but sharp rally, when Crawley fell down, and Acton on him.

9.—This was a scientific round on both sides. Acton got away well, and parried some tremendous blows. The latter received a chancery nobber, but contended every inch of ground till he went down.

10.—Acton terribly distressed, and Peter piped a little. They soon closed, and Crawley, to avoid struggling, got down in the best manner he could. (“Mind what you’re after,” from the friends of Acton.)

11.—This round was decidedly against Peter. Acton put in several blows, and, in closing, fell heavily on Crawley. Peter was getting weak.

12.—Acton had the best of it; and Crawley, to avoid punishment, went down in rather a doubtful manner. (“Foul,” “fair,” etc., when Belcher, one of the umpires, told Crawley to recollect it was a stand-up fight. “I assure you,” replied Crawley, “I went down from a slip.”)

13 and last.—This was a most terrific round, and a better one was never witnessed in any battle. Crawley hit Acton all to pieces, and followed his opponent all over the ring till he was floored, and fell on his face. When time was called, Acton was insensible to it. The battle was at an end in sixteen minutes; but before Crawley was taken out of the ring by his seconds an inquiry was made whether he had won the battle, to make all right. The umpires answered “Certainly.”

Remarks.—It was a fine battle. Crawley won it in superior style; Acton proved himself a game man, and fought till nature deserted him.

Peter, in order to fill up his leisure time and increase his stock of blunt, opened a butcher’s shop in Seven Dials. Here he likewise taught the art of self-defence in his rooms up stairs, and was honoured with the patronage of several swells, who became his pupils. During the time of his residence at this place, he was employed at Westminster Hall to assist in keeping order at the coronation of George the Fourth, and also at the time the Hall was shown to the public. After having dined sumptuously at the Exchequer Coffee House, and drank the health of George the Fourth, he retired to his domus rather jolly, and fell fast asleep. Peter’s rib having occasion to go a small distance on some particular business, was most rudely insulted in the street by a fellow of the name of Sullivan. The proposals made to her were of the most insulting description, accompanied by offer of money; he also laid his hands upon her. All entreaties on the part of Mrs. Crawley to desist were in vain, and he followed her home to the door. It was some time before Peter could be awakened from his sleep to come to her assistance. Sullivan, with the most unblushing effrontery, told Peter, on his expostulating with him for his improper conduct towards his wife, “Your wife, indeed; she’s my wife as much as yours.” “Say you so; then take that,” said Peter, and immediately planted such a tremendous blow on one of his ogles as to produce a serious cut over it, and making Sullivan measure his length on the pavement. The fellow, as soon as he recovered the use of his pins, started off, leaving his hat behind him. Crawley, as a token of victory, publicly hung out the hat at his shop door; but Mr. Sullivan never had the courage to claim his topper.

Crawley, while standing at his door in Lumber Court one evening, in company with Peter Brookery, a pugilist of light weight, the latter was rudely attacked by an engineer, a rare big one. Crawley told him it was no match, when the engineer threatened to put his foot on the seat of honour of our hero. This insult so raised the choler of Peter that he pitched into the engineer sans cérémonie, and polished him off in the course of four rounds.

In September, 1826, Ward again put forth a challenge to the world, which was at length taken up by Peter Crawley, who affirmed that it was not from fear of Ward, but from the want of “corianders,” that he had been unable to make the match before. He said he could not now get £200 a-side, but would fight Ward for £100. This did not suit Jem, who said it was beneath the dignity of the Champion to fight for so small a stake. Crawley repeated that he could not get more money, and at length Jem Ward, fearful that his pretensions to the championship would be called in question, consented to meet Peter on his own terms, and on the 17th of October, 1826, articles were drawn up at Tom Belcher’s, Castle Tavern, Holborn, to fight on the 2nd of January, 1827. The men shortly went into close training, and got themselves into admirable condition.

In Bell’s Life of the week previous to the fight between Ward and Crawley we find the following remarks on the subject of the mill between Crawley and Acton:—“It was an excellent fight. Each man did his duty manfully; but Crawley took seven rounds more than Ward had done to polish off the same customer, as well as a little more time. It was thought also, by good judges, that he did not do his work half so well. To this it must be answered, however, that he was labouring under hernia, and was by no means so fresh as Ward, who has not the fault of being fond of lushing. In comparing the fights, it must not be forgotten that it was Ward’s first fight, and Crawley’s last, and also that Crawley punished Acton more severely than Ward had done.”

The mill now under notice took place on the appointed day (the 2nd of January, 1827). According to articles the fight was to come off within a hundred miles of London, and the neighbourhood of Royston was selected as most convenient, there being three counties handy in the event of any interruption. A special messenger was sent down a day or two previous, who made application to a gentleman possessing large landed estates to grant a site for the combat. The trump in question liberally granted the required permission, and a farm called Haydon Grange was selected. Here, by the day appointed, an excellent spot was prepared by Tom Oliver and Cannon in which to pitch the ring. In fistic circles even in those days, however, there was the same jealousy and wilfulness we have to deplore at the present time. The then Commissary, Bill Gibbons, in direct opposition to his instructions, thought proper to choose a place for himself, and instead of proceeding with the ropes and stakes to Haydon Grange, where Oliver and Co. had prepared a place for them, he went off to Royston Heath, and there pitched his ring, thus frustrating the comfortable arrangements that had been made, and throwing out many old patrons of the fancy, who went to the place first mentioned, and were thus prevented from witnessing the greatest treat that had been enjoyed for many years. Among others who were put to inconvenience was Mr. Jackson, the Commander-in-Chief. The throng was by no means so numerous as had been anticipated, many gentlemen absenting themselves on account of the expected death of the Duke of York, which did not take place until the following Friday. The betting in Royston on Monday, and also at Tattersall’s, was two to one on Ward, which odds were taken to some amount, but still much money went “a begging;” and the friends of Ward were so anxious to be “on,” that on Tuesday (the day of battle) they advanced another point.

At ten minutes before one the heroes entered the ring, Ward attended by Josh. Hudson and Reuben Martin, and Crawley being under the auspices of Tom Belcher and Harry Harmer. They approached each other with good humour and shook hands cordially. Some time elapsed in appointing umpires and a referee; but this done, they soon peeled for action, Tom Belcher winning the choice of corners for Peter. As soon as they were in fighting costume, their condition was eagerly scanned. Both were extremely well. Crawley weighed twelve stone twelve pounds, while Ward did not exceed twelve stone seven pounds. The odds were now eleven to five on Ward. All being in readiness, the men were conducted to the scratch, and commenced

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Short sparring, each man looking out for an opening, and both cautious. At last Crawley, anxious to begin, went in and hit out ineffectually with his left. Ward was awake, stopped him with his right, countered with great cleverness with his left in return, and catching him severely on the right eye, dropped him as if he had been shot, amidst the cheers of his friends. The blow produced first blood at the corner of Crawley’s eye, and thus decided at once the bets on the first two events. The Wardites were in extasies. (Odds three to one.)

2.—On coming to the scratch the effects of the blow on Crawley’s ogle were clear, the flesh being a good deal puffed: still he was cheerful and prepared for mischief. The men again sparred for the first hit, when Crawley threw out his right, but was stopped. Ward then went in and hit right and left at Crawley’s canister, but did not make any impression. More caution. Ward again made play, but Crawley was awake, stopped his left with great precision, and smiled confidently. Crawley then commenced fighting; but Ward threw up his right and left, and got away in beautiful style. More sparring and mutual caution. At last Crawley saw a vulnerable point, pushed in, and delivering a thundering hit with his right on Ward’s forehead, just above the eye, dropped him in turn. (Loud cheers, and exclamations of “Peter, it’s all your own.”)

3.—On Ward’s being lifted on his second’s knee he looked wild, and was evidently suffering from Crawley’s tickler. Josh., however, shook him, and brought him to the scratch ripe for action, although a little posed. After some sparring and admirable stops on both sides, evincing the superior science of the men, Ward hit short with his right at the body. Crawley smiled, and collecting himself up for work, threw out his right and caught Ward slightly on his nob. Ward, in endeavouring to get away, fell upon his hands and knees. Crawley was about to strike him jocularly on the part that was uppermost, when Ward jumped up, and both went to their seconds.

4.—More good stops on both sides, when a tremendous rally commenced, in which the deliveries right and left excited the loudest applause. Ward retreated towards the ropes, and Crawley closed with him. In this situation there was some good exchanges, and claret was freely drawn from the conks of each. In the end Ward went staggering down, Crawley upon him. The greatest agitation was here exhibited among the spectators. The outer ring was broken in, and confusion prevailed to the conclusion of the fight, although the pugilistic corps, under the auspices of the Commander-in-Chief, did wonders in endeavouring to preserve order. Many persons got inside the roped ring, and were with difficulty ejected.

5.—Both came up bleeding and a little puffy from their late exertions. After some sparring for time, Crawley hit out with his left, but was stopped, and in turn Ward was stopped by Peter, who had all his senses about him. At last the men came to a rally, and desperate hitting ensued, each countering with great force, and making due impression by their handiwork. Ward, in getting away, repeatedly hit up with his right, but missed his blows. In the end they closed and went down, Crawley uppermost, and both bleeding at the mouth and nose. During this round Josh. repeatedly cheered his man by cries of “Fight, Jem; fight, Jem; fight, my boy!” and Jem bravely, though imprudently, followed his advice, and thereby greatly distressed himself.

6.—A good weaving round, in which Ward caught Crawley round the neck with his right, and as he pulled him across the ring hit him several times with rapidity. Crawley at length closed, and both went down in a scramble, heavily punished and distressed.

7.—The men came up piping, and as if mutually feeling the necessity of recovering their wind, sparred with caution for some seconds. At last Crawley let go his left, but Ward got away. Another short spar, when Ward hit with his left, but was cleverly countered by Crawley’s right. A terrific rally ensued, in which all science seemed to be set aside, and the weaving system went on in a style of manly indifference to the result. Each appeared bent alone on making an impression, and the appearance of their pimples showed that mischief alone was intended. The whole ring was electrified, and a more courageous attack was never witnessed. The Burgundy flowed freely from each. Crawley retreated towards the ropes, Ward still with him, till at length Ward rushed in, and seizing him with the grip of a Hercules, threw him an appalling cross-buttock, which not only shook Peter himself, but the very earth on which he fell. The fall was allowed by Crawley’s seconds to have done him more harm than all his previous punishment; and a good judge who was within the ring rushed out and offered ten to one against him, but found no takers.

8.—Peter came up open-mouthed and greatly distressed. It was thought Ward would have gone immediately to finish, but to the surprise of most he kept out, and only sparred at arm’s length. It was pretty clear, however, that he was himself the worse for wear, and did not consider it politic to throw a chance away. After some time Crawley tried with his left. Ward stopped this intended visitation, and returned with his right. More sparring; when the men having recovered their wind, once more got to work on the weaving system, and the interchanges were sufficient to daunt the stoutest heart; but still both gave and took without shrinking. Their cocoa-nuts echoed again with the quick following blows, till Ward, becoming weak, or desirous of avoiding further compliments, went down on his knees. Crawley went to his second’s knee, and was evidently coming round.

9.—This round commenced with distant sparring. Ward attempted a blow at Peter’s mark, but hit short. Peter laughed, and kept out. A few seconds were occupied in this light play, when another terrific rally took place. Both men again went to work, putting science aside, and rattling away at each other’s nobs with downright good will. Hit followed hit with the rapidity of lightning; neither would give an inch, but stood to each other with as much sang froid as if sparring with the gloves. Nothing could exceed the fearless execution of this rally, and the shouts of the multitude bore testimony to the determined game of the men. Ward, who repeatedly hit up, was met by Crawley’s left, who preserved his self-possession and never lost sight of his object. At length, as a sort of climax to terrific weaving in all parts of the ring, Crawley retreated to the ropes, where a close took place, and both fell, Crawley uppermost. Both were much distressed, and evidently fast approaching the close; but Ward was still the favourite, and two to one was bet upon him by one who professed to be a good judge.

10.—Notwithstanding the severe exertion in the last round, Crawley came up smiling. Sparring was continued for a short time, when another most desperate rally commenced: it was clearly a most powerful effort on both sides to bring the fight to a close. Nothing could exceed the resolution which both men displayed. They followed each other from place to place, hitting with unprecedented game and courage, Ward repeatedly having recourse to his under hits. In this extraordinary way did the conflict continue, till both men, on approaching the ropes, were so exhausted as to be incapable of lifting their hands or striking another blow, and at length both went down, unable longer to stand, although supported for some time against the ropes. A more terrible encounter was never witnessed in the prize ring, and the repeated jobbing of Crawley’s left produced the most fearful effects on Ward’s face.

11 and last.—Such was the state of the combatants on coming up at the commencement of this round, that it was impossible to form an opinion of the probable issue. Both were piping, and in painful distress, but Crawley appeared to stand best on his legs. Very little time was lost in consideration, and Ward, open-mouthed, attempted to go in. Crawley, as if aware that this round must terminate the fight, collected all his strength, struck out lightly with his left, and then drawing back a short step, he rushed in, and catching Ward a severe job with his left on the mouth, dropped him to rise no more. He fell flat on his back, and drawing his hands up towards his stomach, became to all appearance senseless. Josh. lifted him from the ground, and placed him on Martin’s knee, but he was no longer “himself:” he was deaf to the call of his friends and admirers, and, with the battle, lost his claim to the championship. Crawley stood looking at him, satisfied that his labours were at an end. He endeavoured to shake hands with his fallen foe, but poor Ward was insensible to this noble conduct, and Peter walked to his chaise. Ward was shortly after carried out of the ring, and from thence to his inn, in a state of insensibility. All was surprise and confusion. The multitude collected en masse in the centre of the ring, and the congratulations of some, and the complaints of others, were scarcely less astounding than the confusion of tongues in the Tower of Babel. It was too true, however, the champion was stripped of his laurels, and the bold Peter was borne off in triumph, one of his backers declaring that he had won £530 by the issue. How many followed his example we know not; but it is certain many thousands changed hands.

Remarks.—In taking a review of the whole of this fight, it would be impossible not to say that both men exhibited courage and game of the most unquestionable description; in fact, a better battle had not been fought for many years. Independent of patience under severe punishment, great skill and science were displayed. The stopping of both men, under trying circumstances, was admirable. Neither flinched from his duty, and, with the exception of Ward’s slipping down on his knees in the early part of the battle, there was not a suspicion that he was not as game a man as ever peeled. In the second round Josh. Hudson described Ward as having been nearly blinded by the force of the blow on his head, but he very soon recovered his presence of mind; and in the last round there were not wanting some who were disposed to think that he might have come again. Judging impartially, however, from all that passed before us, we should say there was not a shadow of ground for complaining of Ward’s conduct in the ring, or for doubting the sincerity of his intention to win throughout. His deliveries were severe, although their effect might not have been so decisive as we had anticipated. It was clear that he tried his utmost to gain the ascendancy, and in this endeavour he reduced himself, in the tenth round, as well as his antagonist, to a state of complete helplessness, hitting with all his force, until both fell without the power of striking another blow. Had his object been other than honest, this never would have been the case. In plain truth, however, he had been over-rated, whilst the probable improvement which Crawley might have obtained in two years was altogether lost sight of. In point of length, and weight, and bodily strength, we may also say Ward was overmatched, while in science he was fully equalled; for although Crawley’s style of setting-to may not be so elegant, nor his stops so frequent, still the severity and quickness of his counter-hitting, and the rapidity of his motions, added to his calm reception of punishment, gave him on this occasion equal advantage; added to which, Peter, in having Tom Belcher for his second, had at least two points in his favour, for a better second never entered the ring, nor a man whose knowledge of the art better qualifies him to give good advice. We must admit that we have seen Ward fight in better style, and make a better use of his acquirements. We do not say this with a view of disparaging his good qualities; but had he exercised a better judgment, we think he would not have rushed into desperate rallies, intent only on administering punishment, without regard to the consequences which might follow to himself, but would rather have availed himself of his tact of hitting and getting away, and only going in when an opportunity occurred of closing for the fall—and his superiority in throwing has been repeatedly established. In the present instance he seemed to have lost his usual caution, and to have forgotten that in fighting against superior weight and strength he was completely giving a chance away by standing to be hit in close quarters. Such another fall as that he gave Crawley in the seventh round must have decided the battle, but the opportunity when offered was neglected, and having at length become weak, he was unable to keep his right hand sufficiently high, and thus lay exposed to the terrific jobbing of Crawley’s left. We have no doubt his seconds acted to the best of their knowledge; but situated as Ward was towards the close of the fight, it was anything but good advice to incite him to go in to rally: he should rather have played round his opponent, and kept at a distance till his wind was restored, and fresh opportunities were afforded for bringing his scientific and wrestling powers into play. With so vigorous an opponent as Crawley, it was clear he must have the worst of in-fighting; and that this was the case the result of the conflict has shown. These are points which naturally strike an observer, but which a man in the heat of combat, and unassisted by a cool and dispassionate counsellor, may not duly appreciate. It is certain that Ward never had so good a man to deal with before, and, barring the few remarks we have felt it our duty to make, it was impossible for him to have done more to attain the ends of his backers. In falling, he has fallen nobly, and must only hope for better luck another time. We may add that he has still few equals in the ring. We cannot close these remarks without stating that, in losing Tom Oliver as a second, Ward may be said to have lost his battle; for Tom’s prudence and good sense would have taught him the folly of bustling with superior weight. The fight lasted twenty-six minutes.

Ward was conveyed in a state of unconsciousness to the Red Lion, at Royston, and was immediately put to bed between warm blankets. A surgeon was then sent for, who found his pulse scarcely perceptible; he, however, took proper precautions, and by six o’clock he recognised those about him. He complained very much of his head, where he received the knock-down blow in the second round, and said that such was the effect of that hit that four rounds elapsed before he had recovered himself. Ward arrived in London on the following Wednesday, much cut up in mind, but still determined to put in a claim for another trial to recover his laurels. He declared he had lost the fight by holding Crawley’s abilities as a boxer too cheap, and had resorted to an attempt to fight him down, in which he had exhausted his strength and his power of hitting. He considered, too, his chances in milling Crawley as greatly increased from the fact of the latter having hernia. This would seem without good foundation. It is a singular fact that Joe Grimaldi—than whom, in his pantomimic exertions, no man encountered more violent exercise—had been ruptured from his youth, but never experienced inconvenience in his labours.

On the 4th of January, 1827, two days after Peter’s victory, the Tennis Court was crowded for the joint benefit of Harry Holt and Ned Baldwin, and to get a peep at the heroes who were admitted to “show.” Ward, on mounting the stage, was loudly applauded. His nob was covered with a handkerchief, and his face exhibited marks of severe punishment. The “Cicero of the ring” (in buff) addressed his patrons for Ward. He said, “Ward had lost the battle, and, what was dearer to him, his proud position; but still it was cheering to him to think that he had not lost his honour. (‘True,’ and applause.) It was not in man to command success, but he had done all that a brave man could do to win the battle. One must lose, and Crawley was the conqueror. By every person who had seen the battle it was admitted that Ward had established his character as a game man, and he had no doubt, by such conduct, he would never want friends. (Approbation.) He was sorry to observe the subscription on the ground was trifling indeed (25s.); but he well knew the generosity of the fancy would be displayed to him in town. For himself, he would subscribe a sovereign; and he was perfectly satisfied other persons would subscribe their mite.” (“Bravo, Harry!”)

Jem’s backer presented himself, and said he would back Ward, without any hesitation, against Crawley, or any other man in the kingdom, for from £100 to £1,000. (Great applause.)

The hero of the tale, Peter Crawley, now mounted the stage, and was welcomed by loud plaudits. His face was rather damaged, but not so much as his opponent’s. With considerable modesty Peter stated, “He had been a winning man, but he had never been opposed to a better one than Ward; in fact, he thought him as good a man as himself. He had been lucky, and gained the fight; and he felt proud he had obtained that honour, because Ward had been considered the best man in England. It was impossible, therefore, that he could have got more honour, or gained a higher conquest. (‘Well done, Peter; you are a liberal, brave fellow.’) He was determined not to accept any challenge, and he had also made up his mind to give up all pretensions to prize-fighting, and, to please the King of England, he would not again enter the ring. He meant no disrespect to the patrons of the art of self-defence; but if he were to fight for seven years, he could not have obtained a higher place in the fancy. Fame was his object, and not money; he therefore left the championship open for those who wished to fight for it, and gave up all pretensions to that high milling honour. He hoped Ward would be dealt with according to his merits; and, as a losing man in general stood in need of support, he should give him two sovereigns.” (Cheers.) Peter made his bow amid loud applause.

Peter, acting upon the adage that “all’s well that ends well,” and having obtained a most brilliant conquest in the eyes of the sporting world, sensibly made up his mind to leave the P.R. for aspiring heroes to bustle in, and commenced publican. He therefore, without delay, opened the Queen’s Head and French Horn, in Duke Street, West Smithfield, and the fancy in general gave Peter their support.

Crawley’s “free and easy,” aided by the musical talents of his father, brought overflowing houses. Mr. Crawley, senior, was a first-rate chaunter, and, as a room singer, his voice in “Tom Moody,” “The Sapling Oak,” etc., was the delight, again and again, of admiring audiences.

At the Queen’s Head and French Horn, soon after Crawley became landlord of the house, he was visited by a blade of the name of Grays, and with that respect and civility which always marked the conduct of our hero, he invited Mr. Grays into his bar, to drink his wine and crack his walnuts. But before the bottle was finished, and during the short absence of our hero, who was waiting upon his customers in various parts of his house, Mr. Grays made free with the character of Peter to Mrs. Crawley, or, to use the vulgar phrase, he was nosing upon the inconstancy of our hero, and his amours out of doors, and boasting that he was a better man at any price than the host of the Queen’s Head and French Horn. On Crawley becoming acquainted with his conduct, he told Mr. Grays that he had not conducted himself like a man or a gentleman, when Grays repeated the insult, that he was a better man in every point of view. “That shall soon be decided,” said Peter, with a contemptuous sneer. An appeal to arms was the result, and, in the course of two short rounds, Mr. Grays so napped it for his impertinence that he staggered about like a man overcome with liquor, and the boaster, as he lay sprawling on the ground, gladly acknowledged, to prevent further punishment, that he had been egregiously deceived in his estimate of his own prowess, and promised Peter the next time he took wine and walnuts, not to crack jokes at his expense behind his back, and to keep his tongue within proper bounds.

Although Peter was one of the mildest and most inoffensive of men, the lion slumbered within him. We will cite a small specimen of this. When Harry Broome fought the Tipton Slasher, at Mildenhall, in September, 1851, there were strong misgivings of a wrangle, and the writer and others firmly declined the thankless office of referee. It looked as though there would be no fight, for the Tipton’s friends rejected several gentlemen nominated, as being backers of Broome. Johnny Broome rode up, and proposed to fight “without a referee.” This was very properly declined; but at last Peter Crawley was agreed to by both sides as an impartial arbiter. The details of the fight will be found under the Life of Harry Broome, in the Seventh Period. Suffice it to say, the Tipton hit Harry foul, and Peter gave it against “the Tipton.” Remonstrance did not shake Peter’s decision, and the Slasher, who thought himself hardly dealt by, used disparaging language to Peter. Fired at the imputation on his honesty, Peter proceeded to uncase his huge carcass, declaring he was “good for a few rounds,” and nothing but the gentle violence of his friends, and those of the Slasher, who separated them, prevented the brave Peter from there and then having a turn-up with the well-trained Tipton for “love and a bellyful.” We have seen other instances of Peter’s readiness to resent insult, though the most placable of men if an apology was offered.

From the period he retired he held but one house, the Duke’s Head and French Horn, in Duke Street, West Smithfield, a house interesting for years to “country cousins,” the fancy, and those who wished a “wrinkle” upon sporting topics. As a teacher of the art of self-defence Peter acquitted himself with great credit, being perfectly master of the science. Several of his Guardsmen pupils have shown their acquaintance that they can hit, stop, and get away with the best of glove amateurs. Peter died, generally respected, on the 12th of March, 1865, in the 66th year of his age. Peace to his manes!

CHAPTER III.
TOM CANNON, “THE GREAT GUN OF WINDSOR” (CHAMPION)—1824–1827.

For a short time the name of the hardy Tom Cannon was a word of strength in the annals of the ring. Tom, however, came out too late in life as a public exhibitor of the art pugilistic; his first great victory being over Josh. Hudson, in June, 1824, his last a defeat by Ned Neale, in February, 1827; a career of little more than two-and-a-half years, throwing out his victory over Dolly Smith, in 1817.

Eton, renowned for its College and the classic memories which surround it, gave birth to our hero, but it does not appear that Master Tommy profited much in the literæ humaniores by the accident of his birth under the shadows of the pinnacles of “Henry’s Sacred Fane.” On the contrary, the son of a “Windsor Bargee,” he grew up an athletic uncultivated young colt, distinguished for his speed as a runner, his activity as a jumper, his strength as a wrestler, and was known as “a lad who could box a bit.” The only parts of Gray’s “Ode” which could apply to the young Cannon being, that he could—

“Ply the oar,

And urge the flying ball.”

Indeed, his rowing and cricketing qualifications endeared him to the youngsters who practised on the silver Thames and verdant Brocas; as a quoit thrower and a single-stick player, at “the Revel” in Bachelor’s Acre, young Cannon distinguished himself, and was known throughout the neighbourhood as “good at any game.” Tom followed alternately the calling of a fisherman and a “bargee,” or rather mixed them both, more majorum suum, and “the Merry Wives of Windsor” often relied on Tom’s net or tackle for the delicacies of speckled trout, glittering umber, or slippery eel, from “Thames’ silvery flood.” Apropos of this, we find from contemporary records that Tom, acting in the spirit of Charles Dibdin’s song,

TOM CANNON (“The Great Gun of Windsor”).
From a Portrait by Wageman.

“I be a jolly fisherman, I takes all I can get,

Still going on my betters’ plan, all’s fish that comes to net,”

forgot one night—if ever he knew them—the privileges of the corporation of Windsor. He was detected, with a companion, fishing, contrary to Act of Parliament, within the preserved waters of the corporation, whereby a fine of £5 to “our Lord the King” was incurred. Tom demurred to swelling the royal exchequer by impoverishing his own: he put in “leg-bail,” and for a time migrated from ungrateful Windsor to live an exile at Newbury, whither he does not appear to have been pursued, for he was here known as the “milling bargee.” This was in 1814. We will therefore “hark back.”

Thus, in his early manhood, our jolly bargeman lived a life of labour, independence, and humble competency, and like

“The jolly miller who lived on the river Dee,

He work’d and sung from morn till night, no lark more blithe than he.”

Tom’s earlier practice with his bunch of fives appears to have been at wake, fair, race, or revel, with the military always abounding at Windsor and its vicinity, and with such “rough chawbacons” as, feeling strong in the spirit of fight, might offer themselves to his notice.

Tom’s first recorded engagement was with one Tom Anslow, a grenadier belonging to the Staffordshire militia, in the year 1809. Anslow was the crack boxer of his regiment, and the audacity of young “bargee” (Tom was nineteen years of age) was laughed at by the red-coats, for Anslow was fourteen stone in weight, and all six feet in height. The battle-money was three guineas a-side. Cannon, on the day, was a little under twelve stone, and stood five feet nine inches and a half. It was a desperate battle for thirty-two minutes, when the soldier gave in, and Cannon was carried off in triumph by his fellow-townsmen. “Boxiana” fills some pages with notices of casual fights with nameless men, on Eton Brocas, at Maidenhead, at Egham Races, and elsewhere, embellished with the usual lively skimble-skamble of the inventive author. The first time Cannon had to do with a “professional” was in this wise. At a raffle in Peascod Street, Windsor, Dolly Smith,[^[41]] of Hammersmith, was present, and threatened to chastise Cannon for interfering in a dispute. “Although I know you’re a fighting man,” said Tom, “I will not be frightened into submission.” Dolly threw off his coat, and they adjourned to the street. After a smart turn-up, in which Cannon claimed best, they were interrupted. This led to a match for twenty guineas a-side, which came off in a field contiguous to Shirley Common, near Windsor, May 6, 1817. The battle proved a most determined one. The swell stage-coachmen—for Dolly was a horse-keeper, known on the Great Western road—sported their gold freely on their man, though there was a remarkable disparity in size and weight. Smith, who was a round-built sturdy fellow, measured only five feet five inches, and weighed eleven stone four pounds. Cannon stood five feet ten inches, and weighed thirteen stone. The men were in the ring as early as eleven o’clock, Dolly being esquired by the veteran Caleb Baldwin and Dick Whale; Cannon attended by a couple of stout countrymen. The battle was half-minute time. Six to four on Smith offered.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Neither combatant seemed disposed to waste much time in sparring, and they went to work sans cérémonie. Cannon from his height, length, and strength, seemed completely to overshadow his opponent, but “Dolly,” not in the least dismayed, planted two heavy body hits, and fought at half-arm gaily, till in closing both were down.

2.—Both on their mettle, and some sharp blows exchanged. Dolly manœuvred cleverly till he hit up through Cannon’s guard, and gave him such a teazer on the side of the head, that it seemed to electrify the “bargee’s” upper works. He seemed confused for a few seconds, then went in a rattler, and fought till both were down, Dolly first to earth.

3 to 17.—During the whole of these rounds the combatants were far from being idle, and much severity of milling occurred. The claret had long made its appearance upon both their nobs, and their mugs had undergone some little change, from the repeated thumps they had reciprocally and liberally bestowed upon each other. Upon the whole, Dolly as yet might be said to stand forward in the most favourable point of view, and betting continued on him.

18.—In this round Dolly gained great applause, he fought his opponent in the most gallant style, and milled him in all directions, and, by way of finishing, planted such a tremendous hit in Cannon’s “middle piece,” that he went off his pins in such quickness of style, resembling more the celerity of a cannon shot than being floored by the fist of a man. (Loud shouting, and seven to four on Dolly.)

19 to 60 and last.—Punishment was the order of the day in all these rounds. The gaiety of Dolly never forsook him, and he contended against an opponent every way so superior with the most determined courage and manhood. It was a good fight throughout, and both men displayed true resolution. The claret flowed profusely, and both were so equally painted that it was remarked by a spectator they both belonged to one flock of sheep, they were so regularly “ruddled.” Their peepers were nearly obscured, and such a punishing mill has not been witnessed for a long time. One of Dolly’s arms was so much beaten, and his wrist so terribly sprained and puffed up, that he was reluctantly compelled to relinquish the contest at the expiration of an hour and four minutes.

Remarks.—Cannon was so much exhausted that, on his being declared the winner, he was led out of the ring, and upon being lifted into a coach by three men immediately fainted. The battle had scarcely finished one minute when a magistrate appeared to put an end to the sports; but his worship was politely informed there was no necessity for his functions then to be brought into action, as it was all over for that day. A great number of sporting men from the neighbouring counties and from London witnessed the encounter, and much money changed hands.

As this is not a record of sack-jumping, quoits, foot-racing, jumping, and cricket playing, we shall omit the contents of some pages of “Boxiana,” with the remark that Tom, who was good at all these, has numerous victories for small sums placed to his account during the seven years between 1810 and the mill with Dolly Smith just reported. For several years Cannon remained a spectator of prize battles, until fired with pugilistic ambition on witnessing the fight between Josh. Hudson and Jem Ward (November 11, 1823), he publicly announced his readiness to enter the ring with either of those boxers. The “John Bull Fighter” hearing of the circumstance, on meeting Cannon, asked him if the report was true. Tom replied in the affirmative, when Josh. instantly produced a “fiver,” which was covered by Cannon, to make a match for £200. At this period Mr. Hayne (known by the sobriquet of “Pea-green,” and his breach of promise with Miss Foote, Dowager Countess of Harrington) had just returned from the “grand tour,” and recollecting the numerous sporting feats of Cannon during the time he, the “Pea-green,” was one of the alumni of Eton, he became Tom’s patron and backer. Articles were drawn up at Mr. Clode’s New Inn, Windsor, April 26, 1824, in which Cannon agreed to fight Josh. for £100 a-side, on Wednesday, June 23, 1824, within forty miles of London. The match was laughed at by the fancy, as “a good thing” for Hudson, and the £100 looked upon as a “sweetener” to “keep his hand in” till he should grasp the championship.

On the appointed morn the Western road displayed a thick sprinkling of swells and equipages, the place selected being Yateby, in Hampshire, thirty-three and a half miles from London, on the borders of the counties of Berks and Bucks, in a field near Everfield Churchyard. Everything being ready, at a quarter to one Cannon entered the ring, in a dark drab great coat, and threw up his hat, followed by Tom Cribb and White-headed Bob as his seconds. He walked about with the utmost composure, and was loudly cheered by the audience. His legs were decorated with white silk stockings. In a few minutes afterwards Hudson appeared, supported by the President of the Daffy Club and “the Nonpareil,” threw up his “castor,” and rolled himself into the ring. Oliver and Randall were his attendants. During the time the combatants were preparing for action the backers of Hudson went round the ring offering two and a half and three to one; but the friends of Cannon were shy, and no takers were to be found. The colours, pink for Cannon and chocolate for Hudson, were tied to the stakes. The office was then given, and the men set-to.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On peeling, Cannon appeared so highly improved in condition as to excite the astonishment of every person present. He was cool and confident, and looked firm and “all right.” The “John Bull Fighter,” always “big,” in spite of the most rigid rules of training, was now bigger than ever; indeed, to use the words of a wag, who laughingly observed to his companion, “My dear fellow, you are mistaken as to Josh. Hudson going to fight; it’s Sir John Falstaff in buff.” On placing himself in attitude, Josh. smiled at his opponent, but still was cautious. Cannon tried to go to work, and let fly at Hudson’s victualling office, but the latter hero, to prevent a row in the interior, got away. The “Popper,” full of bustle, again tried it on, but, in a counter-hit, received an ogler that made his pimple shake again, and put him on the winking system. Hudson was anxious to administer pepper; but in rushing in he received a slight topper, and slipped down on one knee. Cannon lost no time, convinced the amateurs by his conduct that he was not the novice he had been previously represented, and kept hitting away sans cérémonie. We were surprised that Hudson did not finish the round by going down; as on his getting up he received a severe facer. A short pause. Cannon aimed a tremendous blow at his opponent’s nob, but he missed. (“Never mind that,” said Richmond; “he means to win it, and nothing else.”) Cannon showed he was not destitute of science; he got away from a slogger, but immediately commenced an exchange of blows, and had none the worst of it. Josh. stopped well, and also planted an ear-wigger, that rowed the upper works of Cannon. (A pause.) The bargeman went boldly up to his adversary to commence mischief, when Josh., in retreating, ran against the stake. Both the combatants found their way into the corner of the ring. Here a little fibbing occurred, and Josh., after a desperate struggle, succeeded in placing the Popper on the ground. (The East-enders in high spirits, cheered their hero, and offered five to two.)

2.—Hudson came piping to the scratch; his bad condition was visible to all the ring. He was no longer the smashing hero as to effective quality, and a pause was the result. He was now aware, but too late, that he had treated his adversary too lightly, and also that Cannon was not a novice as to prize milling. But, like a trump, acting upon the good maxim that “dangers retreat when boldly they’re confronted,” he stood up to his man with the true courage of a lion. Cannon, extremely active, endeavoured to take the lead; but Josh. made two good stops. The bargeman received a heavy topper; but he would not be denied. A desperate rally occurred, and the claret first made its appearance on Hudson’s lip. Josh. tried milling on the retreat; but the bargeman rushed upon him, bored Hudson to the ropes, and, after having the best of the hitting, got Josh. down, and fell heavily on his abdomen. (The Windsor folks and Johnny Raws now gave a loud shout for joy. “Why, Cannon, you fell on a soft place, didn’t you? a feather-bed, wasn’t it?”)

3.—The last fall distressed Hudson so much that he appeared scarcely to have a puff of wind left in his body; his face was also covered with claret. The mind of Josh. was eager to administer punishment; but his energy was leaving him fast. Cannon was determined to bustle the John Bull boxer, and attacked him gaily. The bargeman saw the exhausted situation of his opponent, and would not allow Hudson to recover himself. Josh. retreated, but fighting all the time, till he was bored to the ropes, when Cannon obtained the superiority so clearly, that Josh. was fibbed severely down. The East-enders were now on the funk: hopes and fears alternately succeeded; but disinterested spectators were satisfied that Cannon must win.

4.—This was a good round. The blows of Hudson were heavy; and Cannon found out, if not stopped, they were likely to prove dangerous. The bargeman put in a sharp hit in the wind which made Josh. blow again; however, Cannon’s mug showed the handiwork of Josh., and the claret was conspicuous about it. Another rally, hit for hit, but which ended to the advantage of Cannon, who again got Josh down. (The Windsor folks were full of joy, and opened their mouths as wide as barn-doors, vociferating, “You have done the job.”)

5.—Hudson, game as a pebble, stuck to his man like glue, and a terrible rally was the finishing stroke of the round. Both down; by a sudden effort of Hudson he threw Cannon over him.

6.—The bargeman was piping a little, but nothing in comparison to his opponent. Some ugly thumps passed on both sides. In struggling for the throw, Cannon was undermost. (“Well done, Josh.!”)

7.—Cannon found he had his work to do, although his adversary was so fat and out of condition. Josh. stopped his attempts; but Cannon bored in and nobbed Hudson. The latter in turn administered pepper; however, in closing, the strength of the bargeman gave him the best of it. He fibbed Hudson, got him across the ropes, and punished him down. (“Foul, foul!” “Fair, fair!”)

8.—This was a fighting round altogether; but if Josh. put in a heavy blow Cannon planted two for it. The John Bull boxer was punished terribly till down. Twelve minutes and a half.

9.—In this early stage of the fight the backers of Hudson saw, with tears in their ogles, that the chance was against him, therefore they now had only his game to stand upon. In closing, both down.

10.—In all the previous battles of Hudson he was never so roughly handled before, without returning the compliment. Josh. now felt that his own weight was too much for his legs, and he staggered about and missed two well-intended nobbers. Cannon, in a most determined and clever style, floored the John Bull Fighter like a shot. This blow operated like the shock of an earthquake upon the nerves of the backers of Josh.; their peepers seemed too big for their heads, and they stared like stuck pigs. (The odds were dropped, and Cannon decidedly the favourite.)

11.—Hudson had not strength enough to follow up his wishes; indeed, it was Sir John Falstaff in trouble. “Go it, my Joshy; it’s all your own.” “You can lick twenty countrymen yet.” “When you say ‘No,’ it will be a fine treat for Cannon;” and a thousand other things were uttered to inspire the John Bull Fighter with new ardour for conquest. But Josh. seemed to have lost all his chaffing—the customer before him was rather too serious for a joke, and his time was too much occupied to attempt to be funny. Hudson, full of pluck, endeavoured resolutely to take the lead, and certainly was mischievous; but the bargeman was too good: he had the best of it, and threw Josh. across the ropes.

12.—This round was unimportant. Cannon slipped, and fell down while attempting to plant a hit. (“He’s getting weak, Josh.; Cannon will soon cut it.” “Walker,” replied Tom Cribb. “Cut it, indeed; why, he’s won it. But never mind; go on, and you’ll soon find it out.”)

13.—This was a bang-up round on both sides, and Cannon full of mischief. A terrible rally; no favours asked; hit for hit given, till Hudson was almost abroad. In this rally Josh. put in a tremendous facer, that for an instant Cannon seemed almost at a stand-still, and in a state of stupor. He, however, recovered, and got Hudson down. The Windsor folks were now all happiness, laughing at the poor Cockneys and the knowing ones. During the time Cannon was on the ground he also showed great distress; and if Hudson had possessed anything like his strength in former battles, he might have gone in now with a great chance of winning. But poor Josh., on leaving the knee of his second, was twice as much exhausted as Cannon; the chance and betting was now six to four against him.

14.—Nothing else but hammering on both sides. Hudson tried the pepper-box, but the Cayenne was wanting. Josh. retreated from wisty-castors, but Cannon would not be denied. Hudson received a tremendous nobber that made his peepers roll again, and the upper works of Master Cannon were a little disordered. In closing, Hudson got his nob through the ropes, and in this unfortunate situation Cannon played upon it as on a drum till he was tired, and then let him down in a state of distress truly piteous.

15.—The exhausted state of Josh. at this period beggared description. A gasp of breath seemed worth “a hundred” to him, so dreadfully was he distressed. He was like a man almost suffocated with asthma. Yet, anxious for victory, in opposition to the powerful effects of nature against his mind, he came to the scratch full of pluck. Cannon determined to turn everything to good account, again put Josh. on the bustle. He closed with the John Bull Fighter, and fibbed him down till nearly all the wind in his body had deserted him. (Two to one on Cannon.)

16.—The bargeman had taken several good doses, and was a little sickish; but, nevertheless, he was the best man now—a guinea to a shilling. Hudson’s bottom was good to the end of the chapter; but it might be urged he was fighting for breath as well as for glory. It was impossible he could win: he was almost choked with fat. The bargeman planted a nobber that made the John Bull boxer quite abroad; fibbed him till he was tired, and finally floored Josh. with the utmost ease. The bargemen, the yokels, and the Windsor folk united in one general shout for Cannon, and offered any odds. It was Windsor Castle, the Great Park, and all the deer in the bargain, to a potato patch against Hudson, and no chance to win.

17 and last.—The exit of the John Bull boxer from the ropes was at hand. He was brought up to the scratch with great difficulty. Hudson still showed fight, but it was little more than putting up his hands. Cannon, very unlike a novice, saw there was no time to lose; he rushed in and administered pepper, then, with a tremendous blow on the side of the head, he floored his opponent. Oliver and Randall picked up Josh., but he was nearly insensible, and when time was called he could not come to the scratch. Some little demur took place, and also some time elapsed in debate between the umpires on the subject; but Spring being appealed to as a referee, decided that Cannon was the conqueror. The bargeman left the ring amidst the shouts of the populace, and was driven off the ground in the barouche of his patron, with the colours flying, etc.

Remarks.—

“Can such things be,

And overcome us like a summer’s cloud,

Without our special wonder?”

The John Bull Fighter defeated by an “outside” boxer in twenty minutes and a half. Tell it not in the West! Hear it not in the East! How are the mighty fallen! How will the yokels triumph! and how will the Cockneys get rid of their grief? It is a severe lesson for the John Bull Fighter. Want of condition was the ruin of Broughton. We trust it will not prove the overthrow of Joshua, and hope he will be remembered for what he has done, and have another shy to recover his lost laurel. In the above battle the only thing sound in the John Bull Fighter was his heart; and with all the dilapidating powers of Messrs. Sherry, Black Strap, and Co., added to their immense partnerships and overflowing capital of eau-de-vie, daffy, ginger-beer, heavy-wet, etc., they had not subdued that invaluable article, the heart of the brave but fallen Joshua Hudson. But it should seem that his friends, instead of training the John Bull of the P.R., rather adopted the mode pursued by the members of the Agricultural Society, in fattening prize animals for the Smithfield Show. We were told Hudson had nothing to fight against—a mere novice, a muff, a yokel; in fact, anything but a milling cove. Under this mistaken notion, the heart of Josh. intimated to him it was no matter if he was as big and as full of turtle-soup as an alderman, or possessed the rotundity of abdomen of a Falstaff. He had only to peel in the ring, show his laughing, jolly face, fight a few rounds to put the polish on his adversary, and the battle was his own. Josh. trusted alone to his heart, and if that only had been wanted, his out-and-out true courage doubtless would have brought him through the piece. If the truth can be ascertained, we verily believe he weighed nearly, if not quite, fifteen stone. He is almost twice as big at the present period as at the time he commenced fighting in 1816. It is true, Josh. cannot be compared to, or called a second Daniel Lambert; but it will not be disputed that he bears a great resemblance to George Colman’s “Two Single Gentlemen rolled into One.” In a word, want of condition prevented him from having a chance of winning the battle; but it is the opinion of many judges of prize-fighting that Cannon is too good a man for Josh. under any circumstances. This opinion, of course, remains to be decided. After the first round, it appeared to us that all his former gaiety of manner had left him; and towards the conclusion of the battle he hit completely round, scarcely knowing what he was about, and quite abroad. His fine courage never deserted him, and nature kept up the desire for glory to the last effort. In the ring Hudson did all that a man could perform. His backers have no right to find fault with him for being beaten, however they may feel disposed to quarrel with him for his neglect of training. Josh. was severely punished about the head: but all the milling he received in the battle was a trifle light as air compared to the punishment of his mind. The “Popper,” in reality, proved himself a Cannon, produced a loud report, went off well, hit numbers of persons much harder than they expected, and left the field of battle with the proud title of conqueror affixed to it. No man has been more mistaken in being termed “a novice” than Cannon: his conduct in the ring rather showed him master of the ground than otherwise, and he never let a chance escape him. He will prove an ugly customer for any antagonist. Cannon hits out, and hard too, with his left hand, not inferior to Josh. Hudson. The bargeman ought rather to be praised for his courage and his ambition, as things have turned out, than sneered at for his presumption. Cannon selected Hudson as an opponent, notwithstanding the high-sounding pretensions of the latter, and the great fame he had acquired in the milling circles, as a boxer worthy of his attack. In obtaining the victory, his judgment has proved to be correct. It is worthy of remark, that during the time of the battle between Ward and Hudson, Cannon loudly observed, “If they call this fighting, I think I can lick both of them.” And again, when in training at Virginia Water, he met with Langan, to whom he said, “I wish you was as sure of winning your fight as I am of beating Josh. Hudson.” Cannon is much indebted to his worthy patron, Mr. Hayne, for the high condition in which he entered the ring, and also for some valuable tuition. The veteran Bill Richmond, we believe, endeavoured to put Cannon awake to the movements of the ring; and White-headed Bob, who had him under his care while training, tried to make the bargeman “fly.” It is said Cannon’s ambition is gratified, and that he does not intend again to appear in the P.R.

We may here note that the same week that witnessed the downfal of Josh. Hudson saw the defeat of Barney Aaron by Arthur Matthewson, of Birmingham, and of Phil. Sampson, beaten by Jem Ward, a remarkable series of miscalculations by the knowing ones.

Hudson met Cannon in the spectators’ part of the Fives Court, at Richmond’s benefit (June 29, 1824), when he told the Windsor hero he would fight him in three months for £200 a-side. Cannon replied, “His master had said he should not fight under £500; but for himself, he should not mind fighting Josh. for any sum.” In consequence of this conversation, the following letter appeared in Pierce Egan’s Life in London.

“Sir,—

“In answer to Mr. Hudson’s letter, inserted in your valuable paper of Sunday last, I have only to observe that my patron and backer, Mr. Hayne, will not allow me to fight under £500 a-side.

“I cannot conceive how Mr. Hudson should be at a loss to make good his stakes. Surely, after the chaffing of Mr. Randall at the Fives Court, where he volunteered to come forward to the tune of £300, and the calls Mr. Hudson intends making in the northern, southern, eastern, and western parts of the kingdom, there will be little difficulty (with the fifty my backer presents to him) in his making up his money.

“Mr. Hudson expressed a wish that I should name a day and place to make a deposit for the mill; I therefore name Mr. Cribb’s, in Panton Street, on Tuesday, the 17th of this month, when I shall be armed with the ready to any amount that may accommodate Mr. Hudson.

“I beg to take this opportunity of assuring the sporting world that, should I enter the lists again with Mr. Hudson (and which I heartily desire may be the case), that it will be my last turn-up in the prize ring.

“I have to apologize for taking up so much of your valuable paper, but feeling it essentially necessary that something like a decisive and perfectly understood answer should be given to Mr. Hudson and the fancy, I have trespassed thus far.

“And am, sir, your obedient humble servant,

“THOMAS CANNON.

“August 4, 1824.”

The sporting world at the east end of the town were so confident as to the success of the “John Bull Fighter,” in his second contest with Cannon, that, in addition to the liberal gift of £50 by Mr. Hayne, they made up the remaining £450 without delay, and the battle was fixed for Tuesday, November 23, 1824. It was proposed by Mr. Hayne that the men should fight on a stage, a proposal induced by the fact that in the former fight some friends of Josh. had cut the ropes when they found the fates were adverse to their pet, and had attempted to create a disturbance and wrangle. The proposition was at once acceded to by the real backers of Hudson, who had not been parties to the misconduct of his admirers; and it was stipulated in the articles that the battle should come off on a stage, similar to that on which Spring and Langan fought at Chichester. Matters having been thus amicably arranged, Josh. went into close training, determined to do all that could be done to get himself into fitting condition to justify the confidence that had been placed in him. Cannon, who, from following the calling of a bargee at Windsor, had been elevated to the dignity of gamekeeper to Mr. Hayne, also took immense pains with himself. Josh. had to reduce himself to the extent of about twenty pounds, and this task he manfully accomplished, and his weight on the day of battle was exactly thirteen stone ten pounds. His condition was such that his friends backed him in some cases at five to four, and commonly at guineas to pounds. Cannon, like his antagonist, was also in prime twig: he had not a superfluous ounce of flesh, and his weight was thirteen stone one pound.

The nomination of the place of fighting was left to Mr. Jackson, who received applications from sundry places to bring the mill to certain districts. Among other towns, Andover, Peterborough, and Warwick were liberal in their offers of reward to the men. At length the advantages appeared in favour of Warwick, and thither accordingly Mr. Jackson ordered that the men should proceed. The race-course was, as in the case of Spring and Langan at Worcester, preferred as the scene of action, and an agent was sent down from London, who, in conjunction with the clerk of the course and a committee of gentlemen, made the requisite arrangements.

As it was expected that Barney Aaron and Dick Curtis were to fight on the same stage as the big ones—although in the end this battle did not take place—of course the spectacle was doubly attractive, and the attendance proportionably great. For admission to the grand stand the charge was 10s., while to the different wagons round the outer ring the figure varied from 2s. 6d. to 5s. The proceeds of the standings in wagons were divided equally between the boxers and the ring constables. The regulations for preserving order were first-rate, as, in addition to the knights of the mawley themselves, there were twenty-five regular constables with their staves of office to assist. The men arrived on the ground about half-past twelve o’clock, and shortly afterwards mounted the stage; Josh. attended by Peter Crawley and Phil. Sampson, and Cannon waited upon by Tom Spring and Tom Cribb. Mr. Woodward was chosen umpire for Josh., and Captain Radford for Cannon, and these two gentlemen nominated “the squire,” Osbaldeston, of racing and hunting renown, to be referee. These were the days when the patronage of sporting men raised the character of the assemblages at the ring-side. Mr. Jackson, to fill up the interval of expectancy, called upon Jem Ward to show his arm to the amateurs. That boxer did so, and an eminent surgeon of the vicinity pronounced its symmetry to excel any arm he had ever seen. Tom Oliver also stripped, and Mr. Jackson placed him in various attitudes to exhibit the action and beauty of the muscles of the trunk and arms. The arms of “White-headed Bob” (Ned Baldwin) and of Phil. Sampson were shown, and declared to be studies for the sculptor and modeller of the highest interest. On stripping, Cannon was obviously in the better condition. His flesh was hard as ivory, and as clear and bright. Josh. looked perfectly well, but it was evident he might have spared a few more pounds with advantage. He was, nevertheless, as we have said, the favourite at five to four. We have preferred the report of Bell’s Life to the rhapsodical farrago of “Boxiana,” as more practical, actual, and life-like.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The men threw themselves into position; Josh. with a sort of rolling guard, Cannon with his fists straight before him. Each eyed the other with a determined regard, and the brows of both portended mischief.

“With daddles high uprais’d, and nob held back,

With awful prescience of th’ impending thwack,

Both kiddies stood, and with prelusive spar

And light manœuvring, kindled up the war.”

Cannon was clearly resolved to lose no time; he advanced towards Josh. Josh. retreated, to draw his man; but Cannon was not to be out-generalled: he was steady, and followed his enemy. He at last hit out with his right, and caught Josh. on the sneezer. Josh. countered, but did not make much impression. Cannon then fought with his left, and a bustling rally followed, in which there were some straight and forcible returns. Josh. found it was no joke, and having been followed to the rails, he turned round quickly and met his man in another direction. Cannon followed him, and caught him again on the snout, drawing first blood. Josh., nothing abashed, met his antagonist manfully, and some desperate, but not scientific hitting followed. At last Josh. went in for the close, and after a slight struggle both fell, Cannon under. It was again proved that Cannon was no petit maître, and Josh.’s sconce exhibited woeful marks of his meaning. Cannon, too, had a mark under his left eye.

2.—The men came up with courage, but Cannon appeared most collected. Little time was lost in sparring. Josh. broke ground with his right, tipped Cannon on the left eye and got away. Cannon followed him, and returned the compliment, when a heavy tussle again took place, smack for smack, and no attempt at stopping. It was regular tuck-mill hammering, and all head-fighting. Cannon was still busy with his man, and, in closing, a sharp tussle followed, in which both were down, Josh. under.

3.—Josh., on coming to the scratch, was observed to pipe, although not much distressed. He did not wait to gain breath, however, but rattled in manfully to

“Seek the bubble reputation,

E’en in the Cannon’s mouth;”

and placed a tremendous hit on the Great Gun’s eye, which drew his cork and produced a general cheer from the Joshuaites. Cannon took it kindly, and rushed forward with alacrity; he hit Josh. on the potato trap, which drew forth another purple stream. This led to an unsparing rally, in which both men gave and took with astonishing fortitude. Josh., in this tussle, again received heavily on the muzzle, and was about to return, when Cannon, from the slippery state of the boards, fell on his knees.

4.—Both came up in true John Bull style, Cannon preserving his original straight-forward guard, and Josh. working for an opening. He got it, and caught Cannon on the nob. Cannon took without flinching, and returned with activity. It was a fine specimen of unshrinking courage on both sides, and slashing hits succeeded each other, right and left. In the end, Cannon slipped down, while Josh. stood firmly on his legs. Some thought this was a knock-down blow, but the fall was attributable only to the wetness of the stage. Josh. was loudly cheered by his friends.

5.—Cannon was first on his legs when time was called, but in rising showed the punishing effects of the last round; still he was fresher than Josh., and commenced his handiwork, and as he scorned to stop, Josh. countered terrifically on his right ogle. Another desperate interchange took place, till the men closed. After a vigorous wrestle, Cannon threw his man close to the rails. Poor Josh. fell on his face, and the crimson spurted from his mouth.

6.—Many thought it was all up with Josh. in the last round; but his seconds were on the alert, screwed his nob to the right bearing, and he again came up with undiminished courage, although a very ugly study for an artist. He rushed to his man with true game, and in his characteristic style planted a heavy blow on Cannon’s left cheek, close to the eye, on which he inflicted a cut, and nearly shut up that shop. Cannon was again active, and followed his man to the stakes, when a rally followed, and ultimately Josh. went down on his hands and knees. Both were weak.

7.—Both men on reaching the scratch were distressed, but Josh.’s bellows went the fastest. Josh. retreated, and was closely followed; he, however, hit straight from his shoulder, and made his mark; but Cannon, nothing behind, returned the compliment with a terrific sneezer. A grapple followed, and Josh. was severely hit, and fell heavily.

8.—It was now manifest to all that Cannon was the strongest man and in the best condition, and the backers of Josh. began to take an affectionate farewell of their blunt; in fact, the good judges thought Josh. had no chance. On coming to the assault, however, both men were groggy, and although they interchanged blows, the effect was not very apparent. A gentle tap on Cannon’s old sore assisted in completing that part of the mark, and the eye was completely closed. Cannon now bored in with undeniable spirit, and a struggle took place for the fall. Josh. had the advantage, and threw Cannon, but afterwards rolled over him. The fall was not of an effective character.

9.—Cannon came up fresher than Josh., and mutual blows were given, neither shrinking from their weight. It was all tussle and punishment. Cannon at last slipped down, and it was still thought probable that Josh. might come round and win.

10.—Both came up dreadfully punished, Cannon’s remaining ogle getting the worse for wear, and Josh. distilling the Burgundy in half a dozen directions. Again did the men show their unshaken fortitude: there was no retreating, but milling in the first style. At last they came to a stand-still, and their blows were as powerless as if they wore the gloves. In the close both went down, Cannon under.

11.—Cannon’s left cheek, on coming to the scratch, was bleeding, but still he was first to the call, and again showed his superiority of condition by his active readiness. He rushed in to fight, but was met boldly by Josh., and interchanges followed. Cannon, in getting away, slipped on his crupper a third time: his shoes were without spikes or nails, which rendered this accident more frequent.

12.—Both came up steady, but Josh. was “piping all hands.” A longer spar, or rather stand-still, took place in this round, before commencing, than had occurred during the fight. At last Cannon let fly with his right on Josh.’s canister, and Josh. returned heavily on his smeller. (“Well done, Josh.”) Bustle followed—tap and tap—when Cannon once more slipped down.

13.—Sparring for breath. Josh. on the retreat. At length Cannon delivered an ugly compliment with his left on Josh.’s mug. Josh. returned, and they both fought to the stakes. They here showed their resolution and their disinclination to “take it easy;” and at length Cannon slipped down. Both were dreadfully punished, but Josh.’s physog. exhibited the strongest marks of seasoning—it was peppered all over.

14.—Cannon hit Josh. with his left, and Josh. countered with his right. In a rally, Cannon hit and slipped, but brought up before he reached the boards, and rushing again to his man with thorough game, evidently showed his heart to be in the right place. Good milling followed, and both went down distressed. Nothing could equal the goodness of Josh.’s nature, but he was evidently on the wane. Both men, in fact, hit till there was not a hit left, and in this round Josh.’s head came heavily in contact with one of the side stakes. (The odds were now two and three to one on Cannon, but there was not much betting.)

15.—Josh, had clearly booked himself for a suit in chancery; but Sampson exclaimed that he was better on coming to the mark. Both were anxious for the affray, and, rushing in, they struggled to the stakes, where several hits were exchanged; but neither of the men were capable of doing execution. They embraced, not very lovingly, and struggled hard for the fall. Josh. got it, and fell on his man, but the exertion did him more harm than good, and Cannon was not much hurt.

16 and last.—The men fought to the stakes, and here they hit at each other, change for change, like smiths at an anvil, but they were both powerless in their blows. Josh., however, was evidently in the worst state, and was reduced to a complete doldrum. At last they broke from the stakes, and Cannon, grappling his man, threw him a tremendous fall, dropping on him as he fell. It was now all UP. Josh.’s head had come in contact with the boards, and his frame was shaken to a stand-still. Sampson picked him up, and did all he could to awaken him to time. It was in vain, however: his time for fighting had ceased, and he could come no more. Cannon did not seem conscious that it was all over, and advanced to the scratch. Spring, however, threw up his hat, and a general shout announced the termination of the contest, in a few seconds under twenty minutes. Cannon had some heavy bets on himself, and has cleared upwards of £1,000 by his exertions, which will tile him for the rest of his life. All the knowing ones were floored: they made certain of Josh.’s success, and backed him in large sums. The East-enders were dreadfully chop-fallen at this second disappointment of their hopes, and downfal to their pride. Little was said, but the elongation of faces and shrugging of shoulders afforded sufficient evidence of what was felt.

Remarks.—With regard to the character of this fight little is to be said beyond an unqualified eulogium on the bravery of both the men. In the first round it was clear that Cannon was the best man, and that his confidence in himself had not been misplaced. Neither of them showed science: it was, in the true sense of the word, a John Bull affair, in which giving and taking was the only study. He who could give and take most proved to be the best man. Praise is equally due to the one and to the other; and we consider that Cannon’s success is attributable solely to his superior condition. Josh. could not bear to be reduced beyond a certain point; and by his training at this late season of the year, whatever might be his appearance at first sight, he had evidently weakened his constitution. Cannon is not a showy fighter, but he holds his hands up well before him, and in a rally he is always doing a little. He was heavily punished, and was removed in the carriage of his backer to the Regent Hotel, Leamington, and under the medical care of Mr. Jeffson he recovered from his injuries in a shorter time than could have been expected. Hudson was taken to the Castle Inn, Warwick, and put to bed.

On November 29, 1824, Cannon left London with £750 of his winnings, with the intention of opening a tavern at Windsor, with Mrs. Cannon.

Early in 1825 (February 15), in compliance with a desire of the amateurs, Tom Cannon gave a sparring exhibition at the Fives Court, in which Josh. and himself fought their battle of Warwick over again with the mufflers. Josh. was pronounced, despite his fat, to have the best of the “science,” but the activity was with Cannon. “Bravo, Josh.!” at each hit or stop, resounded from all parts of the Court at each manœuvre of the old favourite. The bills and advertisements were headed “Tom Cannon, the Champion of England,” and a challenge for £1,000 was given to any disputant of his title. The door-money was over £100, exclusive of the sale of private tickets.

Cannon now went on a tour, after winning a foot-race of 200 yards with “Squire Smith,” at Shepperton, for a stake of £20 a-side, February 19, 1825, in handsome style. In the following month we find him at Brighton, with his patron, Mr. Hayne, where matches at billiards and wrestling had been made by Mr. Hayne with a well-known Irish adventurer, Mr. Carney. At billiards Mr. Hayne had chosen the celebrated Jonathan (Kentfield) as his representative. It would appear that Mr. Carney caught Mr. Hayne “upon the bustle” early one morning, and backed himself for 100 guineas, p. p., 100 up, Mr. Hayne to find a player who should give him (Carney) 70 points! and this without consulting Jonathan on the matter. At the same time Mr. Hayne backed Cannon to wrestle with Mr. Carney, “collar and elbow,” for £50 a-side, “best of three falls.” Jonathan, winning the toss, named his own table in Manchester Street, for the trial of skill. There was a great muster of sporting men on Thursday, March 24, 1825, and ten to one was betted that Mr. Hayne would forfeit. There was little betting on the play, as it was the general opinion that the odds were preposterously great. Cannon offered £20 to £15 that Carney won. The affair was over in eighteen minutes, Carney winning straight “off the balls,” so soon as he got the cue in hand. Carney played with judgment and coolness, and won the match with credit to himself. He declined another match with forty given. With regard to the wrestling, the following placard was posted in Brighton:

“Ireland’s Royal Grounds will be a scene of great attraction this day (Thursday). A wrestling match, for a heavy stake, will take place between Cannon from Windsor (the celebrated pugilist) and a sporting gentleman amateur from Ireland, at two o’clock; the best of three falls. In addition to which, the art of self-defence will be exhibited by White-headed Bob and Gaynor, with other gymnastic sports. Price of admission, 2s. The large room will be appropriated entirely for the ladies who may honour the above manly exhibition with their presence. Every attention will be paid to render the amusements highly interesting to the visitors.”

The crowd at “Ireland’s Ground” was immense, and there was no end of wrangle as to the true definition of “collar and elbow,” the Carney division determining to have “the pull” on their side, if possible. Then arose the question as to whether the game allowed the elegant and humane practice of kicking each other’s shins. Mister Carney had come with his legs swathed in woollen list; but at last Cannon took off his boots, Carney divested himself of his bandages and heavy shoes, and it was finally settled that the umpires should place the hands of the wrestlers on each other’s shoulders and elbows, and leave them. Cannon was dressed in a new jacket and breeches, without any handkerchief on his neck. Carney wore an old blue dress coat and light pantaloons; his fine figure was much admired. We remember him well about town, in his fatter and latter days, when he was a constant frequenter of “Silver Hell,” near Leicester Square, and perpetually engaged in legal or personal war with the notorious Barnard Gregory and the Satirist newspaper; his six feet of height, and fifteen or sixteen stone of weight, still marking him as an opponent one would rather let alone than challenge.

There was little in the match to call for description. Cannon declared he did not understand the style of wrestling. After a short struggle, Carney succeeded in tripping his man, and bringing him almost sideways to the ground. Cannon denied it was a “back fall.” The umpires disagreed, but the referee gave it to Carney. £10 to £5, and then £30 to £10, were offered on Carney. After some play the men were down in a scrambling fall; Cannon was on his knees, and Carney fell over him. This was declared “No fall.” The third and deciding bout was more spirited. Cannon tried to show off, but Carney, with great activity, “heeled” his man so cleverly, that down went “the Great Gun” clean on his back. Cannon jumped up, and with the utmost good humour exclaimed that he had lost the match. He repeated that “he didn’t understand the game.” The whole was over in eight minutes.

White-headed Bob and Gaynor next made their bows, and set-to. The talents of the “White-nobbed One” gave him the best of it, although Gaynor exerted himself to give satisfaction. It was expected Cannon would have had a turn with Baldwin; but “the Great Gun” immediately set off for the metropolis. Five-and-twenty pounds were collected at the doors, which were distributed among the candidates for fame, Mr. Ireland reserving one-fifth for the use of his grounds. Mr. Carney, however, generously made the host a present of his share.

Cannon’s pretensions to the championship were not allowed to remain unchallenged. Jem Ward put in his claim, and, as already recorded,[^[42]] on July 19, 1825, at Warwick, Cannon was defeated, in ten rounds, occupying ten minutes only. The heat of the weather was so intense that several persons fainted and were carried from the ground. Cannon stood £200 of his own money, and £200 in his backer’s bets. During the dispute at Tattersall’s about the stakes, Tom publicly said, that as £200 of the battle-money belonged to him, that should be given to Ward, whatever might be done with the rest. He added, that he should like another trial with Ward, but that he had lost all his spare cash.

In August, 1825, Tom Cannon and Peter Crawley “starred” it at the Coburg (now the Victoria) Theatre in a piece called “The fight at Warwick,” which, we are told, was attractive and lucrative to the management.[^[43]]

Cannon’s next match was with Ned Neale (see Life of Neale, post), the Streatham Youth, which was decided in an enclosure at Warfield, Berks, February 20, 1827. Neale proved the winner in thirty minutes, after twenty-two hard-fought rounds. The odds were at one time in Tom’s favour, who attributed his defeat to a severe hurt in the shoulder from a heavy fall.

This was Cannon’s last public appearance as principal within the ropes. In November, 1827, Tom seconded Jem Burn in his second fight with Ned Neale, on the same ground at Warfield. The day was wretchedly damp and wintry, and Cannon caught so severe a cold that he was laid up with lumbago, and for several months was a cripple. Cannon still found a friend in Mr. Hayne. Though that gentleman had retired from “the turf and ring,” he placed him in the Castle, in Jermyn Street, St. James’s. Here, through his civility and attention, he was well supported for a time; but Tom’s friends wore off, and new ones came not. His health, too, was precarious, and he retired from business, not upon a competency, we regret to say. For nearly eighteen years Tom disappeared from an active part in ring affairs, and resided at Strand-on-the-Green, in the capacity of a swan-watcher for the Corporation. Severe attacks of the gout and rheumatism disqualifying him from all exertion, he fell into a state of hypochondria, and on Sunday, the 11th of July, 1858, terminated his existence by suicide with a pistol, in the sixty-ninth year of his age, leaving a constant and attentive widow in narrow circumstances to lament his loss. Jem Burn and some other friends of the old school kindly strove to alleviate her forlorn condition.

CHAPTER IV.
JOSH. HUDSON, “THE JOHN BULL FIGHTER.”—1816–1826.

Among the names which a pugilistic Plutarch might find difficult to parallel for lion-hearted, fearless, and indomitable pluck, that of Josh. Hudson may be fairly cited. “The John Bull Fighter,” as his friends and admirers at the East-end fondly called him, fought his way into the battle of life at Rotherhithe, on the 21st of April, 1797. Although fond of a mill from his youth upwards, the juvenile John Bull earned the character of a thorough good-natured fellow, and this he preserved through life. There was no ferocity in Josh.’s composition, though once aroused in the fight his hitting was truly terrific, and his gameness in receiving as remarkable as his readiness in refusing to take an advantage of his adversary. Josh, was by no means an uninformed man, and, barring a propensity for practical jokes—a common thing in his day—remarkably inoffensive.

Josh.’s first reported contest was with Jack Payne, the butcher, at Dartford Brim, October 22, 1816, for ten guineas a-side. Jack, when he pleased, could fight well, but he was thought, not without reason, to lose pluck whenever he had not the “lead” in his hands. He soon found he had “caught a Tartar” in young Josh., for in thirty-five minutes he cried “enough!”

Our hero now flew at higher game, and challenged Aby Belasco. After a determined battle of one hour and thirty minutes the affair ended in a wrangle; Clark and Peter Warren, who seconded Josh., taking their man away. Belasco, however, got the stakes.

Hudson’s next battle was with Street, April 5, 1817, which he won in one hour and ten minutes. In “Boxiana,” vol. ii., p. 477, “Street” is called “Connelly.” It was David, Josh.’s brother, who fought and beat Connelly. Tom Oliver and Clark seconded Josh. in this battle.

His next match was with Charles Martin, at Sawbridgeworth, for a stake of twenty guineas, June 10, 1817. Richmond and Harry Holt seconded Josh., who won cleverly in thirty minutes.

Thompson, an Essex coachman, and rather fast with his fists, fancied Josh. for a “tenner,” and challenged him within six weeks of the last-named battle. They fought at Woolwich, July 17, 1817, when, in twenty-five minutes, Thompson dropped his whip and declined any further proceedings.

Josh, having in a spree “milled the wrong person,” was bound over by the magistrates to keep the peace for twelve months. He determined to keep out of the way of mischief for that period, so engaged himself as butcher on board the Surat Castle, Indiaman. Pierce Egan embellishes this voyage with fights with nobodies, to fill up the story of Josh.’s sea life. On his return, Hudson accepted the challenge of a formidable Chatham caulker, of the name of Bowen. This rough and ready customer stood six feet two inches in his stockings, and weighed thirteen stone and a half without an ounce of superfluous flesh; while Josh, drew ten stone seven pounds at scale. The battle was truly desperate; but in seventeen minutes Josh. was knocked out of time. This occurred on March 25, 1819.

Josh. lost no time in emerging from the cold shade of defeat, and on Tuesday, April 17, 1819, a month after the last event, he entered the ropes with Williams, the waterman, for ten guineas a-side, in Essex, opposite to Woolwich Warren. There were 5,000 persons present, say the reports at the time. Hudson was the favourite at five to four. At thirteen minutes past one Tom Owen and Donnelly conducted Josh. into the ring, followed by Williams, who was seconded by Tom Oliver and Harry Holt. The first three rounds were full of manœuvring, and decidedly in favour of the waterman; but when Josh. came to force the fighting, the scene was quickly changed. The waterman, however, proved a truly game man: he was terribly punished before the sponge was thrown up; and Josh., too, had napped it heavily. It was on both sides a manly fight, and Josh. was prophesied by Tom Owen—who dubbed him “his boy”—as likely to take a top place among the boxers of England.

JOSHUA HUDSON.
From a Miniature by T. Cooper.

On the 24th of August, 1819, at the renowned battle-field of Moulsey, after Cy. Davis had beaten Boshell, a purse of 25 guineas was made up on the ground, and Jack Scroggins (John Palmer, see his life in vol. i.) agreed to fight Josh. Hudson for the amount. Tom Owen and Sutton esquired Hudson, Harry Harmer and Tom Shelton picked up “Scroggy.” Scroggins hesitated, saying, he had been drinking overnight, and was in bad condition: but, added the daring little sailor, “Here goes—I’ll have a shy for it.” The fight requires but little description; Scroggins rushed headlong at his opponent, scrambling for a hit, and often losing his balance. Josh., on the contrary, was steady, and nobbed the once formidable hero with stupefying effect. When Scroggins fell at the close of round one, two to one was offered on Josh., and soon after three to one was without takers. At the end of the sixth round Tom Owen exclaimed, “It’s your own, Josh., my boy; you don’t want any seconding. Meet him as he comes in—one more like that, and the ‘pence’ you shall have.” In the eleventh and last round Scroggins over-reached himself, and came down on his knees, when Josh. caught him a stinger on the side of the head. “Foul, foul!” “Fair, fair!” echoed from all sides of the ring, for the rough and ready “merry-andrew of the ring” had many friends. The umpires decided the blow to be unintentional, and ordered them to “go on.” Scroggins refused, declaring he “was not used fair.” The purse was then awarded to Hudson. Scroggins, during the first few rounds was as full of antics as a clown in a pantomime, but soon became convinced that he was getting the worst of it, and broke off with an attempt to “snatch a verdict.” About this period Phil. Sampson, the Birmingham Youth, who had, as will be seen by his biography, a talent for quarrelling with his friends, fell out, Phil., more suo, talking about “serving out” Josh. at the first opportunity. Hence, after Ned Turner and Martin had left the ring (see Life of Turner, vol. i.), on the 26th of October, 1819, at Wallingham Common, Surrey, ten guineas a-side having been posted, and a ten guinea purse subscribed by the P. C., Sampson intimated his readiness to meet Josh., and the John Bull Fighter stepped into the ring with alacrity. Tom Owen and Purcell waited upon Hudson; Shelton and Harmer seconded the Birmingham Youth. On stripping, Owen said to Josh., “Now, my boy, remember the multum in parvo.” “Is that a new hit?” asked Josh. laughing. “No, my boy,” replied Tom; “it’s Latin for doing a lot of work in a little time.” “I’m awake,” replied Josh.; “he won’t catch me napping.” The men stood up, and the seconds having retired to their corners, they began—

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Scarcely had the combatants shaken hands than it appeared that they had no intention to protract hostilities. Sampson dashed in at Josh. and planted a tremendous teazer flush in his ivories. Josh. returned, and some rattling exchanges followed, Sampson literally nobbing Hudson till he reeled staggering away; but he returned to the attack like a bull-dog, and went on weaving away till he was hit down. (Tumultuous applause for Sampson, and the two to one offered on Hudson no longer heard. “I’ll bet six to four, and have Sampson,” cried a Corinthian amateur.)

2.—Sampson again led off, and nobbed Josh. three times on the head. Josh. returned, and caught Phil. heavily on the ribs and side of the head. The men got into a ding-dong rally, right and left, in which unshrinking courage was displayed on both sides. The round closed by both being down side by side covered with claret.

Twenty-five rounds ensued, occupying forty minutes, all of which were distinguished for tremendous fighting. Hudson received three or four flooring hits. In one instance, in the struggle, he fell with his knee on the private parts of Sampson, when the latter observed, “Is that the way you mean to win it, Josh.?” “I couldn’t help it—it was accident,” replied Hudson. “Well, I believe it was,” said Sampson. This small trait of feeling during the rage of battle is a fine proof of the generous courage of Englishmen. Such a good fight has not often been witnessed. At length victory was declared in favour of Hudson. It was a nice thing, and dearly bought, for Josh. fainted on his second’s knee after he was proclaimed the conqueror.

Hudson, from the game and milling talents he had displayed, was next matched against Jack Martin, for 50 guineas a-side, which took place at Colnbrook, on Tuesday, December 14, 1819, when, in the second round, Hudson’s shoulder was dislocated, and of course he lost the battle. (See the Life of Martin in vol. i.)

In the course of the evening after the battle, Hudson, in company with a friend, called at the house of Abrams (Little Puss), near the Royalty Theatre, to take a glass of liquor. One Guyly, a big costermonger, took up some money which was upon the tap-room table, belonging to Hudson, and refused to return it. The courage of Josh. made him forget the crippled state of his shoulder for the instant, and he let fly so severely upon the nob of Guyly that the saucy costermonger quickly gave back the cash. Owing to this circumstance a report got into circulation that it was untrue that Hudson’s shoulder had ever been put out by Martin.

An off-hand match was made for Hudson against Rasher, a determined Welshman, a butcher belonging to Whitechapel Market. The latter boxer had the weight of Josh.; nevertheless, he fought Rasher ten guineas to eight. This contest took place at Plaistow, in Essex, on Tuesday, January 11, 1820. Hudson was seconded by Owen and his brother David; Rasher by Mendoza and Cy. Davis. It occupied twenty-nine minutes and a half, and fifteen rounds. After the first round, which was tremendously contested, Hudson had it all his own way. The science displayed by Josh. was much admired, and he made many clever feints with his left hand, to get the right well into play. Rasher was covered with claret, and his gameness astonished every one present, but he was too slow in his movements. He was floored in the last round; and on coming to himself wanted to renew the fight.

Hudson, still continuing to rise in the estimation of his friends, was backed against Benniworth, the Essex champion, the hero of the country for several miles round, for 50 guineas a-side. Benniworth was six feet in height, weighing thirteen stone twelve pounds; nevertheless, Hudson was the favourite. This contest took place on Tuesday, April 4, 1820, on a common near Billericay, in Essex. Hudson was seconded by Owen and Purcell; Benniworth was attended by his brother and another yokel.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—About a minute elapsed in sparring, Benniworth making numerous awkward feints, and dancing about, sometimes standing with his right leg first, then changing it for the left. He made three or four hits, but they proved short. At length Benniworth made a slight blow with his right hand on Hudson’s body. Josh. seeing what sort of a customer he had before him, made play, and let fly right and left in the middle of Benniworth’s nob, both of which told, and the claret flowed copiously. Benniworth’s left eye was much damaged. He rushed in to his opponent, when, in getting away, Hudson’s heel hung in the grass, and Benniworth made a slight half round hit on the neck with his left hand, flooring him. (Great rejoicings from the yokels.)

2.—Hudson, with much dexterity, in a sort of half-arm rally, placed three straight hits on Benniworth’s nob. Josh. also drew backwards, and avoided all Benniworth’s half round blows. Hudson now made himself well up, and planted a most tremendous right-handed blow on the nose of his opponent that floored him like a shot. (Any odds, but no takers, and the Johnny Raws all blue.)

Further description would be useless. Hudson had it thenceforth all his own way. He laughed at Benniworth, and nobbed him at pleasure. The Essex champion lost his temper, rushed in, and followed Hudson all over the ring, with his head leaning forward and both his hands open. Hudson kept retreating, and jobbing his adversary on the head with his left hand. Benniworth was a complete receiver-general; nevertheless, he succeeded in driving Hudson to the ropes; but here he had the worst of it, a guinea to a shilling. Josh. nobbed him terribly away; and in following him, floored him with a terrific right-handed hit on his nose. Benniworth, when “time” was called, was in such a state of stupor that he could not leave the knee of his second, whereon Hudson was declared the conqueror.

Thus was the vaunted rustic champion disposed of in the short space of seven minutes. As a scientific pugilist, Benniworth did not appear to possess a single point: he had no idea of fighting. From the moment he entered the ring Hudson kept laughing at him, and beat him without a scratch upon his face. It certainly was a laughable, but not an interesting contest; and it was matter of astonishment how such a boxer could have obtained so terrific a character. Upon the Essex champion coming to himself, he exclaimed, with great surprise, “Be I licked?” “You are, indeed,” replied Josh., laughing; “but you may have a round or two for fun, if you like it, Benny.” “Noa, noa,” said the champion; “as I’ve lost the stakes, there be no fun in that loike.” Benniworth, it seems, had made so sure of conquest, that he invited his mother and sister to be near at hand. The yokels had also booked it, and provided themselves with blue ribbons to decorate their hats the instant victory was declared in Benniworth’s favour.

Josh. was suddenly called into action with Spring at Moulsey Hurst, on Tuesday, June 27, 1820, for a purse of £20; and, notwithstanding the disparity of size, weight, and science between the combatants, Hudson showed himself a good man. (See the Memoir of Spring, vol. ii.)

Hudson, during the time he was at Norwich, had a battle with Abraham Belasco in the long room at Gurney’s Bowling Green, July 19, 1820. In this contest, which might be termed for honour, Josh.’s shoulder went in and out three times.

Moulsey Hurst, on Tuesday, December 5, 1820, was again the favourite “bit of turf” for a genteel mill between a swell of the name of Williams and Josh. Hudson. Williams was unknown to the mass of sporting men; but those persons who knew him pretended to be acquainted with his prime fighting qualities, and chaffed all the old ring-goers out of conceit of their own judgment, and Williams was the favourite, six and five to four. This sort of “whisper” importance was also kept up at friendly Bob Lawrence’s, the Red Lion, at Hampton, where the fancy met to take a bit of a snack before they crossed the water, and make their “books” complete. Richmond, downy as a hammer, spoke in raptures of the swell’s superior science with the gloves. Bill Eales, who had stood before Williams many times, nay, who had given him instructions several years back, pronounced him “a downright slaughterer.” The Master of the Rolls was quite infatuated with this pink of the gloves. Martin had tried him again and again, and not having found Williams “wanting,” was this day £50 the worse for his opinion. Tom Shelton was also led away by the stream, and Spring was taken in upon the same suit. Oliver, too, was out of his know, and out of pocket in consequence. Cocker had nothing to do with the fight in question; indeed, who could make any calculation about an unknown man? Randall and Belcher, somehow or other, were persuaded into the good milling qualities of their hero; in short, there was a sort of fashion attached to the betting. The “Swell” was supported and brought forward by the swells. Judgment was shoved, as it were, into the background, or else a novice in the ring would never have been backed, at high odds, against a well-known high-couraged man, one who had often been put to the test, and admitted to be a boxer of talent. But then the shoulder of Hudson was ricketty; no dependence could be placed upon it. Things went on in this manner till about a few minutes before one o’clock, when Williams appeared and threw his hat into the ring, followed by Belcher and Randall as his seconds. The look of Williams was swellish in the extreme. He bowed in the most graceful manner, and there was a superior air about him. He paced the ring up and down for about eight minutes, when Josh., with his white topper, a fancy upper Benjamin, and a blue bird’s eye round his neck, came brushing along and threw his castor into the ring. He immediately went up to Williams and shook hands with him in the true open-hearted English style. To witness the manly act, this characteristic trait of Britons, is worth more in its influence upon society than the perusal of a thousand canting essays tending to fritter down the courage of Englishmen. Williams observed to Hudson, that he hoped there was no animosity between them. “Not in the least,” said he; “we are going to fight for a prize, and to see which is the best man.” Tom Owen and Ned Turner were the seconds for Josh. The latter tied his colours (yellow) to the stakes, and Randall covered them with the blue of Williams. Owen, who had never seen “the Swell” till he entered the ring with “his boy” Josh., observed to the latter, “Why, my chaff-cutter, if you don’t go and lick this Bond Street blade in a jiffy, the white topper shall never more be placed on your nob. My dear boy, the East against the West End for milling.”

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On stripping, Williams displayed a fine muscular frame, and good legs; but his face was pale, and his countenance showed him to be between forty and fifty years of age. Josh. was in high trim, and seemed confident of winning. Some time elapsed after the combatants had placed themselves in attitude before Williams let fly; but Hudson got away. Counter hits followed, when Josh.’s right eye showed blood, and the nose of the swell looked a little red. Williams made a right-handed hit, which Hudson stopped prettily, and then went to work. The exchanges were sharp and hard, but the wisty-castors of Josh. were so tremendous that he spoilt the gentility of the Swell, and positively milled him down. (Great applause from the plebeians; and Tom Owen smilingly said to Josh., “I told you so, my boy: that’s the way to clear Regent Street in a brace of shakes.” Seven to four.)

2.—Josh.’s eye was bleeding when he came up to the scratch. The Swell looked rather puzzled; but he touched Hudson’s other peeper so severely that his nob was chanceried for an instant. Hudson made a plunge with his right hand upon his opponent’s face that produced the claret, followed him up to the ropes, and punished him down. (Three to one, and “It’s poundable,” was the cry. Here Owen told Josh. he had “done the trick, and lots of Daffy were in store for him.”)

3.—The confident appearance of Williams had left him; he had paid a visit, as Tom said, to “Pepper Alley.” Williams showed game, but he had no chance to win. He, however, made some sharp hits; but the pepper-box was again administered, and Williams went down distressed. (Ten to one.)

4.—This round was the quietus; the Swell was hit out of the ring. It was Cayenne at every dose. Williams was completely done up, and his seconds dragged him up all but gone.

5.—Williams was brought up to the scratch in a most distressed state. He, however, showed fight, and with his right hand put in a heavy body blow: it was his last effort. Josh. now went in right and left, and punished the Swell so terribly that he staggered and fell against the ropes; but, on recovering himself a little, Tom Owen said to Josh., “Don’t give a chance away; a finisher only is wanting.” The finisher was applied, and Williams was down all abroad. The swells looked blue, and Josh. received thunders of applause. (“Take him away!” was the general cry.) Josh. in this round did not like to hit the Swell when he had got him at the ropes, feeling like the British sailor, so finely described by Dibdin—

“In me let the foe feel the paw of a lion;

But the battle once ended, the heart of a lamb!”

6.—Williams came to the scratch in a deplorable state, and Hudson pushed him down sans cérémonie. When time was called he could not leave his second’s knee.

Remarks.—Thus, in the short space of nine minutes, Josh. defeated this much-vaunted opponent. After remaining a short time in a state of stupor, Williams came to his recollection, and asked if it was over. The flash side were completely floored in consequence, according to themselves, of their calculating upon Josh.’s shoulder giving way. The Swell showed great steadiness in the first round, which occupied upwards of three minutes; but afterwards had no chance, and found out the great difference between sparring and fighting. Instead of losing so much time in sparring in the first round, as he was clearly a stale man, he ought to have gone to work. He could hit hard, and most certainly did not want for knowledge of the science. But he was too old to take; his mind might be firm enough to endure punishment, but his frame could not stand it. At all events, he should have commenced pugilism (if he wished to obtain a high place in the prize ring) some seventeen or eighteen years earlier. Drummers and boxers, to acquire excellence, must begin young. There is a peculiar nimbleness of the wrist and pliancy of the shoulder required, that is only obtained by early practice. Youth and strength, however, are indispensable ingredients in a pugilist. The backers of Williams, i.e., those amateurs who made the match for him, had no right to complain of his conduct. There was nothing of the cur about him; on the contrary, he fought like a game man: he never said “No,” and he tried to win the battle till he lost sight both of his opponent and friends.

Josh.’s combat with Ned Turner, when Bacchi plenus, and which ended in a defeat, will be found noticed in the life of that boxer, ante, vol. i.

A second match with his former antagonist, Phil. Sampson, was the next public appearance of Josh. This took place on Saturday, March 3, 1821, at Banstead Downs, Surrey. The torrents of rain did not deter hundreds from leaving the metropolis, and several aristocrats of the highest class were upon the ground.

At one o’clock the Birmingham Youth, followed by Spring and Randall, threw up his hat in the ring; and in a few minutes after, Hudson, attended by Oliver and Purcell, repeated the token of defiance. Spring and Oliver went up smiling together, and tied the colours of the combatants to the stakes.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On stripping, Hudson looked extremely well, but rather too fat. Sampson was in excellent condition: both gay, confident, and eager. They had tasted plentifully of each other’s quality in their former fight, and much difference of opinion existed among the spectators who had really won it. A short pause occurred, when Hudson made an offer to hit, and Sampson drew back. Another pause. Sampson endeavoured to put in right and left, which proved short, in consequence of Josh.’s getting away. After looking at each other for about a minute, Hudson went in; some sharp work took place, and in the struggle, Sampson was undermost. (Loud shouting, and “Josh., you have begun well.”)

2.—The nose of the Birmingham Youth appeared rosy. Both now began to slash away, and the pepper-box was handed from one to the other, till Josh, either went down from a hit, or slipped on his knees. (“Go along, Sampson.”)

3.—Hudson missed a tremendous hit at Sampson’s head. The latter drew the claret from Josh.’s mug by a facer; but Josh. rushed in and exchanged hits to his own advantage, and sent his opponent down. (The shouting was now like thunder—the old fanciers dancing hornpipes, the East-enders all in spirits, and the Bermondsey boys offering odds on their favourite, Hudson, six to four.)

4.—The Birmingham Youth took great liberties with the upper works of his opponent. The round was terrific. Both went down, Sampson undermost.

5.—“It’s a good fight,” was the cry all round the ring. Sampson was more than busy, and the face of Hudson was clareted. The latter, bull-dog like, did not care about receiving, so that he could go in and punish his opponent. He did so most effectively in this round, and Sampson was hit down. It is impossible to describe the joy of Hudson’s friends. (Seven to four.)

6 to 9.—These were all busy rounds, and the partisans of each of the combatants claimed the best.

10.—Sampson meant nothing but mischief, and at out-fighting placed his hits, in most with tremendous effect. In this round he went down from the force of his own blow.

11 and 12.—The Birmingham Youth always good for punishment in commencing the round; but Josh. finishing them all to his own advantage.

13.—Sampson in this round was, from the heavy blows he received, almost at a stand-still, till both down.

14.—This was a terrible round on both sides. Hudson’s mug was terrific. The men hit each other away staggering, then returned to the charge game as pebbles, till Sampson scarcely knew how he went down. (“Go along, my Joshy; it’s as safe as the Bank.”)

15.—Sampson was floored from a heavy blow under the listener. (The Hudsonites were uproarious, and offering any odds.)

16.—Sampson came up like a true Briton, and, after several severe exchanges, was again sent down.

17.—Hudson either could not, or did not attempt to, protect his head, and Sampson hit him down. (“Bravo, Sampson! do so again, and you can’t lose it,” from his friends; “you behave like a good one.”)

18.—If Josh. had not been an out-and-out bottom man, from the repeated tremendous facers he received, he must have been beaten before this period; but the more he received the more courage he appeared to have, and after another desperate round, Sampson was sent down.

19.—It was Pepper Alley on both sides, and neither appeared anxious to stop. Josh., as usual, napt it in the first part of the round, but finished it in prime style, and hit the Birmingham Youth down. (Here some hissing occurred, as it was said by a few that Hudson touched the head of his opponent improperly as he laid on the ground; but it was evident that Hudson was moving out of the way to avoid it. “He’s too high-couraged to behave unhandsomely to a brave opponent,” was the general expression.)

20.—Sampson, after a few exchanges, was again hit down. (Two to one.)

21.—It was evident that Sampson was getting weak; his knees began to tremble, but his courage and anxiety to win were strong. He strained every nerve to turn the fight in his favour, and, although he did not succeed in this respect, he was still a dangerous customer. All fighting till Sampson was down. (Three to one, and the Hudsonites quite up in the stirrups.)

22.—Sampson took the lead. The face of Hudson was pinked all over, and his head went back twice. Sampson’s mug was also painted. The latter could not keep Hudson out; he would always be with his man till he had the best of him. Sampson down.

23 to 25.—All milling; but, in the last round, Sampson was exhausted and dropped.

26.—Sampson came up distressed, and was soon sent down. (“It’s all u-p up,” says an over-the-water lad. The Hudsonites all in good humour.)

27.—No chance remained to win; but Sampson would not allow his seconds to say “No.” He came unsteadily to the scratch, but it was only to be sent down. (“Take him away.”)

28.—Sampson, it is true, reached the scratch; and although Hudson was in a bad state, from the punishment he had undergone, yet he still remained fresh enough to finish the exhausted Sampson, who went down without knowing where he was. The shouts of victory gave Hudson new life; he jumped up, put on his own coat, and was immediately taken to a carriage.

Remarks.—All that a boxer could do towards victory Sampson attempted; but he had not strength enough to dispose of Hudson, who would not be denied. Sampson by no means disgraced his character in defeat. He was led out of the ring in a very distressed state. The fight was over in thirty-two minutes. Hudson received by far most punishment about the head; and, although quite abroad once or twice, his game was so out-and-out that he returned to fight with his opponent at each repulse as though nothing could daunt him.

A slight skirmish took place between Josh. and Jack Ford, the pugilist, on Thursday evening, March 29, 1821, at the east end of the town, over a pot of heavy. Ford offered to fight David Hudson, when Josh. said it was cowardly to challenge “a blind one.” Ford immediately gave Josh. a snorter, which produced the claret. Josh. could not return the favour till he had put the pot and glass out of his hand, when the John Bull boxer caught hold of Ford, and put in such a shower on his nob that he roared out for help, and begged of the company to take Josh. away from him, if they did not wish to see him (Ford) murdered! Josh. offered to accommodate Ford any time in a public ring, if he liked it, but observed that he must take no more liberties in future with his head, or he should answer before “the beak” for such conduct.[^[44]]

In June, 1821, Josh., by way of keeping the game alive, offered to fight Tom Oliver for £100 a-side; and in October of the same year sent the following to the editor of the Weekly Dispatch:—

“Sir,—

“‘The John Bull Fighter,’ as he is termed, without meaning any offence, or a long preface on the subject, wishes to make it known that he can be backed for £100 a-side against Martin, if it meets with the approbation of the latter. Also, the same sum is ready to enter the lists with Garrol, the Suffolk champion; but if Garrol cannot get £100, I have no objection to accommodate him for £50. I am to be found at all times ready to make a deposit to the above effect.

“Yours, etc.,

“JOSHUA HUDSON.

“October 10, 1821.”

The second fight which was to have taken place between Josh. Hudson and the Suffolk champion on Tuesday, the 11th of December, 1821, after Neat defeated Hickman, for £50 a-side, went off, in consequence of a demur about the stakes. An appeal was made to Mr. Jackson, who advised the money to be returned. The Suffolk champion threw up his hat in the ring, but Hudson did not think it necessary, under the circumstances, to answer it. Had the fight taken place, Tom Owen was on the ground to second his boy Josh. The forfeit of £20 was given to Hudson by consent of Garrol’s backers.

A match was made immediately after the above forfeit between Hudson and the Chatham Caulker for £100 a-side. Bowen, six feet two inches in height, as the reader has seen, had defeated Josh. a few years before, at Chatham, in seventeen minutes. David Hudson had likewise surrendered to his conquering arm. However, the gay boys—the East-enders, with ould Tom Owen at their head—said Josh. should have another shy for it, if he lost his stick. The odds were six and seven to four against him. “What of that?” said Tom Owen; “do you mind me, the bigger the Caulker is, the better mark my boy Josh. will have to hit at.” This battle was decided on Wimbledon Common on Tuesday, February, 5, 1822.

Soon after peep of day the fancy were in motion to reach Banstead Downs, the appointed spot for the mill; but the secret had slipped out, and the beaks had got hold of the scent; yet timely notice was given to the travellers, to prevent their proceeding farther than the Cock at Sutton. Some doubts also existed upon the subject on the preceding evening at the sporting houses in town, and several swells preferred starting for Croydon to be in readiness for the result. Sutton, however, was the rallying point; and after some little consideration, Smitham Bottom was the next place determined upon, to accomplish which, two roads presented themselves (and precious ones they were), when the company brushed off in all directions, and bad was the best. To describe the ludicrous incidents which occurred across the country for nearly seven miles a small volume would scarcely suffice. In many instances several of the horsemen, mounted on good cross-country bits of horseflesh, went the pace in steeple-chasing style; and, by way of increasing the effect, at one period sly Reynard appeared in view, followed by the Surrey hounds in full cry. A few of the ring-goers, who were upon horses (now reduced to hacks) which in better times were hunters, found their situations become ticklish, and one of the “Jemmy Green” fraternity, who was floored slap in the mud, observed, with a face as long as one’s arm, “That the stable-keeper had not used him well by putting him on a hunter, and not tellin’ of him.” The puffing and blowing of the poor toddler, to keep up with the carriages: gigs shivered to pieces, upset, or their springs broken; post-chaises fast up to the naves of the fore wheels in clay, altogether formed so serio-comic a sketch that the pen cannot do justice to it. Boreas, too, took unwarrantable liberties with the head covers of the company, and many a hero’s tile was not replaced on his upper story without a scampering of a quarter of a mile for it. Smitham Bottom was at length reached in a tremendous shower of rain, the turnpike was paid without murmuring, and all the preceding troubles were forgotten on the ring appearing in sight. But here another difficulty arose: the stakes had been scarcely put into the ground, when a “beak” unexpectedly appeared, attended by his clerk, and put a stop to the battle. This was a reverend gentleman, upon whom no remonstrances could prevail. A funny fellow immediately observed to the preacher, “That it would not hinder him from receiving one jot less of his tithes; but if he was determined to prevent the contest taking place, he might, in lieu thereof, be kind enough to give them a sarmon against the noble old English practice of boxing. This might have two advantages—make them disperse, if not, perhaps change their opinions upon the subject.” The only answer elicited was, “That he would follow them all over the county.” No time was to be lost, and the assemblage again hurried off in all directions to gain Wimbledon Common. The sudden influx of company which poured into Croydon, put all the good people of that place on the stare; the doors and windows of the houses were crowded to witness the movements of the discomfited fancy. The bipeds by this time were dead beat; in fact, they were off their legs. The horses, too, were almost baked to a stand-still; and the storm coming on thicker and faster, many preferred the comforts of a good inn and a prime dinner to a doubtful chase; indeed, numerous bets were laid that no fight would take place on that day. The champion, Tom Cribb, with several of his friends, being of this opinion, preferred toasting milling over a bottle of black strap to further adventures. But the out-and-outers, whom neither wind, weather, hail, rain, nor shine can get the best of, regardless of the pitiless pelting storm, braved its fury for many a long mile, without a dry thread upon their backs, till they again met Bill Gibbons, with the stakes, on Wimbledon Common. The ring was quickly made; but the spectators were select and few, some thousands being left behind. Neither had the beak pluck enough to encounter the storm or distance, the persevering ones having travelled nearly forty miles to witness the battle. At seventeen minutes to five o’clock, Hudson, attended by Tom Owen and Randall, threw his hat into the ring. The Caulker immediately followed him, attended by Sutton and Jackson, a butcher, from Chatham. The Caulker was decidedly the favourite, six and five to four. Hudson immediately went up to his opponent and shook hands heartily with him. The President of the Daffy Club (Mr. R. Soares) held “the ticker.”

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The person of the Caulker was unknown to the ring-goers. True, his fame had gone before him, and he had been represented as nothing else but an out-and-outer, a terror to all milling coves in the neighbourhood of Chatham, and the best and strongest man in the dock-yard. David Hudson proved a mere chick in his hands, and Josh. had been licked against his will in seventeen minutes. The knowing ones, who do not like to remain idle, and who always endeavour to get a guinea upon a safe suit, were thus induced to lay the odds upon the Caulker, and in many instances rather heavily. It was farther said of him that he was a second Bill Neat, and that his right, whenever it told, was a sort of quietus. On the appearance of the Caulker in the ring, the general remarks were in his favour—“That he was a good nobbed one, snake-headed, had the length of his adversary, and looked a dangerous customer.” However, on peeling and getting rid of the swell white upper tog (which, by-the-bye, seemed to fit him like a purser’s shirt upon a handspike), he appeared a thin, lanky man, yet with good arms. On shaking hands with Hudson, he stood over the latter several inches. The round frame and ruddy face of Josh. was in singular contrast with the countenance of his opponent. It was observed on all hands that the John Bull Fighter was too fat, when a wag remarked that the contest being between roast beef and soup-maigre, John Bull was perfectly in character. Very little sparring took place before the Caulker endeavoured to put in his right hand, but Hudson got away from its force with much dexterity. The Caulker endeavoured to repeat this mode of attack, when Hudson again retreated with success. Some hard fighting ensued, several hard blows were exchanged, and the length of the Caulker was thought to give him the superiority. Hudson planted a tremendous hit upon his opponent’s ivories, that not only made them chatter, but produced a pinky appearance upon his lips. The Caulker, however, was not behind hand in returning the favour, and put in such a slap under Josh.’s right ogle as started the claret, sent him off his balance, and dropped him on one knee; he would have fallen, if he had not been caught hold of by Tom Owen, when the round finished.[^[45]] (The Chathamites were up in the stirrups at the success of their hero, and loudly offered to back him at six to four.)

2.—This triumph was of short duration, and Josh. convinced the spectators that he was by far the better fighter, as well as the harder hitter. John Bull was now in his glory; laughing at all danger, he resolutely went in to his opponent. Some tremendous blows were exchanged in favour of Hudson; indeed, it was all fighting. For a rally, there was never a better boxer or a more determined one than Josh. Hudson. He finished the round in fine style, and floored his adversary by a terrific hit on his knowledge box, that gave the Caulker quite a different view of the battle. (The East-enders were now dancing with delight, and offering to sport their blunt like waste paper. In the ecstasy of the moment, five to two and two to one was current betting. The Chathamites looked blue. “My boy,” said Tom Owen, “I always knew you were good at a short cut, but I did not think you could play half so well at long bowls. Do you mind me, Josh.; another such a tickler will send all the Chathamites to Gravesend with pockets to let.” “I’m awake, my Tommy,” replied Josh.)

3 and last.—John Bull came up to the scratch jolly, and eager to commence offensive operations; while, on the contrary, the Caulker came up slow and shaky; however, as a last resource, he endeavoured furiously to attack Hudson, who got away laughing. The combatants now got into a desperate rally, and Josh, received the most pepper, till he put in a Gas-light Man’s shot in the middle of his opponent’s mug that sent him staggering some yards; he appeared as stupid as a man without a nob. Hudson lost no time, but, from the length of his opponent, two blows fell short upon his shoulder, till he finished the battle by another Gas-lighter under his opponent’s ear, when the Caulker fell in a state of stupor, from which he did not recover for some time after Josh. had regained his post-chaise. When time was called, the battle had only occupied three minutes and a half and a few seconds.

Remarks.—This last hit was an electric shock to the backers of the Caulker, many of whom were naval men. Not a few of the travellers, too, were disgusted at so short a fight after such a long and weary journey. “How we have been gammoned,” said those who had been persuaded to lay the odds on Bowen; “this man a terror to all the dock-yard men and milling ‘salts’ in the neighbourhood of Chatham? If so, what a prize Josh. must be!” When Josh. met the Caulker the first time he was a stripling of ten stone four pounds; he was now over twelve stone, had learnt much, and by his in-fighting set at nought the Caulker’s great length of arm. Large sums of money were lost throughout Kent upon the Caulker. A bright moon and pleasant air, after the day’s storm, rendered the ride home doubly pleasant to the winners.

Josh., ever anxious to be doing, addressed the following to the editor of the Weekly Dispatch:—

“Sir,—

“I wish, through the medium of your paper, to inform Mr. Martin that I am ready to fight him for one or two hundred pounds, either before or after his fight with Randall. Should he accept this challenge, I am ready, at any time he shall appoint, to meet him at Mr. Holt’s, Golden Cross Chop House, Cross Street, Long Acre, to make a deposit; should he refuse (having been once defeated by him), I must, to use the language he so generously adopted when challenging Randall, pronounce him ‘a cur.’ I also wish to inform the sporting world that the challenge to Ned Turner, which appeared in your paper of last Sunday week, as coming from me, I know nothing of; and be assured the John Bull Fighter, as I am termed, possesses too much of a John Bull heart to exult over a defeated pugilist; and Messrs. Old Tom and Old Time having made great inroads upon the constitution of poor Ned, it was farthest from my thoughts to give a challenge, which I know his proud heart could not brook, nor his health admit him to accept.

“I am, sir, your obedient servant,

“JOSHUA HUDSON.

“Golden Cross Chop House, May 4, 1822.”

A month or two subsequently, Bill Abbot having dared Josh. to the field, he inserted the following as an answer to Abbot’s challenge:—

“Sir,—

“With reference to your letter of Sunday last, I shall be happy to accommodate you for fifty a-side, and any day this week you will find me or my money at the Cock and Cross, Red Cross Street, London Docks, to make the match. If your friends will back you for £100, I wish to say my money is ready, and in that case I will wait upon you to make a deposit of £20, as far West as you may appoint. I went the other evening to Mr. Belcher’s, and did hope to have found you, or some friend, to have made the match; but was there informed by one of your backers it was a mistake.

“I am, sir, yours obediently,

“JOSHUA HUDSON.

“July 14, 1822.”

The John Bull Fighter was matched, at short notice, with a countryman of the name of Barlow, called the Nottingham Youth, for £50 a-side. This battle was decided on Tuesday, September 10, 1822. Great sums of money were pending, and the road from London to St. Alban’s was covered with vehicles of every description, their inmates anxious to behold the “new hero” make his début. Barlow, according to report, had beaten twelve of the best men in Yorkshire, and the knowing ones were persuaded into the delusion that he would swallow Josh. at a bolt, afterwards dispose of Shelton, and ultimately put out “the Gas.” So many wagons on the ground well filled with country gentlemen (particularly from Yorkshire) had not been witnessed for a long time. A few minutes before one, Josh. threw his white topper into the ring with more than usual animation, as much as to say, “I mean to win, and nothing else!” He was followed by that “special original,” Tom Owen, and Randall, also in white hats. Hudson was loudly cheered by the spectators. The backer of Josh. accompanied him within the ropes, wearing the same emblem. Barlow was not forgotten by the crowd on making his appearance arm-in-arm with Belcher and Harmer. Hudson went up and shook hands with him. Josh. peeled instantly, and got ready; but the countryman was so long in preparing, George Head lacing his shoes carefully, and a number of officiating attendants crowding about him, that Tom Owen sung out, “What are you arter, Mr. Bel-s-h-a-r; you are keeping us waiting? Your man don’t seem to like it much. D’ye mind me?” Hudson also observed, “Come, what are we waiting for; I’m ready—let’s go to work.” Five to four on Barlow.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On peeling, the frame of the Nottingham hero did not appear calculated to punish, and most of the pugilists present made up their minds Hudson must win. It is true, the John Bull Fighter was rather too fleshy; nevertheless, he was in fine condition, and, united with his laughing, open, and confident countenance, setting defeat at defiance, made a considerable impression in his favour with the surrounding multitude. On setting-to, Josh. stood firm as a rock, with his left arm extended, nearly touching the fists of Barlow, for half a minute; on the contrary, the knees of the countryman shook (by-the-bye, he was a bad-legged one); he appeared puzzled, and at a loss how to commence the attack. Josh., finding his opponent in no hurry to begin, let fly, and counter-hits took place. The ivory box of John Bull received a small taste; but the nose of Barlow napped a rap which produced the claret. Josh., laughing, said to the umpires, “First blood.” This decided numerous wagers. (The East-enders began to chevy it was all right, and the “special original” offered ten to one on Hudson, when Belcher replied, “I’ll take it.” “Stop till the round is over,” said Owen, “and it will be twenty to one.”) Hudson put down his hands and rubbed them on his drawers, but the countryman did not take advantage of this opening. Josh. saw that he had got him, stepped in, in the Randall and Curtis style, and, without ceremony, planted a tremendous hit under the listener of Barlow that sent him down like a shot. The countryman seemed all abroad. The shouting by the boys from the Tower was uproarious in the extreme, and five to one was offered all round the ring. Anything like description must fall short in portraying the emotions of the various countenances. The chaff-cutting countrymen, who had been so jolly before, were all struck of a heap; the few knowing ones, too—who knew everything about the feats of Barlow, and had been let into the secret, “as how the Nottingham boy had beaten twelve men in the country, had knocked Tom Belcher about in a private set-to, and had got the best of Gully in a bout with the gloves”—began to drop down a little, and to look blue; while the sages of the East offered “little all” that John Bull would again prove victorious. “Do you mind me, Josh.,” said Tom Owen, “it’s as right as the day; you have only to go in and lick him off-hand.” “Yes,” replied Josh., laughing, “I’ve got him safe enough now; I liked him when I first saw him.”

2.—The countryman was reduced to a mere dummy: he was quite puzzled, and came up to the scratch to be floored by Josh. in a twinkling. (Ten to one offered, but no takers. Hudson as strong as a horse.)

3.—Similar to the last: Barlow again measured his length on the turf.

4.—Barlow, although without a chance to win, showed himself a game man, and came to the mark for another shy; but it was only to be hit down. (Here the president of the Daffy Club interfered, and requested he might be taken away. The long faces of “I’s Yarkshire” beggared all description.)

5 and last.—Barlow came again to fight, but soon found himself in Pepper Alley. Belcher satisfied that he could not win, put up his arm to stop further punishment, and he fell down. Josh. jumped out of the ring as conqueror, only six minutes and a half having elapsed.

Remarks.—The friends of Barlow showed great want of judgment in selecting such a well-known, often-tried, high-couraged man as Josh. Hudson for his trial opponent in the London prize ring. It was a hundred pounds to a farthing against Barlow after the first round; indeed, it was next to an impossibility that he should recover from the stupefying effects of so tremendous a hit. That he was a game man there is no doubt: his conduct in the ring decided that fact. This battle afforded no opportunity of judging accurately upon the subject of Barlow’s real capabilities. Hudson had not a single mark, and said it was one of the easiest things he had ever had in his life. On recovering from his surprise, in the post-chaise, Barlow wished his friends to let him renew the combat on the ground.

Josh., anxious not to let his faculties lie idle, addressed the subjoined letter to the editor of the Weekly Dispatch:—

“Sir,—

“You will oblige me by inserting the following challenges in your valuable paper. I understand that the friends of the Suffolk champion have been at the other end of the town to make a match against me; in answer to which I have only to say my friends are ready to meet them any day next week, where they think proper, to make a deposit, for 100 guineas a-side, to fight once within two months. I am also informed that Mr. Abraham Belasco wishes to have another trial with me. If any gentleman will make the match for Belasco, my friends will meet them at Randall’s any day next week they shall choose to appoint. I have only to add that, if either of them wish to do as they say, they must enter the ring before Christmas, as I mean to be like the rest of the pugilists, and declare off. Answers from the Suffolk champion and Belasco will oblige me, that I may know where to meet them on the subject, if they mean to come to the scratch.

“I remain, sir, your humble servant,

“JOSH. HUDSON.

“Cock and Cross, Redcross Street, October 4, 1822.”

Tom Shelton, after some delay, was matched with Hudson for £100 a-side, the mill to take place on Tuesday, November 19, 1822; but, owing to some reports having got into circulation that it was to be a cross on the part of Shelton, Mr. Jackson refused the use of the P. C. ropes. The friends of Shelton, nevertheless, were so satisfied with his integrity that they immediately made the following match:—

“Golden Cross, Cross Lane, Long Acre.

“Thomas Shelton agrees to fight Josh. Hudson on Tuesday, the 10th of December, in a twenty-four feet ring, for £100 a-side, half-minute time; to be a fair stand-up fight. Mr. Jackson to name the place, and to hold the stakes of £200. £6 a-side are now deposited in the hands of the P. of the D. C., and the remainder of the stakes, £94 a-side, to be made good at Mr. Holt’s, on Saturday, the 23rd of November, between the hours of eight and ten o’clock in the evening, or the deposit money to be forfeited. An umpire to be chosen on each side, and Mr. Jackson to name the referee.

“November 22, 1822.”

This remarkable contest came to issue on Harpenden Common, near St. Alban’s. Josh. was defeated in less than fifteen minutes, and fourteen rounds. He was hit out of time, and Shelton was so dead beat that it was with difficulty he appeared at the scratch to answer the call of “time.”

On the 17th of December, 1822, Josh. (full of Christmas before it began) had a turn-up in a room with Tom Gaynor, the carpenter, a strong, wiry chap, then little known, and said to be a bit of a plant. Hudson’s hands were quite gone, and altogether he was not in a fit state to fight, and if he had any friends present when the row took place, they ought to have prevented the battle. The high courage of Josh. brought him through the piece; but he was severely milled, and met with a very troublesome customer for thirty-five minutes, before Gaynor could be choked off. To mend the matter, it was for love. Josh.’s defeat weighed on his mind, and he thus proposed a renewal of hostilities in a letter:—

“Sir,—

“My late defeat by Shelton having occurred through accident, has induced me to wish to meet him once more in the ring, for the satisfaction of myself and friends and the sporting world, for which purpose I have seen Tom personally; but, for reasons best known to himself, he declines fighting any more, at least with me. I am therefore disengaged; and as my friends are ready to back me for £100 against any one (that fact coupled with the idea I entertain of myself), I wish, through the means of your valuable paper, to say, should either Bill Neat or Tom Spring have a leisure hour, once within three months, to display in real combat the scientific art of self-defence, I am ready, at any time and place either of these gents may appoint, to make a deposit to fight for the above sum.

“I am, with respect to Neat and Spring, yours obediently,

“JOSHUA HUDSON.

“Cock and Cross, Redcross Street, London Docks, January 25, 1823.”

The second match was made between Hudson and Shelton for £100 a-side, but on Thursday evening, May 23, 1823, Josh. and his friends attended at Shelton’s house to make his money good for the fight on the ensuing 10th of June. The money of Hudson, fifty sovereigns, lay on the table for ten minutes. Shelton in reply, said he was under recognizances, and should not fight nor would he forfeit. Thus the battle went off, and Hudson received £30.

Hudson was anxious to make a match with Neat, but the friends of the latter never appeared at the scratch. Hudson attended at Randall’s house for the purpose on May 30, 1823.

The John Bull Fighter never let a chance go by him, and the following epistle clearly decides his anxiety at all times to accommodate a customer:—

“To the Editor of the Weekly Dispatch.

“Sir,—

“On perusing the daily papers, I understand that Ward challenged me at the Fives Court on Tuesday last; you will therefore have the kindness, through your sporting journal, to inform him that the John Bull Fighter, whether abroad or at home, is always ready to accommodate any of his friends, to afford a ‘bit of sport.’ If Mr. Ward, or his backers, will call at Mr. Randall’s, the Hole-in-the-Wall, Chancery Lane, on Thursday evening next, Hudson will make a match either for £100 or £200 a-side, as may suit his opponent.

“I remain, sir, yours, etc.,

“JOSH. HUDSON.

“Birmingham, August 28, 1823.”

On the arrival of Hudson in London, the following articles were agreed to:

“Hole-in-the-Wall, Chancery Lane.

“Josh. Hudson agrees to fight James Ward for £100 a-side. To be a fair stand-up fight, in a twenty-four feet ring. Half-minute time. Mr. Jackson to name the place of fighting. The battle to take place on Tuesday, November 11, 1823. The men to be in the ring, and ready to fight, between the hours of twelve and one o’clock. An umpire to be chosen on each side, and a referee to be appointed on the ground. £10 a-side are now deposited in the hands of a person well known in the prize ring; £40 a-side more to be made good at Mr. Shelton’s, Hole-in-the-Wall, Gate Street, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, on Tuesday, October 7, 1823, between the hours of eight and ten o’clock in the evening, or the £10 a-side to be forfeited. The remainder of the stakes, £50 a-side, to be made good a fortnight before fighting, on Tuesday, October 28, 1823, at Mr. Randall’s, Hole-in-the-Wall, Chancery Lane, between the hours of eight and ten o’clock in the evening, or the money deposited to be forfeited.

“Signed,

“For JOSH. HUDSON, G. H.

“JAMES WARD.

“Witness, B. Bennett.

“September 4, 1823.”

Upon the above articles being signed, six to four was offered to be taken by the friends of Ward, and several bets were proposed that Ward’s money would be made good.

The following remarks were made respecting the milling capabilities of the combatants previous to the match:—

“The friends of the Black Diamond in the rough (Jem Ward) flatter themselves he is so much polished by his recent experiments on the nobs of the provincials, as to be able to take a high number among the metropolitan boxers. Ward, in point of frame, is a second Hen. Pearce, so say the ould ones; and his chest is thought to be equal in point of anatomical beauty and immense strength to any boxer on the P. L. Ward is likewise a most scientific fighter, active on his legs, and mills on the retreat in first-rate style. The principal drawback is said to be, that he is more of a tapper than a heavy punishing hitter; and it is also a question at present, which time can only answer (in order to make his resemblance to the Chicken complete), whether the little but important word ‘game’ is to be added to his character. Ward, on account of his youth, is much fancied by a great part of the betting world at the west end of the metropolis, who assert, and back their opinion, he will win it easily. On the contrary, something like grief has escaped the lips of the coveys near the Mint; and the Sage of the East has also been caught on the sly wiping his ogles, that necessity should compel the ‘two Stars of the East’ to be opposed to each other. Josh. and Ward being positively in want of a job, and sooner than remain idle, or stand still, are anxious to take each other by the hand, no opponents from any part of the kingdom offering to enter the lists with them. Their match seems made upon the same principle as that of the late Tom Johnson and Big Ben. ‘Tammy,’ said the latter, ‘you and I never fell out, and that is the reason why I think we ought to fight.’ This is exactly the opinion of the John Bull Boxer, who delights in fighting, but detests quarrelling, laughing heartily at the incidents of a mill, and weeping over any real distress. Great sums of money are already betted upon the battle between Hudson and Ward. The former hero is thought to be too fleshy; but his lion-hearted courage, among his staunch admirers, overbalances all defects; and numbers take Josh. for choice, while others are so fond of him as to bet the odds.”

The fight took place on the 11th of November, 1823, on Moulsey Hurst. Hudson was the favourite at six to four some days before the battle; but by a dodge on the evening when the final stakes were to be made good, he reduced the betting to evens, and finally six to four on Ward. He stuffed himself into a great coat, a dress coat, and seven or eight under waistcoats, which gave him such a puffy appearance that many even of his own friends imagined him out of condition. Hudson was always an attractive feature in the prize ring; and Ward, by anticipation, was expected to turn out a hero of the first milling class. From the time Dutch Sam fought Nosworthy, so many vehicles were not seen upon Moulsey Hurst. A sprinkling of Corinthians ornamented the ring, numerous swells, a great variety of heavy-betting sporting men, thousands of independent respectable spectators, lots of commoners, and plenty of persons a shade below the last mentioned, and, lastly, a multitude of chaps still a shade lower. The whole was conducted in the most respectable and orderly manner, under the direction of the Commander-in-Chief, seconded by the efforts of the Commissary-General. The exertions of Oliver, Scroggins, Harmer, Sampson, Turner, Carter, etc., also tended in a great degree to give every individual an opportunity of viewing the fight. Five and seven shillings each person was demanded for a standing place in the wagons; and the watermen who ferried the crowds across the Thames were well paid for their exertions. The Red Lion at Hampton was head quarters, and every room in the house overflowed with company. Between twelve and one o’clock Josh., in a drab white coat, with a blue bird’s eye round his neck, attended by his seconds, Randall and Peter Crawley, followed by Jem Burn, threw his hat into the ring. Hudson was received with loud shouts. He looked cheerful, nodded to several friends, and appeared quite at his ease. After walking about the ring for the space of ten minutes, “Ward, Ward,” was the cry. “He ought to have been here before,” said Josh.; “half past twelve o’clock was the agreement.” The Black Diamond was seen, arm-in-arm with his backer and trainer, making his way through the crowd, followed by his seconds, Spring and Aby Belasco. He was cheered as he passed along, and threw his hat spiritedly into the ring. Ward looked extremely pale on entering the ropes; and the contrast between the mugs of the combatants was decidedly in favour of Hudson. While the Black Diamond was sitting on the knee of his second, preparing for action, he turned round and surveyed his opponent from head to foot. Randall tied the colours of Josh., “true blue,” to the stakes, and Spring placed Ward’s, green, alongside of them. “Go to work,” was now the order of the day.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Hudson, on throwing off his togs, amused the spectators by a dramatic touch—a new feature in the prize ring—something like the comic business in Hamlet. On getting rid of his linen, which had been nicely got up by his laundress for the occasion, a flannel cameza was discovered, and the eager peepers of the amateurs were disappointed in not beholding Josh.’s canvas, a second layer of Welsh obscuring it. “Hallo!” said the Nonpareil, “how many more of them have you got on?” “Why, you are made of flannel,” rejoined Peter. “Leave it all to the cook,” replied Josh., smiling; “ask Ward about that by-and-bye.” To the great astonishment of the crowd Randall divested a third from his frame before Josh.’s rotundity of abdomen, broad jolly shoulders, and round arms were exposed for action. At length the John Bull Fighter appeared all in his glory: “His soul in arms, and eager for the fray.” “Let no person assert that Josh. has not been careful of himself,” observed a young sprig of aristocracy. “Careful, indeed!” replied an old sporting man; “do not say a word about being careful: he is in no condition at all; he is not fit to fight. For myself, I never make any calculations upon his training; no, no, system and Hudson are not pals; and the old Sage of the East, Tom Owen, has deplored this defect in his darling boy times and often with watery ogles. It is his invincible bottom that never flinches while nature holds her empire over his frame that renders Hudson a safe man to back at all times. Recollect Ben Burn’s character of Tom Cribb, ‘I wouldn’t mind fighting Cribb,’ said Ben, ‘but Tom has not sense enough to leave off; he never knows when he has got enough.’” The John Bull was now only waiting to shake the hand of his opponent to show the spectators that animosity had no place in the contest, fame and glory being his only object in view. Ward was in tip-top condition; in fact, he could not have been better: he was nearly, if not quite, as heavy, without the grossness of his opponent, and thus possessed the advantages of training. The bust of the Black Diamond was pronounced “beautiful” by the admirers of anatomy; indeed, the whole figure of Ward was of so manly an appearance, that a sculptor might have long looked for such a model of a pugilist. The combatants placed themselves in attitude. Hudson stood firmly with his left arm extended, looking steadfastly at his opponent, ready for any chance that might offer, well knowing that he had an active and scientific boxer before him. The forte of Ward immediately showed itself: hitting and getting away seemed to be the object he had in view. After a short pause, and both moving a few paces on the ground, Josh. let fly with his left, but the Black Diamond got away with activity. Ward endeavoured to make a hit, but his distance from Josh. was too respectful to do any mischief. Hudson looked cheerful and Ward smiled. Hudson aimed a heavy blow with his right hand, but the Black Diamond was not to be had, and retreated. Josh., perceiving that long bowls were of no service, determined to try if a broadside would not bring his adversary into action; he went to work sans cérémonie, and an exchange of heavy blows was the result. The Black Diamond napped a blow on the side of the neck, which, if it had been planted a little higher, might have been mischievous. In closing at the ropes Ward commenced the weaving system actively, but the situation of Josh. gave him the opportunity of beating the back part of Ward’s neck and head. In struggling for the throw, Ward obtained it cleverly, Hudson being undermost. (Shouting, and “Well done, Jem! that’s the way, my lad; you can win it by throwing only.” “Walker!” said an old sailor from the Cock and Cross; “lick my old messmate by a throw indeed! You don’t know him.”)

2.—Josh.’s forehead was a little rouged, and the right ear of the Black Diamond vermilioned from the effects of the last round. Ward would not make play, and Hudson found his man very difficult to be got at. A short time was occupied in dodging, when Hudson again resolutely commenced the attack. Several blows of no tender nature were exchanged between them till they fought their way into close quarters. Ward, with great spirit and activity, fibbed his opponent à la Randall, but not without return. After severe struggling they separated, and both went down.

3.—Josh. stopped well, and also got away from a heavy hit. Ward smiled. A smart rally took place, in which Hudson received a rum one that caused him to stagger, stagger, and stagger till he went down on his rump. It is true it was from the effects of the hit; but perhaps it would be too much to term it a knock-down blow. In the above rally Ward also received a teazer on the tip of his nose which produced the claret, and he dropped, a little exhausted, on one knee at the conclusion of the round. (“Ward will win it,” from his partizans; “he’ll be able to make a fool of the fat one in ten minutes.” The odds decidedly on the Black Diamond.)

4.—This round was short, but very sweet to the backers of Hudson. The latter, on setting-to, floored Ward like a shot. (The joy was so great on this event that the Bullites roared like bulls, the Black Diamond’s friends looking a little blue at this momentous triumph.)

5.—This was an out-and-out round on both sides. Ward was on his mettle, and nothing else but milling followed. Josh. made play, and Ward turned to with equal gaiety. Some heavy blows passed between them, and Josh. turned round in breaking away from his adversary. A short pause, when Hudson kept creeping after Ward, who was retreating, till another rally was the result, in which the Black Diamond had the best of it, till Josh. again broke away. Hudson was terribly distressed, and Ward committed the error of letting the John Bull Fighter make a pause till he recovered his wind; in fact, Ward would not fight first. The high-couraged ould one, puffing and blowing like a grampus, again commenced play, but received three facers for his temerity. Another pause. Hudson was now at a stand-still, and his bad condition was visible to every one, but he would attempt to mill undismayed, till he received a tremendous blow on his left cheek-bone, which sent him down in a twinkling. This was a clean knock-down blow. (The Black Diamonders were now in turn brilliant. “That’s the way, my Jem’s eye; it’s all your own. We’ll back you now two to one, nay, three to one. You can’t lose it.”)

6.—The heart of Hudson was as sound as ever, and his eye still possessed its wonted fire, but his distressed state was evident. Two severe counter-hits separated the combatants from each other, and both of them felt the severity of the blows. Ward retreated fast from Josh.; but the latter kept creeping and creeping after him till the Black Diamond was near the ropes, and compelled to fight. Here the John Bull Fighter found himself at home, that is to say, at close quarters, a sort of yard-arm and yard-arm fighting, where all his blows told. Josh. not only stopped skilfully, but he put in two such tremendous hits on Ward’s body, that the face of the Black Diamond exhibited excruciating grimaces. Hudson also finished the round by throwing Ward. (Another uproarious shout. The spectators all alive, and the John Bull Fighter, if not the favourite among the betting men, seemed to have the interest of the unbiassed part of the audience.)

7.—Hudson, while sitting on Crawley’s knee, appeared exhausted, but not in pluck, and laughed at Randall’s telling him to recollect his invitation of dining with the Lord Chancellor to-morrow. On time being called, Josh., with much judgment, kept sparring at the scratch to recover his wind. Hudson cleverly stopped a heavy blow. In closing at the ropes the activity displayed by Ward in fibbing his opponent was the admiration of the ring, but it was more showy than effective. Hudson, though awkwardly held, nevertheless administered most punishment. Ward again threw his opponent cleverly.

8.—Some pausing occurred, Ward waiting for his opponent to make play. “You must come to me, Jem,” said Josh.; “I shall not go after you; I shall stand here all day.” “So can I,” replied Ward. Hudson soon broke through his resolution, and went to work, Ward fighting and retreating till he was against the ropes. Here the combatants closed, and the Black Diamond endeavoured to fib his adversary, until Josh., in rather a singular manner, extricated himself from the gripe of his adversary, and found himself outside of the ring, when he put in a blow across the ropes which floored the Black Diamond. (Loud shouting in favour of Hudson; but in betting generally Ward was the hero of the tale.)

9.—The face of Hudson was red and puffy, and it was astonishing to witness a man fight so well who laboured under such an evident state of distress. The skill of Ward, added to his goodness on his legs, should have given him confidence to have fought immediately with Josh. on his appearing at the scratch. Owing to the want of this confidence, he gave a chance away. “The John Bull” again commenced play, but Ward would not be hit. Hudson, on the creeping system, gently followed Ward all over the ring, until the latter was in a situation that he was compelled to fight. A slaughtering rally took place, hit for hit, till both the men went down. (Spring, on picking up his man and looking at Hudson, observed, “I should like to have a calf’s head as fat as Josh.’s face.” “Softly,” said Crawley, “you don’t know how soon your own mug may be in a worse condition.”)

10.—This was a fine fighting round altogether, exhibiting skill, bottom, and bravery. Josh., after a short pause, endeavoured to feel for his adversary’s nob, but Ward retreated. The Black Diamond, however, returned upon Hudson quickly, and missed a tremendous blow aimed at Josh.’s head; it alighted upon his shoulder. A severe but short rally occurred, till the combatants separated from distress. Hudson was determined to put his opponent to the test, and the exchange of blows was severe, till they were compelled to make a pause. “To lick or be licked,” says Josh., “here goes!” and hit for hit occurred till both the men went down.

11.—This round led to the decision of the battle. Ward was pinking Josh.’s nob and retreating, as the John Bull kept creeping after him, till a severe rally was the result. Josh. put in a tremendous blow under Ward’s left eye, which closed it. The Black Diamond was wild and quite abroad from its severity, hitting at random. It was now blow for blow till Ward was floored.

12.—It was evident that Ward could not measure his distance accurately, and his blows were given like a man feeling for his way in the dark; nevertheless, this was a complete milling round. Hudson’s mug was red in the extreme, and he did not appear to have wind enough to puff out a farthing rushlight. Ward was also distressed; indeed, it was the expressed opinion of some of the old fanciers that “it was anybody’s battle.” When time was called, a minute, if it could have been allowed, would have proved very acceptable to both parties. After a short pause at the scratch Ward got away from a heavy body blow. At the ropes a smart exchange of blows occurred, when they separated. Hudson stopped a heavy lunge in great style. At the ropes another sharp encounter took place, till both of the men were at a stand-still. Ward endeavoured to put in a nobber, which Josh. stopped so skilfully as to extort applause from all parts of the crowd. In a struggle at the corner of the ring Ward was sent out of the ropes, and Hudson fell on one of his knees. (The backers of both parties were on the funk. There seemed no decided certainty about it: hope and fear were depicted on the faces of the friends of both men at this juncture. It was an awful moment for the cash account—the transfer of some thousands was at hand.)

13.—Hudson’s little smiling eyes, although nearly obscured by the bumps and thumps above and below them, had not lost their fire, and he said to Randall, on coming to the scratch, “I am satisfied, Jack, I have got him.” The face of the Black Diamond was completely metamorphosed, and his peepers nearly darkened. On setting-to Hudson planted a nobber, which sent Ward staggering two or three yards, and he was nearly going down. Hudson followed his opponent, and some blows were exchanged; when, in closing, Josh. fell on Ward with all his weight. (“John Bull for £100; five to one,” and higher odds. Victory was now in sight. “Hudson can’t lose it,” was the general cry.)

14.—Badly distressed as Josh. appeared to be, on coming to the scratch he was by far the better man of the two. Ward did what he could to obtain a turn, and, in closing at the ropes, endeavoured to fib his adversary; but Hudson pummelled Ward so severely behind his nob, that in a confused manner he let go his hold. A few blows were then exchanged, when the John Bull gave Ward a coup de grace that sent him down flat on his back. (“Ward will not come again; it’s all over!”)

15 and last.—When time was called, Spring brought his man to the scratch, but Ward was in so tottering a state that he was balancing on one leg. (“Take him away!” “Don’t hit him, Josh.”) The John Bull Fighter, with that generosity of mind which distinguishes his character, merely pushed his opponent down, when the battle was at an end. Josh. took hold of Randall’s hat and threw it up in the air, and at the same time he tried to make a jump. If not quite so light, graceful, nor so high as the pirouette of an Oscar Byrne, yet, it was that sort of indication that he did jump for joy. Hudson immediately left the ring amidst the shouts of the populace, crossed the water, and prudently went to bed at the Bell, at Hampton. The battle was over in thirty-six minutes.

Remarks.—Ward must be pronounced a fine fighter: he completely understands scientific movements, and, perhaps it is not too much to assert, he is master of the art of self-defence. His most conspicuous fault in this battle appeared to be in not fighting first, and evincing too great anxiety to avoid the blows of his opponent. The Black Diamond is excellent upon his legs—few, if any, boxers better; but, in his fondness for retreating, his blows, however numerous, did not reduce the courage of the John Bull Fighter. It has been urged that Ward was shy of his adversary. The name and character of Josh. Hudson, as one of the gamest of the game boxers on the list, no doubt has some terrors attached to it, and we think it had a little effect upon the feelings of Ward. Hudson was now in his twenty-seventh year, and victory had crowned his efforts sixteen times. In the battle with Ward the extraordinary courage he displayed was the theme of every one present. To courage, and courage alone, he may attribute his success; but at the same time we are sure that he might have been in much better condition, if he had paid more attention to his training. Hudson, we must assert, relied too much upon his courage; in fact, he was so completely exhausted two or three times in the fight, that his most sanguine friends were doubtful of the result. Ward proved himself a troublesome customer, and difficult to be got at. Josh. won the battle out of the fire. Ward was considerably punished about the head, and put to bed immediately after the battle, at Hampton. Upon the whole it was a fine manly fight.

On the fight being over, “Home, sweet home,” was the object in view, and the night fast approaching, the proverb of the “devil take the hindmost,” seemed to be uppermost. The toddlers brushed off by thousands to the water’s edge, and, in spite of the entreaties of the ferrymen, the first rush jumped into the boats in such numbers as nearly to endanger their own lives. However, the watermen soon got the “best of it,” by demanding a bob or more to carry over in safety select companies. Yet so great was the pressure of the crowd, and so eager to cross the water to Hampton, that several embraced Old Father Thames against their will, amidst the jeers and shouts of their more fortunate companions. A nice treat, by way of a cooler, in an afternoon in November, sixteen miles distant from home. The other side of the Hurst produced as much fun and laughter, from the barouches, rattlers, gigs, heavy drags, etc., galloping off towards Kingston Bridge through fields covered with water, to save time. Several were seen sticking fast in the mud, the proprietors begging assistance from those persons whose horses were strong enough for the purpose; but “a friend in need” was here out of the question. Two or three drags that were overloaded with “live stock” broke down in similar situations, which a wag observing, sung out, by way of consolation to the Jacks in the water, “that they were going home swimmingly.” One block up of this kind operated on a string of carriages upwards of half a mile in length. Upon the whole, it was a lively and amusing picture. The vehicles were so numerous, that two hours had elapsed before the whole of them had passed over Kingston Bridge, to the great joy and profit of the proprietors of the gates. For miles round Moulsey Hurst it proved a profitable day for the inns; and money that otherwise might have remained idle in the pockets of persons who could afford to spend it, was set to work in the consumption of articles tending to benefit hundreds of tradesmen, who otherwise (like Dennis Brulgruddery) might have been long on the look-out for “a customer.”

Josh. purchased several pieces of blue silk handkerchiefs, and as a convincing proof to his friends that he meant nothing else but winning the battle, he presented one to each of them on the condition that if he, Hudson, won the battle, he was to receive a guinea; but if defeated, not a farthing was to be paid to him. Hudson cleared £100 by the above speculation several of his backers presenting him with £5 a-piece for the blue flag.

Hudson, on meeting with Ward in London the morning after the battle, enquired after his health, shook hands with him, and presented him with a £5 note.

At a meeting of the Partiality Club, held at Mr. Tuff’s, the Blue Anchor, East Smithfield, on Thursday evening, November 13, 1823, it was proposed by Pierce Egan, seconded by Tom Owen, and carried unanimously, that a silver cup, of the value of 100 guineas, be presented to the John Bull Fighter for the true courage displayed by him at all times in the prize ring. The room was small, the company but few in number, yet in less than five minutes, so glorious was the East-end upon this occasion, that the subscriptions amounted to £20. The money was immediately put down, and Mrs. Tuff (wife of the landlord), as an admirer of true courage, begged the favour of being permitted to add her guinea.

At Crawley’s benefit at the Fives Court, Wednesday, November 12, 1823, on Hudson showing himself on the stage, he was warmly congratulated by his friends. “Gentlemen,” said Hudson, “I have been informed by Mr. Egan that Shelton has made an assertion that Ward received £100 to lose the battle with me. I will bet any person five to one that he does not prove it. (Bravo!) I will also fight Tom Shelton for from £25 to £200 a-side when the time he is bound over for expires. If Ward is in the Court let him come forward and meet this charge made against him.” (Applause.) Shelton appeared upon the stage and said, “I have been told by Ben Burn that Ward received £100. I merely repeated it, and give up the author.” “That’s right, Tom; you’ve cleared yourself.” Burn then appeared and said, he had heard in casual conversation what he had repeated to Shelton. Here Ward rushed up the steps and said, as he stood between Shelton and Burn, “The whole is a direct falsehood;” and added indignantly, “I will fight either of them, gentlemen, for £100, and cast back the slander. (Applause.) I now publicly assert that no individual whatever ever offered me one single farthing to lose the battle. I felt confident I could win.” (Great applause.) Josh. Hudson: “And I will fight Ben Burn any day he likes to appoint, my £100 against his £60.” Vehement cheering, during which Uncle Ben tried a reply. He had no more chance than an unpopular candidate on the hustings. All that could be heard was a declaration that he had not had fair play, and they did not act towards him like Englishmen. The suspicions, if any had legitimately existed, as to the fairness of the fight between Hudson and Ward, were utterly dissipated.

Hudson and Sampson were matched on the bustle for £100 a-side, owing, it would appear, to a word and a blow, Sampson—always very fast—entertaining an opinion he had improved, not only as a boxer, but was a better man in every point of view than heretofore, while the John Bull Fighter always thought he could polish off Sampson at any period in a twenty-four foot ring.[^[46]] Articles were entered into; but Josh., in order to gain three weeks in training, forfeited £10 to Sampson, at Mr. King’s, the Cock and Cross, East Smithfield, on March 8, 1824, and a new match was made the same evening, for £100 a-side, to come off on Tuesday, May 11, 1824.

Presentation of a Silver Cup to Josh. Hudson.—On Thursday, May 6, 1824, previous to this trophy being deposited in the hands of the John Bull Boxer, the Partiality Club dinner took place at Mr. Tuff’s, Blue Anchor, East Smithfield. The festive board was truly inviting; the wines excellent; and a silver cup which had been given to a gentleman of the name of Docker, for his spirited conduct in behalf of the oppressed poor in the parish—as one of the links connected with “true courage”—was also placed in view of the visitors. On the cloth being removed, the John Bull Fighter’s cup, filled with five bottles of port, was placed in the front of the Chairman, and Hudson took his seat on the right hand side of the President. Pierce Egan occupied the chair, and accordingly fills six pages of “Boxiana” with a newspaper report apropos of—nothing. The health of Hudson having been drunk, he received the cup with great emotion. “Gentlemen,” said Josh., “I cannot make a speech, but, believe me, my gratitude and thanks are sincere, and as you have honoured me with this cup in the name of true courage, why I will endeavour to support my character for true courage to the end of my life.” The cup then passed round. The healths of Mr. Jackson, Tom Cribb, and the leading supporters of the prize ring, were drunk, and Josh. departed to the country to finish his training for his fight with Sampson.

The cup bears the following inscription:—

“THIS CUP

Was presented to the

JOHN BULL FIGHTER,

ON THURSDAY, THE 6TH OF MAY, 1824,

As a Reward for the

TRUE COURAGE

which

JOSHUA HUDSON

Displayed throughout all his Contests in the

PRIZE RING.

John Bull in the ring has so oft play’d his part,

The form let it be in the shape of a heart—

A true British one! at its shrine take a sup:

Can a more noble model be found for a cup?—P. E.

---

This Piece of Plate was raised by Subscription;

The Contributors were

Several Members of the Partiality Club,

a few frequenters of the Widow Melsom;

(and in confirmation that ‘None but the Brave deserve the Fair!’

The Hostesses of the above houses);

And by those Amateurs who are supporters of the Noble

ART OF SELF-DEFENCE.”

The cup, as indicated in the doggrel to which P. E. is engraved, is heart-shaped. On the cover is the figure of a sailor, with an anchor and foul cable. The report goes on:—“In front of the cup a small heart appears over four divisions, intended for the boxers’ coat of arms. The first division represents the pugilists in attitude. The second portrays one of the combatants down on his knees, his opponent with his arms held up walking away, in order to show that he will not take any unfair advantage. The third division exhibits the battle at an end, the defeated man sitting upon the knee of his second in the act of shaking hands with the victor, to evince that no malice exists between them. The fourth depicts the honours of conquest—the conqueror carried out of the ring upon the shoulders of his seconds, with the purse in his hands. Several other appropriate embellishments appear on the different parts of the cup, on the bottom of which the lion is seen with the lamb reposing at his feet; and at no great distance from the lion is the English bull-dog, as a second to the king of the forest.”

The affair of Hudson and Sampson was fixed for Tuesday, May 11, 1824, at Haydon Grange Farm, forty miles from the metropolis. Hudson was originally the favourite, at five and six to four, and heavy sums were laid out on him at Tattersall’s at these figures. But on the day before the fight there was a rush to get on to Sampson, and the odds went about at six to four on the Birmingham Youth. This sudden change terrified the East-enders, and many tried to get off.

At one o’clock the ring was formed in a most delightful situation, and, punctual to time, Josh. threw his white topper into the ring. Just before, however, the backers of Sampson declared that they preferred forfeiting the £100 stakes to the risk of losing more than £1,000, as numbers of sporting men had declared off, and that they would not pay if Hudson lost the battle. Hereupon Hudson’s backers offered to cancel the old articles, and post £100 for a new match to come off there at two o’clock. This was refused, and the altercation became violent, but Sampson’s backers said he should not fight that day. The wrangle having subsided, two Cambridge men, Samuel Larkins[^[47]] and William Shadbolt, of local fame, and both styled “champions,” threw their hats into the ring. The Cantabs, who were in force, took great interest in the result. Paddington Jones and Jem Ward seconded Larkins, and Tom Oliver and Ned Stockman picked up Shadbolt. Larkins, in nineteen rounds, polished off Shadbolt completely.

Hudson walked round the ring, conversing with his friends during the battle. The John Bull Fighter was never in such excellent condition in any previous battle, and loudly expressed himself dissatisfied at receiving the battle-money without a fight. “The sporting world,” said Josh. “are my best friends; to them I owe everything, and I am sorry they should have come so many miles on my account to be disappointed. It is not my fault, and I hope they will not blame me for circumstances I have nothing to do with.” On leaving the ground, and passing the Grange Farm House, Hudson met with Sampson, when they shook hands together. The ground was soon cleared, and the company was off. Hudson returned to London in a post-chaise and four, and arrived about two o’clock in the morning. Sampson also moved for the metropolis with the utmost speed. The sporting houses were filled with company, and every one out of humour at having travelled nearly a hundred miles to be laughed at for his pains.

By the advice of his best friends, and in consequence of his constitutional tendency to corpulency, which resisted the effects of ordinary training, Josh. now took leave of the P. R. in an address at the Tennis Court. His next step was to “commit the crime the clargy call matrimony,” with the complicity of a very amiable and respectable young woman, who quickly developed into the agreeable hostess of the Half Moon Tap, in Leadenhall Market, where “Jolly Josh.,” brimful of fun and facetiousness, held his opening dinner on the 23rd of January, 1825. Josh., though he retired from activity as a principal, kept up his ring connection, and was foremost not only in backing and match-making on behalf of the East-enders as in rivalry with the Corinthians of the West, but never spared himself in the anxious and often laborious duties of seconding any man worthy of his care and patronage, or of setting-to for his benefit, as may be seen in these pages on many occasions. A paragraph which we find in a newspaper of this period may show that Josh.’s “right hand” had not “lost its cunning” by reason of bar-practice, and also throws a side-light on our hero’s manly readiness to champion the defenceless.

“Gallantry.—As Hudson, the well-known pugilist, was passing along Ratcliff Highway, a clumsy coalheaver elbowed a pregnant woman off the pavement into the road. The feelings of Josh. were roused at this unmanly conduct, and he remonstrated pretty forcibly with Coaly for his bad behaviour. The reply he got was a cut from a trouncing whip. This was too much. Without further ceremony Josh. judged his distance and gave Coaly such a pile-driver that he went down on the stones as if he had been shot. It was a minute or two before he recovered, and then, declining to get up for ‘another round,’ Josh.’s name being upon every one’s tongue, the humbled bully sneaked into a public-house to talk the matter over with his brethren of the sack.”—Sunday Monitor, July, 1825.

Among Josh.’s generous qualities were his grateful remembrance of past services and favours and his firm adherence to a friend in adversity. Of this there is extant an instance so creditable to both parties concerned, that we cannot forbear its repetition.

An old friend of Josh.’s early days having, by reverse of fortune, by no means unfrequent among sporting men, fallen into a difficulty which called upon him for the immediate payment of some £50, applied, in his extremity, to mine host of “the Half Moon.” Josh., who had not the cash by him, was sadly annoyed at the idea of being compelled to refuse such an application from one from whom he had received favours. A sudden thought struck him. There was his “Cup,” lying snug in its case in his iron safe. On that he could raise a temporary loan, and nobody the wiser. Desiring his friend to make himself at home while he went for “the mopusses,” Josh. possessed himself of the piece of plate, hurried out at the side-door, and after a sharp toddle presented himself, blowing like a grampus, in one of the small boxes of a neighbouring “Uncle” in Bishopsgate Street. Josh. was not only a well-known public character, but it so happened that “mine Uncle” was an admirer of the “noble art.” Josh. unlocked his box, and drew forth his well-earned trophy. The assistant eyed him with some curiosity.

“How much?”

“Forty pounds!” gasped Jolly Josh. not yet recovered from his run.

The assistant stepped into his employer’s sanctum, who instantly returned with the shining pledge in his hands.

A brief colloquy explained the position of affairs. Josh. wanted forty pounds.

“Mine Uncle” proceeded to his desk, but not to make out the “ticket” required by law. He merely wrote an acknowledgment, to be signed by Josh., that he had received a loan of forty pounds. This “mine Uncle” presented to him for signature. Josh. was overwhelmed.

“No, no,” said mine Uncle! “Take back your Cup, Josh., you must not be without it. Pay me, as I know you will, as soon as you are able. I’ll not have that piece of wedge go to sale anyhow.”

Josh returned to the Half Moon with both money and cup; discharged the duty of friendship, and the pawnbroker lost nothing by his confidence.

We must preserve the name of the generous pawnbroker (strange coupling of epithets!), it was Folkard, and the assistant was the youth who, in after years, was the well-known Renton Nicholson, of newspaper and “Town” celebrity, from whose lips we have often heard this little episode of “John Bull and his Uncle.”

“Mine host in the market, a prime jolly fellow,

As rough and as ready as here and there one;

In his lush-crib when seated, good-humoured and mellow,

Looks very like Bacchus astride of his tun.

But more to advantage, with Davy beside him,

This John Bull, the picture of frolic appears,

Discoursing on battles, which those who have tried him

Confess to have rung a full peal in their ears.”

In 1827, Mrs. Hudson presented, as a second offering, a son and heir, which occasion the friends and admirers of the father celebrated by a festival on Christmas Day, whereat a silver cup was presented to the young “John Bull,” inscribed: “The gift of a few friends to Josh. Hudson, junior, born February 28th, 1827, within the sound of Bow Bells.”

The free life of a publican, with one who certainly had no inclination to check free living, was not long in telling its tale. Josh. was now visited with increasing frequency by gout and its too common sequel, dropsy, and died at the age of thirty-eight, on the 8th of October, 1835, at the Flying Horse, in Milton Street, Finsbury.

CHAPTER V.
NED NEALE (“THE STREATHAM YOUTH”)—1822–1831.

In the memoir of the redoubtable Tom Sayers, in our third volume, will be found a few remarks on the persistency with which Hibernian reporters and newspaper scribes, old and new, claim an Irish origin for fighting heroes, naval, military, and pugilistic. Ned Neale furnishes another instance of this assuming proclivity. Indeed, at the time of Neale’s appearance, the talented editor of Bell’s Life in London, Vincent George Dowling (himself of Irish descent), and Pierce Egan, were the recognised reporters of every important ring encounter—the clever but eccentric George Kent, who for twenty years had been its most active chronicler, having previously gone to his rest in the churchyard of Saint Paul’s, Covent Garden. The Bell’s Life and Dispatch accordingly prefixed a “big O” to the name of our hero, and plentifully larded their reports of Neale’s doings with Hibernian humour, misspelling his name “O’Neil,” until, in a letter to Bell’s Life, signing himself “Ned Neale, the Streatham Youth,” the young aspirant disclosed his parentage and place of birth, depriving “ould” Pierce’s rhodomontade of its applicability and point.

Ned Neale first saw the light in the pleasant village of Streatham, in Surrey, on the 22nd of March, 1805, of humble but respectable parents. His youth, it may be remarked, was passed in a period when the ring had for its patrons noblemen, gentlemen, and sportsmen, and among its professors Gully, the Belchers, Randall, Cribb, and Spring. At an early age he was in the employ of Mr. Sant, an eminent brewer near Wandsworth, and a staunch patron of the ring. Neale often stated that the first battle he witnessed was the second fight between Martin and Turner, at Crawley, on the 5th of June, 1821, and from that moment felt convinced that he “could do something in that way” himself. That he was not mistaken, his career, as here recorded, will bear witness.

Neale now placed himself under Harry Holt, and by glove practice with that accomplished tactician soon became a proficient in the use of both hands.

His patron, Mr. Sant, gratified his desire to figure in the “24–foot” by backing him for £20 a-side against Deaf Davis, a well-known veteran, a game man, and a hard hitter. The battle came off at the Barge House, Essex, opposite Woolwich Warren, on the 21st of May, 1822, Neale being then in his eighteenth year. The odds were seven to four against “the youth,” as he was booked to lose the battle by the knowing ones. Neale was seconded by Harry Holt and Paddington Jones, while Davis had the skilful seconding of Ned Turner and Dick Curtis. The contemporary report, which is brief, remarks of this battle, that it was “a rattling mill for the first forty minutes,” prolonged for another hour by Davis’s “manœuvring and going down,” without even getting a turn in his favour. In the “remarks” we are told “Neale proved himself a good hitter, a steady boxer, and one who can take without flinching; we shall no doubt hear more of him by-and-by. His youth and good condition carried him through triumphantly.” We may here note that in “Fistiana,” by a typographical error, the battle is set down as for “£100” and lasting “20 minutes.” It should read “100 minutes and £20 a-side.”

The ordeal passed, Ned did not long stand idle. After Brighton Races, on the 21st July, 1822, a purse was subscribed, and the announcement being made to the London pugilists, some of whom were exhibiting their skill in the booths on Lewes Downs, Peter Crawley proposed that Neale should offer himself to “any countryman on the ground.” One Bill Cribb, a brick-maker, who held among his companions the title of the Brighton champion, and known as an exhibitor at the Fives Court, accepted the challenge. Neale was seconded by Peter Crawley and Peter Warren, Cribb by Belasco and Massa Kendrick (the man of colour). No time was lost, and the men at once began.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The Brighton man looked hard and muscular. He at once went to work right and left, but was short, from his opponent’s activity. Neale nobbed his man prettily, but Cribb returned in a rally, with a sounding body blow. “Well done, Brighton.” Neale stopped prettily, and in closing sent his man to grass.

2.—Neale, after a feint or two, stopped a right-hander and sent in one, two, cleverly, got away, and repeated the pepper. Cribb stood it gamely, like his namesake, but he could not get home well. In the close Cribb got Neale under.

3.—Cribb’s dial much battered, but he took it cheerfully and tried to lead off. Neale again gave him a postman’s double knock on the middle of the head that sent him back into his corner. He, however fought his way out, but slipped down.

4, 5, 6, 7.—Similar to the third round, except that in the last Neale hit Cribb clean off his legs. Two to one offered.

8.—Cribb could not keep Neale’s fist from his face, yet he fought game till his strength failed, and he got down anyhow.

9.—Neale set aside the efforts of his opponent with ease and coolness. Cribb could not keep him out, and was again down.

10.—The Brighton man, still game, was up determinedly, and showed fight, getting in a slovenly crack or two in a rally until punished down.

11, and last.—Cribb, without a shadow of a chance, bored in; Neale caught his head under his left arm and fibbed him severely, until he broke away quite groggy. Neale sent him down, and he was deaf to “time.” Over in fifteen minutes.

Remarks.—Neale out-fought his man at all points. It is clear no yokel must meddle with the Streatham youth. Hickman, the Gasman, held the watch, the ring was well kept, and the subscribers declared themselves well pleased with the short but sharp battle. Neale was without a mark on the face.

Three days after, on the 3rd of August, 1822, Neale being at Lewes Races, and a purse being declared, Miller, a London pugilist, known by the odd sobriquet of “The Pea-soup Gardener,” offered himself. Young Ned, “to keep his hand in,” accepted the challenge. Neale on this occasion was waited on by his late opponent, the Brighton champion, and Peter Warren—Miller by young Belasco and a friend. The fight was a fiasco. Pierce Egan says, “The pea-soup cove was made broth of in the first round.” The affair went on for six more rounds, when Miller gave up the battle, saying “he would fight any man of his weight.” Over in seven minutes.

This little provincial practice brought Neale forward, and his next appearance was on the London stage, with Hall, of Birmingham, as his opponent. Hall had just distinguished himself by defeating the once-famous Phil Sampson, of whom more anon. The affair came off at Wimbledon, on Tuesday, November 26th, 1822, Hall being the favourite at six to four, and much money was laid out by backers of Hall from the “Hardware Village.”

The road exhibited a good sprinkling of the fancy, particularly the milling coves. Martin, Randall, Shelton, Spring, Oliver, Abbot, Lenney, Brown, Hickman, Stockman, Carter, A. Belasco, Ned Turner, Scroggins, Barlow, Dolly Smith, Spencer, &c., assisted in keeping a good ring. This fight was announced to be on the square, and “lots of blunt dropped on it.”

At one o’clock Hall, accompanied by Josh Hudson and Jack Carter, attempted to throw his nob-cover into the ring, but the wind prevented it reaching the ropes. Neale soon followed, attended by Harry Holt and Paddington Jones. Hall was favourite, at six to four.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Hall displayed a fine frame, and his features reminded some spectators of Tom Reynolds, while others declared his figure to resemble the formidable “Gasman” (Tom Hickman). Neale also looked well, but was by no means in as good condition. Hall began, breaking ground and working round, but by no means cleverly. Neale faced him, armed at all points. Hall went in with a half-arm hit, and Neale, stepping back, caught him a flush left-hander on the nose. Hall staggered, and as Neale went in, slipped down. The Streathamites uproarious. “Take him back to Brummagem! he can’t stop, except with his head!”

2.—Hall tried to shake off the last facer. He sparred, shifted ground, and stopped one or two blows neatly. Neale forced the fighting and the men closed. Hall got hold of Neale to fib, but the Streatham Youth extricated himself, not, however, before Hall had damaged his nose and mouth by a round hit or two. Neale went down.

3.—Neale planted a heavy blow on Hall’s ear. Hall bored in and got hold of Neale, hugging him on the ropes, and trying to fib, but not effectively. Neale got down. Hall was evidently the stronger man, but the worse fighter.

4.—Hall rushed in, got a nobber, but closed and threw Neale heavily. Cheers from the hardware lads.

5.—The Streatham Youth met his man boldly and coolly, hit him twice on the head, avoiding the return, and after a sharp rally sent Hall down. The odds changed, Neale for choice, 5 to 4.

6.—Hall fought rather wild—Neale steady, and active in defence. Again Neale visited Hall’s right eye heavily, raising a large mouse. A severe struggle. Hall fell through the ropes. 6 to 4 on Neale.

7.—Hall was piping. He did not like to commence milling, for fear of consequences. “You have been a soldier,” said Josh. “Fighting is their business; why don’t you fight?” A good round was the result, and Neale was thrown.

8.—It was “bellows to mend” with Hall; and Neale was none the better for the throws. A long pause, both combatants sparring for breath. “How is your wind?” said Josh. “Like a horse,” was the reply from Hall. “Then go to work, instead of standing as independent as a gemman,” Hudson said. Neale thrown in a struggle.

9, 10, 11, 12.—More struggling at the ropes than effective blows, although lots of fibbing took place.

13.—Neale took the lead in this round, nobbed Hall over the ring, till he went down. A Babel shout of applause.

14.—Neale showed weakness; in closing he went down.

15.—The Streatham Youth went to work in this round, put in three facers without any return, and got Hall down.

16, 17, 18.—Hall showed plenty of game, but he could not fight; in close quarters he had generally the best of it.

19.—Neale, on setting-to, floored Hall; but the latter instantly jumped up, put up his hands, and said, “Oh, that’s nothing at all.”

20.—Hall came to the scratch in a shaky state, when Neale planted some sharp hits, till he went down.

21.—Hall ran Neale off his legs furiously.

22, 23.—Struggling at the ropes, till both down.

24.—Hall was so distressed that on setting-to he caught hold of Neale’s hands, when both went down in a struggle; not a blow passed between them.

25.—It was evident a round or two more must finish the fight. Much execution had been done on both sides; Neale was severely peppered about the body; he slipped down.

26, and last.—The Birmingham man getting bad in struggling at the ropes to obtain the throw he received so severe a fall on his head, that his seconds had great difficulty in lifting him from the ground. When time was called, Hall was insensible, and remained in a state of stupor for more than five minutes.

Remarks.—It was a manly fight, and the heavy hits of Neale did considerable execution. Had he been well, it was thought that Neale could have won the battle in twenty instead of thirty minutes. Hall knows little about scientific fighting; he is a random hitter, a strong wrestler, can pull and haul a man about, and does not want for game. Opposed to science and straight hitting he is lost.

Ned was now the conqueror in four succeeding battles, when Dav Hudson[^[48]] (brother to the John Bull fighter) was matched against him for £40 a-side. The fight took place on Tuesday, September 23rd, 1823, on Blindlow Heath, in Sussex, twenty-four miles from London. Early in the morning the fancy were in motion, the amateurs grumbling at the long distance they were compelled to go to witness a minor fight, when Wimbledon Common would have answered the purpose. Hudson came on the ground in first-rate style—a barouche and four—accompanied by a mob of East-Enders. At one o’clock Dav threw his hat into the ring, followed by his seconds, Tom Owen and Josh Hudson. Neale, a few minutes afterwards, waited upon by Harry Holt and Jem Ward, repeated the token of defiance. Six to four on Neale.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Hudson appeared too fat, while Neale looked as fine as a star. David hit short; Neale also got away from a second blow. In fact, it was a long scientific round, displaying considerable boxing skill on both sides, but no work; ultimately a few blows were exchanged, yet no mischief done. In struggling for the throw, Hudson was undermost.

2.—This was a similar round. Neale would not fight first, and showed great agility in getting away. It was evident in this early stage of the fight that Hudson was too short for his opponent; the loss of his eye was also a great drawback. Hudson often missed his adversary, hitting at random, owing to the above defect. In closing, both down.

3, 4, 5, 6.—Neale received two severe cross-buttocks, but he did not appear to be injured by them.

7, 8, 9, 10.—Tedious to the spectator and of no interest to the reader.

11.—This round reminded the amateurs what Davy was in his prime. He went to work boldly, when a sharp rally commenced, but the length of Neale gave him the best of it. Hudson received a tremendous hit on the left ear; the claret flowed profusely.

12.—This was a similar round, but Neale went down. Great shouting from the East Enders. “Go it, my little Davy!”

13.—Neale received another cross-buttock. David was the better wrestler.

14, 15, 16.—Hudson was terribly distressed. He was too puffy. Neale was piping a little. Neale was thrown by Hudson, alighting, like a tumbler, on his hands. Seven to four on the Streatham Youth.

17, 18, 19, 20.—The truth must be told. Stale cocks must give way to younger birds. Davy had been a publican, and the ill effects of the waste-butt here began to peep. Davy thought himself now as good a man as when he beat Harry Holt, disposed of West Country Dick, and defeated Scroggins. That his courage was equally good cannot be denied. But nature will not be played tricks with; and training cannot make a young man, though it may help an old one. In all the above rounds Hudson could not reduce the strength of his adversary.

21, 22.—Hudson’s face had received pepper, and Neale’s mug was rather flushed. Each seemed to be anxious to throw the other, and closed quickly.

23.—Neale received a severe hit between his eyes, that made him wink again. He, however, recovered, and made the best of a rally, till, in closing, both went down. Two to one on Neale.

24.—Hudson fought like a Hudson. For high, if not the highest, courage in the Prize Ring, no boxers stand better than Dav and Josh. But a man cannot have his cake who has eaten it. This was another sharp rally, but terribly to the disadvantage of Hudson, who was nearly finished.

25, and last.—Neale, as the term goes, had “got” David, and by a very severe hit on the latter’s throat, floored him. On Josh picking up his brother he said he should not fight any more—a proper and humane decision. It was over in fifty-three minutes. Josh carried David in his arms out of the ring. A collection to the amount of six pounds was made for Hudson.

Remarks.—It was by no means the smashing fight which had been previously anticipated. If Neale had gone to work, instead of being over-cautious, he must have won it off-hand.

Neale, by his repeated conquests, now became an interesting object to the fancy, and was matched by his friends against the scientific Aby Belasco for £50 a-side.

To render the battle more interesting to the sporting world, the day was fixed by mutual consent for the 7th of January, 1824, to fight in the same ring with Langan and Spring. Both the combatants were in attendance on the ground ready to fight at Worcester; but owing to the lateness of the hour when the championship battle was decided, the fight unavoidably was postponed. This untoward circumstance was a great mortification both to Belasco and Neale.

A short time after this disappointment Ned accepted a challenge from Tom Gaynor, at the Fives Court, at the benefit of Tom Reynolds, for £50 a-side. This battle was decided at Shepperton Range, on Thursday, the 24th of May, 1824.

The ring was soon made, and at one o’clock Gaynor appeared, and attempted to throw his hat into the ring, but the wind prevented its arrival; one of his seconds, Callas, picked it up and threw it into the ropes, Gaynor’s other second being Ben Burn. Neale soon followed, and dropped his castor gently into the ring, under the protection of Josh. Hudson and Harry Holt. The colours were tied to the stakes—dark blue for Neale, and blue mixed with yellow for Tom Gaynor. Two to one on Neale, but numerous bets that the latter did not win in an hour.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Neale was quite up to the mark in point of condition and confidence, and really looked a formidable man. Gaynor was well enough, but by comparison the greatest novice must have taken Neale for choice. Gaynor, who was a carpenter by trade, had been represented as a tremendous hitter, which accounts for the caution observed by Neale. Five minutes passed without a blow being struck, Neale being prepared at all points. Neale made several good stops, and at length put in a rum one on the body of his opponent. (“That’s the way, Ned!”) Feints, offers, retreating, occurred till nine minutes were past, when Neale gave Gaynor a sharp left-hander on the side of his nob. An exchange took place, and in closing, both down, Gaynor undermost.

2.—Gaynor’s left eye was touched a little, and after a number of movements, similar to the first round, Gaynor rushed in and threw Neale.

3.—Twenty minutes had elapsed and no claret seen, so great was the caution on both sides. This round was concluded by Neale putting in two or three clumsy thumps, Gaynor falling forward and Neale upon him.

4–10.—Neale had not a mark about him, but Gaynor had napped punishment, and went down tired.

11.—Gaynor, it was said, went down without a blow; but the umpire was appealed to, when he gave it as his opinion that blows having been struck in the round it was not foul.

12–17.—Neale had got his man to a certainty, and Gaynor was all the worse for the fighting. The nob of the carpenter was damaged, and his upper lip cut through. In one of the above rounds a singular circumstance occurred. The men struggled at the ropes, got through them, and fought a good round outside in the open. One hour and three minutes.

18–21 and last.—Gaynor had not a shadow of chance in any of these rounds, and at the conclusion of the last, in which Gaynor was thrown heavily, Cribb stepped into the middle of the ring and said, “I will give in for Gaynor.”

Remarks.—It is impossible to please all parties—in fact, a man cannot at all times please himself. Many persons called the above battle a bad fight, others said it was not half a good one, while, on the contrary, several excellent judges insisted that Neale had won it “cleverly.” It is true Neale obtained the victory without a scratch, and that alone is saying something for a man, after fighting one hour and ten minutes with a boxer who had been called “a tremendous hitter.” Neale was determined not to give a chance away—he meant winning and nothing else; his backers we are sure will not find fault with him on that account. We never saw the Streatham Youth so cautious before. At all events Neale has won all his battles, and it will take a good man indeed to make him say, “No;” indeed, the Streatham Youth asserts the word “no” is not to be found in his spelling-book.[^[49]]

Neale had now risen so high in the estimation of the patrons of boxing that he was backed without hesitation by his friends for £100 a-side against Edward Baldwin (White-headed Bob). The battle was fixed for Monday, July 26th, 1824. The bill of fare at Shepperton [three fights] was rather inviting to the fancy, or, as the professionals belonging to another stage phrase it, “a good draw.” There was accordingly an immense attendance of all classes at Shepperton. At the appointed hour Neale was there, and threw his hat into the ring. Baldwin soon after arrived in the carriage of his backer (Mr. Hayne). But, alas! it was but the shadow of the stalwart White-headed Bob of a few months previous. His complexion, as old Caleb Baldwin facetiously remarked, might have earned him the name of “White-faced Bob.” Imprudent indulgence, late hours, loose associates, women, and wine had prostrated him; and his “Pea-green” backer, alighting from his drag, said, “Bob’s health is such he can’t fight with anything like a chance; so, as I don’t want to creep out, or to expose a brave fellow to defeat, I now declare Neale entitled to the stakes as a forfeit.” And thus ended round the first, by the transference of a cool hundred to the pocket of the Streatham Youth, without even holding up his hands.

In a few weeks, the medicos having doctored the White-headed one sound in wind and limb, a new match was made for £100 a-side; the day fixed was the 19th of October, 1824, and a field contiguous to Virginia Water selected as the champ clos. A goodly muster of the Corinthian order, as “the Upper Ten” were then designated, surrounded the lists. Baldwin endeavoured to throw his hat into the ring, but the wind prevented its falling within the ropes. He was seconded by no meaner men than the champions, Tom Cribb and Tom Spring. The castor of Neale arrived at its proper destination, and both men were loudly greeted. Harry Holt and Jem Ward attended upon the Streatham Youth. The colours were tied to the stakes—blue bird’s-eye for Neale, and crimson for Baldwin. Five to four had been previously betted upon Neale; even betting, however, was about the thing—the Streatham Youth for choice.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—So eager were the men to begin that they were both in attitude before the umpires were chosen. This deficiency was soon remedied, and both on the look-out for an opening. The frame of Baldwin was muscular and fine: Neale also had a robust appearance. Both shy, cautious, and nothing like work. Feints on both sides, shifts, stops, and no go. “Are you afraid, Bob?” from a voice in the crowd. Baldwin made a good stop with his left. Counter-hitting; a slight shade of the claret appeared on the right side of Neale’s nose. A long pause; both ready, but no opening; at length an exchange of blows took place, Baldwin retreating to the ropes; Neale in the struggle for the throw showed most strength, and the White-headed one was thrown. This round occupied nearly seven minutes.

2.—The ear of Neale looked red; Bob attempted to do “summat,” but missed. Neale planted a clean facer, but he napped one in turn. Both were now busy, but Baldwin was again undermost.

3.—Neale took the lead in this round in gay style; he gave a facer so hard and sharp that Bob’s pimple shook again; indeed, he was upon the stagger from its severity. Ned repeated the dose twice with success; and over Bob’s left eye appeared a cut. Neale ran in to do execution, but Bob put up his left hand, and bobbed his head away to avoid punishment. In the struggle both down, Neale undermost. (A shout for Baldwin.)

4.—This was a gallant round. Baldwin planted a severe hit on the middle of the Streatham lad’s face; the claret ran down in streams. Counter-hits and good work. Neale was thrown.

5.—Bob was now advised to fight first, but he did not take the hint. Caution again the order of the day. (Here Cribb mimicked the attitudes of Harry Holt, who was eloquently advising his man.) Bob retreated, and Neale hit him on the back as he was going down.

6.—Nothing; of no use to either side.

7, 8.—Not effective; Bob was a difficult man to be got at. Both down.

9–12.—Bob napped a rum one on his body which made him twist. In the eleventh cries of “foul” occurred; Neale was in the act of hitting as his opponent was going down. It was not intentional. Bob went down in a close at the last round covered with claret.

13.—The superiority of Neale was evident; he nobbed Bob successfully; and at the ropes the White-nobbed one went down exhausted.

14.—The left peeper of the Streathamite was considerably damaged; and his friends were alarmed lest it should soon be dark. Neale obtained a point towards victory in this round; he threw Baldwin heavily, and fell upon him.

15.—This was a hotly contested round, and both men did their best. Bob proved himself a much better man than Neale had anticipated; giving and taking were prominent, but the round finished in favour of Neale, who threw Bob on his head.

16.—A good rally, but Bob appeared to be at a loss in sharp attacks; out-fighting should have been his game. The faces of the combatants exhibited severe punishment. Both down. Serious faces all round the ring and great doubts who had the best of it. The truth was, at this period of the fight, it was almost anybody’s battle, though Neale hit swiftest and straightest.

17, 18, 19, 20, 21.—All these rounds were fought manfully; and Neale satisfied all his backers that he was nothing else but a game man. He was severely punished, but his courage was so high that he never flinched. The friends of Bob still thought he might win it. The Streatham Youth gave Bob such a severe cross-buttock that the latter showed visible symptoms of bellows to mend; yet a tolerably good judge cried out, “Bob will win this battle!”

22.—Six to four was offered freely at the conclusion of this round. The nob of Bob was at the service of his opponent, and in getting him down Neale rolled over his man.

23.—Severe counter-hitting, Neale undermost in the fall. The Streatham lad appeared rather weak, yet his eye was full of fire.

24.—“It is a capital fight,” was the general cry; and the hard hitting and gaiety displayed by Neale gave his friends confidence that he would last too long for Bob. Neale went down on his opponent.

25.—This was a severe round, and considerable execution was done on both sides. More than an hour had elapsed, yet bettors were shy as to the event. Neale went down rather exhausted.

26.—Spring whispered to Baldwin to fight first—to lead off with his left hand, and it would be “all right.” Bob tried it, but Neale got away, hit him in retreating; in closing Bob was thrown.

27.—Counter-hits effective, but nothing to anybody but the combatants; “lookers on” will find fault at times. Neale slipped down by the force of his blow, which missed the object intended.

28.—In this round Bob seemed to be recovering his wind a little, and endeavoured to take the lead. A rally; but Bob did not appear to advantage in close fighting. Neale down, and Bob with him.

29.—The right hand of the Streatham Youth felt for the face of his antagonist three times in succession. Bob went down weak.

30.—Neale napped a smart one on his nose, which produced the claret; he was anxious to return the compliment, and in attacking Bob, the latter attempted to retreat, but fell.

31.—Ward, who was the bottle-holder, thought it prudent to give Neale a small taste of brandy, which had the desired effect. This was a milling round on both sides, until both measured their lengths upon the turf.

32.—Neale put in a sharp body blow, which almost doubled up poor Bob. The latter, at times, appeared a little abroad, and Neale took advantage of every opening that offered itself. The Streathamite had the worst of the throw, and Bob fell upon him.

33.—Neale now proved himself to be the more effective boxer; he hit and followed Bob till he went down at the ropes. Neale could not stop himself in the act of delivering, and cries of “foul” were repeated.

34.—Bob was getting very weak, and went down from a slight hit.

35.—The story was nearly told; without an accident, it was almost a certainty Bob must lose it. The latter fell on his face.

36.—Neale planted three successive facers, and by way of a climax, threw White-headed Bob. Three to one.

37.—Baldwin was so weak that he almost laid down. “Take him away!”

38.—Short but sweet to Neale; the stakes nearly in his hands; he hit Baldwin down cleverly.

39.—It was almost useless to show at the scratch, but Baldwin did not like to resign the contest. Bob down.

40, and last.—Bob was no sooner up than he was down. Cribb said he should not fight any more. Neale jumped several times off the ground, so much was he elated by his conquest. It was over in one hour and thirteen minutes.

Remarks.—Some would-be critics declared that Neale did not fight well; we think he won the battle with great credit to himself. He has clearly manifested to the sporting world that he possesses two good points towards victory—Neale can take as well as give. It should be remembered Neale had not yet numbered twenty years, yet he had attained, step by step, the high situation he held upon the milling list. Bob asserts he was not well. He might have been ill, but still he might have made use of his left with more effect, and not bobbed his head back so often. At all events, it was a capital mill.

Neale, gaining higher ground in the fancy, was matched against Jem Burn, for £200 a-side. On Tuesday, December 19th, 1824, this battle was decided at Moulsey Hurst. Neale was decidedly the favourite.

At one o’clock Jem Burn, attended by his uncle Ben, and Tom Oliver, threw his hat into the ring; and almost at the same instant Neale, waited upon by Harry Holt and Sam Tibbutt, repeated the token of defiance. The colours, blue for Neale and a dark grey for Burn, were tied to the stakes; hands were shaken in token of friendship, and the fight commenced.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Jem, on peeling, obtained the approbation of all the spectators, and “He is a fine young man,” was the general opinion round the ring. Neale was cool and steady, and seemed quite aware of the height and length of his opponent. Jem, in a hurry, went to work, and with his right hand touched an old place, damaged in the fight with White-headed Bob. Neale got away from two or three more attempts of Jem; but the young one, at length, succeeded in planting another sharp blow over Neale’s eye, which produced the claret. (“First blood!” exclaimed Uncle Ben.) Neale still on the defensive, till they got close together at the ropes, when Ned put in one or two good ones. In closing, Neale got his man down, and fell upon him.

2.—Burn, full of spirit, made play on witnessing the claret trickling from the forehead of his opponent, and obscuring his eye. (“Go it, Jem! it’s all right!”) The length of Burn enabled him to plant a facer; but Neale returned sharply. This round also finished by Burn being undermost in the fall.

3.—Jem showed himself more troublesome than Neale expected, but it was evident he wanted stamina. Small symptoms of piping betrayed themselves; Burn had been getting on beyond his strength. Neale planted two sharp hits with his right; some good fighting took place, and Burn, by his stops, convinced the spectators he was not destitute of science. Counter-hitting; but the blows of Burn, from his length, were the most effective, and the claret flowed freely from Neale’s damaged peeper. A rally, when they separated. A pause; a little wind necessary for Jem. In closing, Uncle Ben’s “nevvy” met with a heavy fall.

4.—The Streatham Youth cleared away the blood from his eye. This round was decidedly in favour of Burn; and, after an exchange of blows, Neale was knocked clean down by a blow on his chest. This event decided two bets in favour of Burn—first blood and first knock-down blow. (“We shall win it, for a thoosand!” cried Uncle Ben. Loud shouting for the young ’un, and his friends, quite nutty upon him, took the odds.)

5.—In point of punishment, the appearance of Neale was the worse, but his confidence never forsook him, and he stood firm as a rock. The men closed, but after an attempt at fibbing, separated. The right hand of Neale did a little now and then, and Burn did not make such good use of his left as he might have done. Burn again lost the throw, and Neale went down heavily on him.

6.—In this round Neale gave his opponent pepper, met him right and left, and threw him at the ropes. (“Well done, Ned!”)

7.—Jem showed weakness, when the Streatham Youth drove him to the ropes, and in closing, Jem, with great activity, planted a facer; but Neale laid hold of his adversary so tightly as to throw him over the ropes.

8.—This round was “a chalk” for Neale; he took the lead, kept it, and milled his opponent down. (“That’s the way, Ned—never leave him!” Two to one on Neale.)

9.—Burn commenced the rounds in general well, but Neale finished them. Jem again thrown.

10.—Jem got away well, but Neale was after him, and planted a body blow with his right hand that nearly made an S of Burn; his game, however, was so good that he shook it off. Neale met with a stopper on his head, but nevertheless he threw Jem.

11.—The weakness of Jem could not be disguised, and he hit short. Neale began a rally, and Jem was determined not to be behindhand with him. In closing, Neale, with the utmost ease, gave his opponent a complete cross-buttock.

12.—Nothing; Burn slipped down.

13.—Jem got away from several blows, and Neale did not do so much execution as heretofore—in fact, the length of Burn rendered him extremely difficult to be got at. In closing, Neale slipped on his hands, but napped it on his ribs.

14.—Nothing the matter, and Jack as good as his master. Burn was thrown.

15.—If the fight had not been taken out of Burn, it was clear to the unbiassed spectators that he wanted stamina. Jem put up his hands to defend himself, but he did not show any disposition to go to work. Neale waited for him, when he went to mill, and poor Jem was not only fibbed, but Neale fell upon him so hard as almost to force the breath out of his body. (“It’s all your own, Ned!”)—three to one on the Streatham Youth, by some desperate bettors.

16.—The fight was nearly over in this round, and if Jem had not proved himself a game man, it would have been to a certainty. A sharp rally took place, when Neale put in a slogger with his right on Jem’s nob, that dropped him like a shot. (“He will not come again!—Take him away!—He’s done for, poor fellow!”) However, a little brandy revived him, and, when time was called, Jem appeared at the scratch.

17.—This was short, and to add to the distress of Burn, Neale fell upon him.

18.—Burn was down almost as soon as he appeared at the mark.

19.—After some futile attempts on the part of Burn to stop his opponent, he was hit down.

20.—“It will soon be over,” said the friends of Neale. “Not for three hours,” answered Uncle Ben. Jem was again sent down.

21.—Burn napped a facer, and was soon down, owing to weakness.

22.—Jem a little better; he appeared to be getting second wind, to the great joy of his backers; he also made play, and planted a couple of hits; but at the end of the round the finishing was on the side of Neale, who got Jem down.

23.—This was a singular round. Neale bored his opponent to the ropes; and in closing Jem struggled himself out of the ring. Burn showed fight outside, but as Neale could not reach him, he returned to the scratch, and sat himself down on his second’s knee. Burn then entered the ropes, and followed his example, and so the round ended.

24–26.—In the last round, Jem dropped weak.

27.—The battle might now be said to be at an end; the event was almost reduced to a certainty. Fighting, as to execution, was out of the question on the side of Burn, and Neale was determined not to give the slightest chance away. Burn went down.

28.—Jem now bobbed his head aside to avoid the coming blow, and was hit down distressed.

29.—A severe cross-buttock nearly shook out the little wind left in Jem’s body.

30.—After a trifling exchange of blows Jem went down.

31–54.—It would be a waste of time to detail these rounds; suffice it to say that Burn fought like a brave man in all of them, and never resigned the contest till Nature completely deserted him. We repeat he is a brave young man, and ought to have been taken away half an hour before the battle was over, which occupied one hour and thirty-eight minutes.

Remarks.—Neale was opposed to superior length, height, and an active, aspiring young man, and moreover was in nothing like such good condition as when he fought White-headed Bob; his hands also went a little, and he had too much flesh upon his frame; yet he never had the slightest chance of losing; his firmness never forsook him, and he always kept the lead. He left off nearly as strong as when he commenced. Neale is not a showy fighter, but the truth is, winning eight battles speaks a volume as to his milling character; and any boxer who enters the P. R. with Ned will find a good deal of work cut out before he says “No.” Ned is an honest man, and deserving of support; he is a civil, quiet, inoffensive fellow, which entitles him to the attention of the fancy, and a great enemy to “Lushington,” which renders the Streatham Youth a safe man at all times to back. Jem was put to bed at the “Red Lion,” Hampton, and Neale started for London at the conclusion of the battle.

By the advice of his friends, Neale inserted the following letters in the sporting journals as to his future conduct in the P. R.:—

“To the Editor of ‘Pierce Egan’s Life in London.’

“Sir,—In order that Baldwin’s (better known as White-headed Bob) journey may not be delayed an hour on my account, I take the earliest opportunity of acquainting him that it is not my intention to appear again in the Prize Ring at present. As he has declared he will fight no one but a winning man, he must excuse me if I am a little particular upon that point, as I have never been beaten.

“My determination is adopted in deference to the wishes of those of my friends by whom I consider it an honour to be guided, and who possess the strongest claims to my grateful respect. When it is recollected that I have fought and won three battles, besides receiving forfeit, within seven months, I trust the liberal portion of the sporting world will consider me entitled to a cessation from labour for the present.

“I am, Sir, yours respectfully,

“EDWARD NEALE.”

“Streatham, Jan. 15, 1825.”

“To the Editor of ‘Pierce Egan’s Life in London.’

“Sir,—It was with much surprise I saw a paragraph in the Dispatch of last Sunday stating that Cannon had declared, at Harry Holt’s, his readiness to fight me for five hundred pounds. He probably was not aware that in your paper of the 16th ult. I declared my intention not to appear in the Prize Ring at present; he may, therefore, save himself the trouble of again challenging me in my absence. I believe I may with safety claim the merit of being cool and steady in the ring, and I trust I shall always be firm and consistent out of it; and if I could be induced to change my mind, my late brave and manly antagonist, Baldwin, certainly claims the preference.

“If, however, Cannon is particularly anxious to fight me, and is not in a hurry, I am ready and willing to make a match with him for three hundred pounds, to be decided the first week in the next year, and shall be happy to meet him at any time or place, and put down a deposit of fifty pounds. If I hesitate to meet his terms, it is because I think five hundred pounds too great a sum to call upon my backers for, to contend against a man so much my superior in weight and height, and particularly one who aspires to the Championship of England—a title which, I believe, is a considerable distance from both of us. If, however, the chance of war should place the laurel upon his brow this year, I will endeavour the next to remove it to that of

“Your obedient, humble Servant,

“EDWARD NEALE.

“Streatham, Feb. 12, 1825.”

Neale, in consequence of the above declaration, having plenty of time upon his hands, was induced to visit Ireland—not only as a tour of pleasure, but as a profitable spec., under the wing and mentorship of Pierce Egan. The Dublin Morning Post thus notices him:—

“The Fancy.—On Monday night there was a grand muster of the fancy at the Raquet Court, Winetavern Street, for the benefit of Neale and Larkin. They were patronised by an immense number of swells and tip-top Corinthians of this city. O’Neal, the big Irishman, displayed a ‘pretty considerable’ deal of science in a set-to with his trainer, Pat Halton. Larkin next put on the gloves, and gave a newly-arrived Corkonian a dose that may probably induce him to relinquish any relish he might have had for the pugilistic profession. Minor candidates then mounted the stage; they forgot, in their ardour for punishing, that a good boxer, like a good reader, always minds his stops. Just as the meeting was about dissolving, a sprig named Jackson, anxious to gather some ‘Olympic dust,’ challenged any man in the ring to a turn-up for fun. Neale, the Streatham Youth, who was standing near him, offered his services, merely for the pleasure of accommodating the young customer, whom he soon convinced of having been under a mistake with respect to his prowess. Five times did Ned treat the ‘aspiring youth’ to a smashing facer, and five times did the boasting would-be pugilist (Jackson) fall to his mother earth—

“‘——Like a full ear of corn,

Whose blossom ’scaped, but wither’d in the rip’ning.’”

“To the Sporting World.—Ned Neale, the Streatham Youth, will have the honour, on Monday night (for the first time in this kingdom), of soliciting the patronage of his countrymen, at Fishamble Street Theatre. He begs leave to state—and he trusts it will not be considered egotism in him to mention it—that he has already contested the palm in eight battles, with eight different candidates belonging to the Prize Ring of London, and as yet he has not been the cause of a stigma on his country. On this occasion a correct representation of that famed spot Moulsey Hurst, with a view of a wood. In the foreground the ring, with umpires, seconds, bottle-holders, fighting men, &c., &c. He begs to state that Pat Halton, who is backed to fight the Chicken on the 4th of August, has, assisted by all the first-rates of this city, offered his services for this night only. A youth from Cork, named Donovan, will appear, who wishes it known that he will peel with any man in the world of his own weight. Ned begs leave to add that no exertion on his part shall be wanting to show as much and as good sport as possible to those friends who may honour him on Monday evening with their company. Boxes, 3s. 3d.; Pit, 2s. 2d.; Gallery, 1s. 1d. Doors open at seven, and sparring commences at half-past seven o’clock.”

Neale, on his return to England, made the happiest match of his life, in which the “Ring” was also concerned, and, singular to remark, the name of Baldwin was attached to the register as a witness. It was thus announced in the journals of the day: “Fancy Marriage.—Married, on Wednesday, June 29th, 1825, at St. Luke’s, Old Street Road, Mr. Edward Neale to Miss Mary Weston. The happy pair, after a sumptuous breakfast at Bob Watson’s, the ‘Castle,’ Finsbury, started for Margate to spend the honeymoon.”

Neale was now installed Boniface of the “Black Bull,” Cow Lane, Smithfield, one of the many old inns swept away by the modern Farringdon Road and Smithfield improvements.

Sampson, who was always a restless and quarrelsome fellow, was continually taunting Neale upon his “judicious retirement,” &c., and at length, after some quires of correspondence, Neale declared his readiness to accommodate him, to finally set at rest the question of “best man.” Articles were signed to meet in June, 1826, and at the signature Neale backed himself for an even £50.

The next week brought an afflicting event. In March, 1826, Mrs. Neale died in childbed, and on the night of the second deposit at Holt’s, Sampson, in a handsome and feeling manner, declared he should not claim forfeit, and that the third deposit should be made as the second, on that day month. The friends of Neale, however, declined the postponement, and forfeited the money down. Thus matters rested until the month of August, when Neale declared himself ready to meet Sampson for not less than £200 a-side. The articles, now before us, run literally thus:—

“Articles of Agreement entered into this 11th of September, 1826, between Edward Neale and Philip Sampson.

“The said Edward Neale agrees to fight the said Philip Sampson a fair stand-up fight in a four-and-twenty foot ring, half-minute time, for £200 a-side, on Tuesday, the 12th day of December, 1826. In furtherance of this agreement £10 a-side are now deposited in the hands of Mr. Pierce Egan. A further deposit of £40 a-side to be made good on Wednesday, the 4th October, at Harry Holt’s, the ‘Cross,’ in Cross Lane, Long Acre. A third deposit of £60 a-side to be made good on Tuesday, the 7th of November, at Edward Neale’s, the ‘Black Bull,’ Cow Lane, Smithfield. And the fourth and last deposit, of £100 a-side, to be made good on Tuesday, the 5th of December, at Josh. Hudson’s, the Half Moon Tap, Leadenhall Market. The fight to take place within thirty miles of London, Mr. Egan to name the place of fighting. The men to be in the ring between twelve and one o’clock; and in the event of failure on either side to comply with the terms of these articles, the party failing to forfeit the money down. Two umpires and a referee to be chosen on the ground, and if any dispute shall arise, the decision of the referee to be conclusive, and the battle-money to be given up accordingly.

“EDW. NEALE.

“P. SAMPSON.

“Witness—John Rooke.”

On Tuesday, December 12th, 1826, at South Mimms Wash, Middlesex, fifteen miles from London, this interesting contest was decided. Sampson was thought by his friends to have improved considerably in frame and science since his second contest with Jem Ward—nay, so much so that he was placed as the “second best” on the list of pugilists; indeed, to make use of Sampson’s own words, he acknowledged Jem Ward as his master, but styled himself “foreman to the champion.” In calculating the advantages he possessed over the Streatham Youth, three points were considered in his favour—length, height, and weight; and another point was added by some—the best fighter. Sampson’s immediate friends therefore booked his winning as a certainty, urging, as a proof of their good opinion, that Neale had never beaten or stood before so capital a boxer as Sampson. The latter pugilist also supported this opinion by offering to take long odds that he won the fight in fifteen minutes, and without a black eye. Equally confident were the friends of Neale. They urged that Ned had always proved himself a conqueror, and acted upon the general rule adopted by sporting men—always to back a winning horse and a winning man to the end of the chapter. Five and six to four were betted in numerous instances upon the Streatham Youth.

As the time of fighting drew near the interest upon the battle increased, and large sums of money were sported on the event. At the John Bull Fighter’s dinner, when the whole of the four hundred sovereigns were made good, Sampson and Neale met, but not upon the most friendly terms. Sampson informed the company that he had heard Neale had spoken of him in a disrespectful manner, and he now gave him the opportunity of offering a contradiction to the aspersions he had made upon his character. Neale, with considerable warmth, replied: “You behaved unmanly to me in my own house, Sampson, while I was in a bad state of health, and I will never forgive you till you and I have decided our fight in the ring. Give me five pounds and I will bet you one hundred that I lick you.” To prevent an open row it was judged necessary by the backers of both of the men that they should separate as soon as possible.

Every precaution was used to select a secure place for fighting; and after an assurance that it was likely no interruption would take place, Dunstable Downs was the spot appointed. Sampson left the “Crown” at Holloway, his residence during the time of his training, on the Wednesday previous to the battle, and took up his quarters at the “Posting House,” in Market Street. Neale did not leave the house of his backer at Norwood until Monday morning, when he was placed, on his arrival in London, under the care of Mr. William Giles. Neale, in company with the gay little Boniface of the first market in the world, and Harry Holt, in a post-chaise, reached the Crown Inn at Dunstable about eight in the evening of the Monday.

It might have been anticipated that in consequence of Sampson having pitched his tent in the neighbourhood of the scene of action, a buzz would be created that a prize-fighter was on the spot, and the magistrates would become acquainted with the circumstance. It proved so, for on the Monday morning a notice was sent that he must not fight in the counties of Bedford and Buckingham. This information got wind early on the Monday afternoon, and the town of Dunstable, which otherwise would have been filled to an overflow, was completely spoilt, as the amateurs preferred halting at Redburn and Market Street to proceeding forward on a matter of doubt.

During the whole of the night carriages filled with persons were on the road. An hour before daylight another magistrate arrived in Dunstable, in his gig, declaring himself a magistrate for three counties, and that no mill should take place in Bedfordshire, Buckinghamshire, or Hertfordshire. On his meeting with Sampson, Phil promised the gent he would not exhibit in either of the proscribed counties. It therefore became necessary to hold a council of war. Sampson wished to proceed to Stony Stratford, as a spot where no interruption was likely to take place, but Pierce Egan, on whom the selection of the ground had devolved, decided for Middlesex, acting upon the articles agreed to, which stated the fight was to be within thirty miles of London. The office being given “towards home,” confusion began, and “The devil take the hindmost,” was the word. The northern stage coaches were all filled inside and out, for the sudden turn round had nearly thrown most of the passengers bound for the fight out of distance. All the post-chaises and horses had been previously hired, so nothing else was left to numerous persons, with plenty of cash in their purses, but to toddle for miles through mud, slush, and heavy showers, to the scene of action. It was truly laughable to see lots of heavy swells, with their thick upper toggery tucked up under their arms, trudging along as if pursued by an enemy, their brows covered with perspiration, and their hinder parts splashed with dirt. The muster of the motley group was immense, and the turn-out of Corinthians more numerous than had been seen for months past at a fight. A crowd of fours-in-hand, tandems, curricles, post-chaises and fours, cabriolets, gigs, drags, &c., were all trying to get the best of each other to be early on the ground, and so obtain a good place. At length Mimms Wash appeared in view, a large sheet of water, when Bill Gibbons dashed through the stream with as much sang froid as if he had been crossing a kennel in the streets of London. “We are not going to be outdone by the Ould One!” exclaimed some costermongers, following Bill, and suffering for their temerity by going head over heels in the muddy water mixture, to the no small chaffing and laughter of the crowd. Several pedestrians, regardless of cold or consequences, waded the Wash with as much indifference as if it had been a summer’s day. A swell, who had plunged in up to his middle, invited his fellow-travellers to accompany him through the flood, exclaiming: “I’m a philosopher! Come along! Follow me. I’m not wet at all. You only fancy it is water!” But even this logic had not the desired effect, and his companions preferred being conveyed across the Wash in a coach. The ring was soon made, upon a rising spot of ground in a field hard by, and at a quarter past two o’clock Sampson threw his hat into the ring, amidst loud cheers, followed by his second and bottle-holder, Jem Ward and Jem Burn. Neale soon afterwards repeated the token of defiance, attended by Josh Hudson and Harry Holt. Sampson deliberately tied his colours (pink) upon the stakes; and Holt placed the dark blue bird’s eye for Neale upon those of his opponent. The men were not long in peeling, and at twenty-five minutes after two they shook hands, and the battle commenced.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Both men appeared in excellent condition. Sampson was quite tip-top, but Neale, it was thought, was not exactly weight—that is to say, what he ought to have been—and the judges hinted he was rather thin. The attitudes of the combatants claimed attention; in fact, the contrast was singular. Neale held his left hand firmly above his nob, operating as a kind of office that he was perfectly aware of the danger of the Strong Man’s right mauley. Sampson’s guard was low, but his ogles were on the alert, and he kept a good look-out to do mischief. In most fights, the first round, if not tedious, is generally expected to show superiority of science in one of the men as the first blow is considered of consequence; but in this instance it was extreme caution against extreme caution. Sampson, however, had previously asserted that only let him have the chance of getting Neale before him in the ring, and he would cut his nob to pieces. Such is the difference between theory and practice; Sampson soon found out the difficulty of going to work off-hand with his clever opponent; and Neale, like that great master in the art of war, the Duke of Wellington, was determined not to give away a chance, and preferred the retreating system. Several minutes were occupied in making offers, retreating, dodging, and pacing all over the ring without any effect, Neale jumping back from every attempt of Sampson. The goodness of Ned upon his pins attracted the attention of all spectators. After numerous attempts to do “summat,” Neale having retreated to a corner of the ring, Sampson went in and planted a slight facer. Ned, having no opportunity to make a hit, closed with his adversary. In struggling for the throw, Sampson down and undermost. (The Streathamites opened their chaffing-boxes, and gave him the benefit of their red rags, by repeated shouts of approbation.)

2.—The left arm of Neale was again raised, and Sampson could not make him out. The latter boxer did not at all seem prepared for the mode of defence resorted to by his adversary. Neale, it should seem, had made up his mind to a certain mode of fighting, and was not, by any stratagem of Sampson, to be led away from it. Neal kept walking round his adversary, anxious to obtain an opening, and retreating when anything like danger showed itself. It was remarked by a spectator that “if the one was afraid, the other dared not commence fighting.” Several minutes passed away in looking at each other, and in making feints. Phil at length went to work, but missed a slashing hit, which was calculated to have done mischief. Neale returned, but it was not effective. In closing, Neale threw Sampson heavily. (“Bravo, Neale!” from his partisans.)

3.—Sampson eyed his opponent from head to foot. Both combatants were tired of holding up their arms, or appeared to be so, and Sampson, finding nothing was to be done, dropped his guard, and stood still. Neale also crossed his arms, and viewed his opponent. In fact, it was a complete suspension of hostilities—the spectators at length, became impatient, and expressed their disapprobation. Each man several times made himself up to do mischief, and every peeper was upon the stretch to witness some hits, instead of which retreating was again the order of the day. Sampson, in following Neale, got the latter boxer again in the corner of the ring, when he hit out right and left, and caught Neale on the mug, but Ned returned the compliment. In closing, Sampson went down on his knees, and brought down Neale with him. Odds were betted on Neale.

4.—“He’ll go to work soon,” said Ward, pointing to Sampson, “and give Neale a slogger.” “I should like to see it,” said an old ring-goer; “I never saw such a mill before!” “I call it anything but fighting,” replied a third. The men looked at each other, and Sampson, with all his cleverness and experience, could not put Neale off his mode of fighting. An exchange of blows, but no mischief. Sampson made a good stop, or his wind-market must have been disturbed. Neale, however, got another turn, and planted a rum one on Sampson’s canister. (Loud shouting from Neale’s friends.) Sampson missed one of his wisty-casters at the nob of his opponent, or Ned’s upper works might have been in chancery. In closing, Sampson endeavoured to fib his adversary. Ned was thrown, Sampson uppermost.

5.—This was a short round. Neale rushed in and got Sampson down.

6.—A little bit of fighting this bout. Sampson tried all he knew, but Neale would not be had, and got away from all his opponent’s feints. After some manœuvring Sampson again had Neale in the corner of the ring, and planted one of his heavy right-handed hits on his temple. Ned for an instant appeared stunned, and fell on his knees, but jumped up directly to renew the fight. Hudson, however, pulled him down on his knee, and the round was finished.

7.—After some little dodging about the ring, each crossed his arms and stood still. Barney Aaron begged the fight might be put off, and begun again the next day with daybreak. “No, no,” exclaimed an Old One, “recollect there’s moonlight.” “I am happy,” exclaimed Josh, “that I am a patient man.” These, and a thousand such remarks, occurred all round the ring, but still the combatants were not roused into action. (“Come,” said Sampson to Neale, “why don’t you fight?”—“When I like,” answered Ned; “you begin, I’ll soon be with you.”) This round was tediously long. Counter-hitting, Neale planted a sharp blow on Sampson’s nob, and the latter returned with his right. (“He can’t make a dent in a pound of butter, Sampson. Go to work, and hit him as you did me,” said Jem Burn.—“Be quiet,” said Harry Holt; “look to your man. It’s as safe as if it was over.” This latter remark seemed to make Sampson angry, and with a sneer he observed, “What signifies what a fellow like you says?”—“I’ll give you one presently for that,” answered Neale; “he is my second, so you don’t like him.”) Neale napped a heavy one to all appearance on his head; but Sampson received a smart body blow. A variety of feints—great preparation—retreating, but no blows. In closing, Sampson fibbed his antagonist slightly. Both down, Neale undermost. The friends of Sampson here gave him a chevy for luck. During the short space of time Neale sat upon Josh’s knee, he said to him, “Sampson is but a light hitter.”—“Well, then,” replied the John Bull Fighter, “there can be no mistake about your winning!”

8.—Sampson said “First blood!” pointing to a slight scratch near Neale’s mouth. “Don’t be foolish,” replied Hudson; “it is only a touch of the scurvy on his cheek—a pimple irritated.” Neale stopped in style a tremendous right-handed hit. A pause. Sampson made a stunning hit on the head of his opponent, which nearly turned Ned round. (“What, you’ve caught it at last,” said Jem Ward, rubbing his hands. “Another blow like that, and good night to you, Master Neale.”—“Walker,” replied Josh. “Why, Jemmy, you are all abroad, to talk so!”) In closing, Sampson obtained the throw.

9.—This was an excellent fighting round. After the numerous standstills which had occurred—feints, getting away, &c.—Neale seemed quite ripe for execution. Sampson received a rum one on his listener, but returned cleverly on Neale’s index. Some good stopping occurred upon both sides, and it appeared to the spectators that the fight had just commenced. Neale stopped one of Sampson’s tremendous right-handed hits so well that several persons exclaimed, “Beautiful!” Sampson missed one or two blows. A short rally occurred, when Sampson went down from a slight hit. Ned, as yet, had scarcely the slightest mark of punishment. His friends were satisfied he was so good upon his pins that he would wear out his opponent if it came to staying.

10.—Neale saw an opening, and without hesitation turned it to his advantage. He commenced milling with severity, and planted two good hits. He also repeated the dose by a heavy right-handed hit on the jaw of his opponent, which took Sampson off his legs as if shot. He was picked up by his second like a log of wood. His eyes were closed, and his nob was swinging on his shoulder as if it did not belong to his body. “It is all U P,” was the cry—“the Strong Man is done over.” Any odds in favour of Neale. Ward endeavoured to keep Sampson’s head steady, and led him to the scratch.

11, and last.—Sampson appeared incapable of keeping his legs, neither did he attempt to put up his arms. He was of no use. Neale, by way of finisher, planted a light blow, and Sampson again measured his length upon the grass. When time was called, Sampson did not leave the knee of his second. Holt threw up the hat, and victory was declared in favour of Neale; Sampson observing he would “fight no more,” when asked by Ward, and requesting his second to take him out of the ring. Neale jumped about the ground for joy, and soon left the ring for London, neither fatigued nor hurt. Sampson was taken by some of his Birmingham friends to Market Street. The fight lasted one hour and six minutes.

Remarks.—That this fight was not a good one was certainly not the fault of Neale. He expected, from the boast of Sampson, that he would go in and win off-hand, or fall in the attempt. Hence Ned’s over-caution, as it proved. Neale never was a showy pugilist; on the contrary, he was steady, cautious, and safe. Sampson, when he found he could not confuse his man by impetuosity, fell off sadly, and the affair, which it was anticipated would be a rattling fight, became a tedious succession of bouts of sparring, with short intervals of hitting, in which Neale was slowly but surely establishing his superiority, and Sampson was beaten against his will.

Many of the friends of Cannon, the “Great Gun of Windsor,” were of opinion that their man was just the sort of pugilist to “make Ned fight.” Accordingly a proposal was made for a meeting for a stake of £200 a-side, and accepted by Neale. On Tuesday, February 20th, 1827, the men met at Warfield, in Berkshire. The morning was intensely cold, and both men appeared at the ring-side with their nobs covered with Welsh wigs, Neale having slept overnight at the “Crown,” in Windsor, and Cannon driven over from his training quarters, the New Inn, at Staines. The men shook hands with smiling cordiality, each assuring the other he “felt quite well.” The colours were then tied to the stakes, a blue bird’s-eye for Neale, and crimson with a white spot for Cannon. Peter Crawley and Harry Harmer waited upon Cannon, Harry Holt and Josh Hudson on Neale.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The Great Gun, on stripping, showed excellent condition; but in spite of good skin training, age cannot be concealed; and Cannon, according to the exclamation of “The Gas,” was “an old man.” The fact is that Neale was not yet twenty-three years of age, while Cannon had passed his thirty-sixth! Cannon appeared cheerful, smiling, and confident. The body of Neale was covered with spots, like a leopard—his condition was anything but good; he had a slight cold, and his flesh was soft; yet the grand points in his favour were youth, and a “heart in the right place.” On setting-to, Cannon did not display that bull-dog sort of eagerness which characterised his efforts in his second battle with the John Bull Fighter, but he was upon the alert, ready to punish, and anxious to obtain an opening. Cannon commenced offensive operations, but his wary opponent “would not have it,” and got away. Cannon tried it again, but it would not do; Ned endeavoured to plant a hit, but the Great Gun was not to be had, and retreated from mischief. Sparring on both sides, but no hitting. Neale at length went to work, and with his left mauley slightly touched his opponent’s canister; Cannon returned sharply. A short struggle occurred, and Cannon went down.

2.—The milling qualities of the Great Gun were prominent, and he was upon the bustle to do business; but Ned was “up and dressed,” and his left hand again told upon his opponent’s mug. Cannon was not behindhand, and some sharp blows were exchanged. Milling on the retreat (after Tom Cribb’s successful mode) was now adopted by Neale; he planted a tremendous blow under the listener of his adversary, and the claret followed profusely. If this heavy blow had been a little lower, it might have been “Good night to the Great Gun!” Cannon, rather confused and wild, rushed in to work—he obtained the throw, Neale went down, and Cannon also; in falling, his nob came in contact with the stakes. Neale was the hero of the tale.

3.—Cannon, like nothing but a game man, appeared at the scratch smiling. This was a short round. The Great Gun tried to fire a heavy shot, and boldly went up to his man; but the Youth hooked him round his neck, and endeavoured to fib. Cannon proved himself the stronger man, got Neale down, and fell on him.

4.—The Streatham Youth got away from mischief, and made good use of his pins. Some blows were exchanged, when they closed. A desperate struggle occurred for the throw; both down, Neale undermost.

5.—The Great Gun, as gay as a lark, went to work, but napped a conker; yet he would not be denied, and a sharp rally was the result. Some heavy hits were exchanged: the fire proving too hot, Ned turned round from mischief; the Great Gun pursued him, when Neale turned and rushed to the attack; some clumsy thumps passed. In closing, Ned had the best of it, but fell on his head. Neale was much shaken by the fall.

6.—The Great Gun was all for fighting, and kept to his work. Neale was ready, but nevertheless kept a good look-out. In a rally, both their faces napped punishment, but Ned retreated in style. In struggling for the throw, both down, Neale undermost.

7.—The weakness of the Streatham Youth was visible to his friends, but they still felt satisfied he must win. A good rally, and Cannon up to the mark, giving hit for hit. In closing, they both stood still, trying to hold the hands of each other. Ned broke away, and tipped it to Cannon in his victualling office; he ultimately obtained the throw, and the Great Gun came down on his nob, a shaker. (“Neale for a thousand!”)

8.—The Great Gun showed distress on appearing at the scratch. Ned tried to be with him, but Cannon closed in by catching Neale round the neck. The fibbing system was adopted by Ned, and upon Cannon getting the worst of it he dropped upon his knees. The coolness of Neale was here seen to great advantage; he was in the act of hitting, when he stopped himself and held up his arms, amidst loud cheers from all parts of the ring. (“Bravo, Ned! well done, it’s manly!”)

9.—The Great Gun was rather unsteady; but his pluck was as good as gold. The science of Neale gave him great advantages, although he was out of condition; he watched the movements of Cannon with the keen eye of a general till it answered his purpose to commence fighting. Ned planted a facer, but Cannon countered. In closing, holding of hands to prevent punishment was again the feature; and Neale was so weak that he could not get the best of his opponent in his usual workman-like style. The struggle became long and desperate, when the Great Gun went down undermost.

10.—This round was all in favour of Ned. He planted a rum one on the muzzle of the Great Gun, repeated the dose with his left, then brought in his right to great advantage. In closing Cannon did his best to grasp his opponent firmly; but Neale broke away cleverly, and planted a heavy body blow with his right hand. Cannon fought his way into another close; in struggling both down, the Streatham Youth undermost.

11.—The Great Gun wanted breath, and sparred for time, but anxious not to be idle, went to work. Ned was ready for him, and some blows were exchanged. Cannon rushed in determined, as it were, to have the fall. In struggling he threw his opponent, although he went down himself. Neale’s nob came in sharp contact with the ground, his face underwent a momentary change, and he appeared hurt by the fall. He rested his head upon the back of his bottle-holder, and his friends became alarmed for the consequences. But when time was called, he was ready.

12.—Neale seemed anxious to recover the accident, and put in with the utmost ease two teasers on Cannon’s nob, right and left, that made his pimple shake again. A sharp rally followed, and “Jack was as good as his master.” It was Millers’ Place, Cannon Row, and Pepper Alley, all brought down from town. Neale had the worst of the punishment; he, however stuck close to his man. Cannon was sent out of the ropes, and Ned also went down.

13.—Good on both sides; Cannon always ready, and no flincher. In fact, he appeared as cheerful as if he was at work on the river. Neale got away from mischief, but Cannon would follow him, till a rally was the result. In closing Cannon received a cross-buttock that shook him seriously.

14.—Neale was much distressed, and the Great Gun tried to have the best of him by bustling. In closing he got Neale’s nob under his arm; and the latter, for a short time, could not release himself from his perilous situation. (“Bravo, Cannon, now’s your time! you have got him—don’t let him go!”) Cannon at length let Neale down. The backers of the Great Gun flattered themselves the chance was in their favour, and actually took him at evens.

15.—Neale, aware of his weakness, acted upon the defensive; and Cannon went to work, as the best means to turn the tide. The Great Gun, in closing, again caught hold of Neale, the latter trying to hold the hands of his opponent. In this unpleasant situation, both to themselves and the spectators, they continued for a minute, until quite exhausted they both went down, Neale undermost; Cannon for choice, and some were jolly enough to offer 5 to 4.

16.—The Great Gun, acting under the advice of his seconds, endeavoured to have his opponent upon the bustling system, and went to work. He bored Neale to the ropes, and here another disagreeable struggle took place, both for a short time hanging upon the ropes, till they fell outside of the ring. The Great Gun was undermost. (“Cannon for ever!” was the cry. “He can’t lose it! The battle is changed! 6 to 4 on the Great Gun!”)

17.—At the scratch Cannon appeared the fresher man of the two. Ned was out of wind, and sparring was necessary for both. Neale tried his right hand, but without effect. A cessation of arms for a short period, and both on the look-out. Cannon at length rushed upon Neale with an intent of punishment, but Ned, wide awake, retreated, followed by his opponent. At the ropes Cannon went to work, but Ned put on the stop capitally. The Streatham Youth broke ground, when Cannon would not be denied, but he napped a facer. In closing Ned threw Cannon, and fell upon him severely.

18.—The Great Gun, rather unsteady, bored in to punish his adversary; but Neale, who was now getting better, made use of his pins to great advantage, and got away with ease. One severe facer Cannon napped, a second followed without any return, and a third finished the round, the claret running from Cannon’s nose, when he fell exhausted. (Loud shouting for Neale, and 6 to 4 on him.)

19.—Cannon was game to the backbone, and appeared at the scratch like a trump. Neale, with great judgment, made himself up to do something good; he viewed his adversary well, then let fly a tremendous nobber, which sent Cannon staggering back to the ropes; Ned followed him and threw him heavily.

20.—Neale was on his mettle; he commenced play with his right with good effect, and Cannon’s nob met punishment. The Great Gun was now reduced to a little gun, nevertheless he showed fight like a brave man, by returning hits. Ned put in another severe facer, and in closing Cannon went down on his back, Neale upon him. (2 to 1, and no takers.)

21.—Cannon came up quite groggy, but the fight was not out of him. The courage and game he displayed were admirable, and he earned the praise of all spectators. But in boxing term he was of “no use.” Ned put in a nobber that almost stunned him, and Cannon staggered about like a drunken man. In closing, Ned again obtained the throw, and the fall was indeed severe. Cannon lay on the ground, declining to be lifted up till the call of “time.”

22, and last.—The Great Gun came up like nothing but an out-and-outer, but his shot was not point-blank, and he swerved and reeled unsteadily. Neale put in a left-handed push, when the Great Gun rolled through the ropes and fell outside. He was in a state of stupor. His seconds brought him into his corner, but while they were busy the umpire declared he had not answered the call of “time.” The referee agreed, and the victory was declared to Neale. The battle lasted only thirty minutes. Neale cut several capers at the announcement, and returned to his carriage, while the defeated man was taken to his quarters at Staines.

Remarks.—The report here given leaves little room for comment. Cannon, whose courage had “moulted no feather,” was beaten by freshness, activity, and a better style of boxing than his own. This was his last fight, and thus, after his defeat by Jem Ward, the once formidable bargeman, like many another champion who has “trusted to the energy of a waning age,” furnished one more instance of the truism that “youth will be served.”

At Sam Tebbutt’s opening dinner on the occasion of his taking the “Bull’s Head,” Saffron Hill (another of the demolished purlieus of Old Smithfield), Uncle Ben expressed his “Nevvy’s” desire to meet Neale once more in the lists, provided Ned would deposit £250 against £200 of “mine uncle’s” money. Neale closed with the proposal, and posted £10, but Neale’s principal backer considering the conditions imprudent, he wrote from Brighton, whither he had gone, forfeiting the £10 down.

A few weeks afterwards, however, articles were signed at the “Castle,” Holborn, for Neale to fight Jem Burn, £120 to £100, and the day fixed for Tuesday, Nov. 13th, 1827. So confident was Neale of the result that he named Monday, Nov. 12th (the day before the fight), for his benefit at the Tennis Court. After the sparring, Neale, accompanied by Harry Holt, started for Bagshot, to be near the proposed field of action.

Early on Tuesday morning the road to Staines was covered with all sorts of vehicles from London, and Shirley’s, the New Inn was overflowing with first-rate company. Winkfield Plain, in Berkshire, was the spot in view, and the fancy lost no time in surrounding the ring. Near the appointed hour Jem Burn threw his hat into the ropes, accompanied by Tom Belcher and Tom Cannon as his seconds. Neale was close at his heels, and delivered his tile with the utmost confidence, attended by Josh Hudson and Harry Holt. The colours—blue, with a white spot, for Ned, and a Belcher handkerchief for Burn, were tied to the stakes. The men shook hands smilingly, and at eight minutes past one commenced

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On peeling, Jem looked the picture of health. He weighed thirteen stone, and was three inches taller than his adversary. Neale did not exactly answer the expectations of his friends; he looked pale, and his back and bosom were covered with a scorbutic eruption. Ned did not exceed twelve stone. He held his left hand remarkably high in defence, and in every other point seemed prepared for attack. Burn kept manœuvring to obtain an opening, but Neale was too wary to give a chance away. Jem at length let fly at the body, but Neale was away. Jem then tried left and right, but Neale, as before, got out of mischief. Burn, puzzled, made another attempt with his left hand, which alighted slightly on Ned’s left ogle. Neale, in return, endeavoured to plant a heavy right-handed hit on the nob, but it fell short on the shoulder. Burn, anxious to do some execution, again let fly right and left, but out of distance. Ned took advantage of the mistake, went in to his man, and by a heavy right-handed blow on the side of his head, floored Burn like a shot. First event for the Streatham Youth.

2.—Jem came well up to the scratch, and commenced offensive operations right and left, but Ned, laughing, said it was “no go,” and got out of the way of mischief like a skilful tactician, yet instantly returned to the attack, when Jem napped another floorer, to the great joy of the Streathamites. The Yorkites began to look blue.

3.—Jem could not measure his distance, and again threw his blows away, when Neale went in to punish sans cérémonie. (“Hit with him,” says Tom Belcher. “Yes,” replied Josh, “he will get much the best of that.”) Burn stopped some hits, and returned on Neale’s nob. The latter, however, soon resumed the lead. Jem was once more sent down with comparative ease, and Neale rested himself on his second’s knee.

4.—Short but sweet to the Streatham Youth; Jem could not plant his blows, when Neale put in a throttler which sent Burn down in a twinkling. It is impossible to describe the exultation of the friends of Neale. Two to one offered.

5.—This was more a wrestling than a fighting round; both combatants were down side by side.

6.—Neale seemed perfectly awake to every move of his adversary, and got out of trouble with the utmost sang froid. In closing, Jem struggled hard, and both down.

7.—Jem endeavoured to plant two well-meant hits, but the science of Neale rendered them harmless. After a little manœuvring, Ned went to work, when Jem was soon sent down on his latter end.

8.—Jem had a small slice of luck at the opening of this round, by planting a left-handed hit on the right peeper of Neale, which produced a slight tinge of the claret. (“First blood,” was claimed by the friends of Jem, but the Streatham Youth laughed, and said, “I shall soon make that even.”) A sharp rally concluded the round, in which Jem threw many blows away, while Ned administered pepper until Jem went down staggering.

9.—Burn endeavoured to do something, but his blows generally fell short. Ned was always with his adversary upon the slightest mistake, and Jem was ultimately down.

10.—This was a well-fought round on both sides. Jem’s right hand told on the side of Ned’s head, and several other blows of Burn were also planted with effect, when Ned fell on the ropes and went down. (“Go along, Jem! that’s the way to win! Keep it up, my lad,” from his backers.)

11.—Burn put on the stopper well; and in closing Burn got down cleverly from the fibbing system attempted by his adversary.

12.—The nob of Jem looked rather the worse for wear; but he planted some slight facers. Neale fought his way into a rally, had the best of it, and in closing Burn was down.

13.—Jem went to work rather wild, but planted a hit or two. Ned, however, was with him, and dropped Burn by a blow in the mouth, like a shot.

14.—This round proved extremely serious to the Burnites. The combatants soon got into a rally, in which the blows of Neale operated like cannon-shot, till Jem was quite abroad, and went down of no use. (This severe punishment operated so severely upon the feelings of Uncle Ben that he fell on his back on the ground dreadfully convulsed. Several men who immediately ran to render Uncle Ben assistance could scarcely hold him during the time he was bled by a surgeon. On his recovery, he was immediately conveyed to Staines, and put to bed in a very exhausted state of body and mind.)

15.—Jem appeared at the scratch quite in a groggy state. The pepper-box was again administered in the most effectual manner by Neale; resistance seemed almost out of Jem’s power, until he once more measured his length on the grass.

16.—Burn could not measure his distances, and fought wildly. Ned had it all his own way, punishing right and left, until Jem was down.

17, 18, 19.—In all these rounds Jem not only napped it in all manner of directions, but was sent down.

20.—Burn missed a well-aimed left-handed blow at the head of his opponent, when Neale, in return, planted a tremendous hit on his sensitive box, which not only produced the claret freely, but floored him. (Any odds, but no takers.)

21.—The quality of game could not be denied to Jem; he stood and took the milling like a receiver-general. He was knocked off his pins without any ceremony.

22.—The left hand of Neale met Jem bang in the middle of the head, which produced the claret in torrents, as he measured his length on the grass.

23.—Jem hit down before he had scarcely got up his arms.

24.—Jem slipped down by accident.

25.—Burn was piping, and almost abroad; but Belcher was on the alert to keep Jem at his work. (“Be ready, my dear boy,” cried Tom; “hit with him, he’s coming.” “Yes,” replied the John Bull Fighter, “Ned is coming, and your man will soon be going—or rather, like the auctioneer, gone!”) Neale received a facer which produced the claret; but he returned the favour with interest, and Jem was again sent down.

26.—Jem now tried desperate fighting, hitting away in all directions; but Ned was too leary. The latter boxer got a stopper on the nob; but Jem was again down. (“You must admit, gents,” observed the elegant Holt, “that Jem is a down-y one; he has been down almost to the end of the chapter. The finish is also near at hand. I’ll bet any odds.”)

27, 28, 29, 30.—In all of these rounds the lead and punishment were decidedly in favour of Neale, and Jem was sent down in every one of them.

31.—Jem showed fight, and planted a facer; but it was too slight to do anything like damage to Neale. The latter followed Jem all over the ring, until he sent him down. (Tom Cannon, by way of raising the spirits of Burn, said, “He can never lick you, Jem.” “Yes,” replied Ned, “and you afterwards, and no mistake; and I’ll try it, if you like.”)

32, 33, 34, 35, 36.—It is true that in some of these rounds Jem planted facers which produced the claret, but he could not turn a single round in his favour. Ned was continually administering punishment, and Jem was down in all of these rounds. (“Take him away!”)

37.—Jem was cruelly distressed, but he would not say “no,” and showed fight at the scratch. He napped lots of milling in a rally, and went down as heavy as lead. (“Take him away! he’s of no use!”)

38.—Down, and no return; so much did Neale show his superiority over Jem.

39.—Of the same class; he appeared at the scratch only to be milled down. (“It’s a shame to bring him up! Take him home, Belcher!”)

40.—Burn, almost as a forlorn hope, went to work with more spirit than could have been expected from his exhausted state, and planted several hits in better style than in most of the preceding rounds; but this exertion was now too late, and he was milled down flat on his face. (The cries were extremely loud: “Take him away; you’ll be lagged else.” “Why don’t you listen to the advice of your friends,” said Josh, “if you wish to prevent serious consequences to yourselves?”)

41.—It was all the cash in the Bank to a ninepence that Jem must lose it; in fact, his backers and seconds ought to have had him taken out of the ring. Jem down, with his face on the earth.

42.—Nearly U P; Burn was down as soon as he appeared at the scratch.

43, and last.—Jem could scarcely show at the scratch, he was so completely exhausted. He staggered about like a drunken man, when Neale did little more than push him down. It was all over; and when picked up by Tom Belcher, his head fell on his shoulder, and he was insensible. The fight continued forty-six minutes. Jem was bled on the ground; nevertheless, he remained in a state of stupor for several minutes. He was severely punished about the head, while Neale was scarcely the worse for the fight. In truth, so little did he care for the punishment he had received that he offered to fight Tom Cannon off-hand, for £100 a-side, and it was a matter of difficulty that Neale’s friends made him quit the ring. £7 10s. only were collected on the ground for Jem Burn.

Remarks.—The perusal of the rounds of the above battle are so decisive in themselves as scarcely to require any observation. Ned had it all his own way, from the beginning of the fight to the end of the contest. His superior confidence, united with the science which was conspicuous in every round, pronounced him a master of the art of self-defence. Coolness is a winning faculty on the part of Neale, who possesses it in an eminent degree. Jem fought bravely, no one can deny; but contending in long blows instead of close quarters rendered his blows non-effective, and he was completely beaten at out-fighting. It is, however, due to Jem Burn to state that he contested every inch of ground like a man of the highest courage. He would not say no, and refused to be taken away, which he might have done without compromising his character as a pugilist. He never left the scratch until nature had deserted him; and the best man in the world must, like Jem, submit to the fortune of war. Neale, in this conquest, obtained in such a superior style, placed himself high in the ranks of pugilism; and his backers entertained so high an opinion, not only of his talents, but of his integrity and thorough trustworthiness, that it was resolved to match him against the accomplished Jem Ward.

The very next day, at Burn’s benefit at the Tennis Court, Neale, whose face was but slightly disfigured, mounted the stage after the principal bout, between Jem Ward and big Bob Burn, in which Jem sent the burly one off the platform with surprisingly little damage to his sixteen stone carcass, and presented himself to the amateurs. He offered, such was the readiness of good men in those days, to meet Baldwin for £250 to £200 or £500 to £400, that day week, or that day month, or two months, at his option; or he would fight Tom Cannon, Reuben Martin, or any twelve stone man in England, for any sum they pleased; or he would fight the three men named within three months, with a month’s interval. This sweeping challenge brought up Ned Baldwin, who said he was not at that moment prepared to make a match, but would appoint an evening for the purpose, and give Neale notice to attend. Tom Cannon next showed. “Gentlemen,” said the Windsor Gun, “I am out of condition, and both my shoulders are bad. I have now plaisters on my chest. But I hope to be well by April, when Neale shall not want a customer.”

At a sporting dinner on Thursday, Nov. 22nd, 1827, at Sam Tebbutt’s, the “Bull’s Head,” Peter Street, to celebrate Neale’s victory, Ned was surrounded by backers and friends. The chairman (Pierce Egan) reviewed the victorious career of Neale, stating his battles, and that his name had never yet been associated with defeat—that he had proved himself as honest as he was brave, a dutiful son, an affectionate brother, a kind-hearted husband, and a sincere friend—in short, a true man in all the relations of life. He therefore proposed a subscription to present him with a silver cup of the value of one hundred guineas, as a testimony to his upright and brave conduct. The proposition was agreed to, and twenty-one guineas subscribed in the room.

The subject of a match between Jem Ward and Ned Neale was on the carpet at the Castle Tavern, Holborn, on Tuesday, Nov. 20th, 1827, when two gentlemen posted £5 a-side, to be made £100—£15 a-side to be posted the next evening. On the Wednesday Neale’s backer announced that he had not been able to see Neale, and wished a postponement; but Ward’s friend claimed forfeit, and it was paid over accordingly. £20 was then deposited by a friend of Neale’s, to be made £200 if Neale consented to fight Ward in two months—the money to be returned (less half-a-dozen of wine) in the event of Neale’s non-compliance. On Friday, Nov. 23rd, an immense assemblage of the fancy took place at the “Castle,” when, Jem Ward not being present (he did not appear during the whole evening), forfeit was claimed. The gentleman who backed Ward demurred, stating he knew Jem was ready to go on with the match, and he was ready with a further deposit. Neale, who was in attendance, said, as the deposit had been made to fight for £200 within two months, he must decline complying with those terms. He did not think he could get into sufficient condition to meet such a man as Jem Ward, and he was resolved never to peril his own reputation, and the interest of his friends, by entering the ring unfit. The deposits were hereupon drawn.

Ned Baldwin now offered himself once again to Neale’s notice for £150 a-side. To this Neale replied, offering to fight Baldwin, as once beaten, for £250 to £200. Articles were formulated and signed, and Tuesday, March 11th, 1828, fixed as the day. Baldwin left town for Leicestershire to train. Here a trivial occurrence had well-nigh wrecked Baldwin’s chance and money, as will be seen by the subjoined letter to the editor of the Weekly Dispatch:—

London, Feb. 2nd, 1828.

“Sir,—On my return from Melton Mowbray I was sorry to find my character had been assailed by a Leicester paper, in which my conduct has been entirely misrepresented. I refer to the account of a dispute which took place between two respectable coach proprietors, who, I hope, have settled their differences amicably. It is stated I took an active part in the ‘disturbance.’ Now, sir, the truth is that I was merely a passive spectator of the quarrel, and never interfered by word or act—in fact, I was equally a friend to both parties. Like others, I laughed, but knew my situation too well to interfere. I knew that I was backed against Ned Neale, and that by joining in such a dispute I should be ‘throwing a chance away’—conduct of which even my enemies would scarcely accuse me. For being present, however, I was taken before a magistrate, and held to bail till the sessions, which will be held at the beginning of April; but even this fact did not justify the false statement to my prejudice made in the Leicester Herald. However, as my recognisances only stand good till the sessions, I shall continue to make my deposits with Ned Neale good; and I have too much reliance on his honourable feeling not to believe, even if I am obliged to put our meeting off for a month, that he will willingly grant me that time. He has said that he means fighting, and so do I; and as the articles express that the stakes shall remain till we have fairly decided who is the best man, upon that understanding I mean to act. I shall attend with my backers at Tom Cribb’s, on Tuesday next, with the needful, and hope to meet my antagonist on friendly terms. With regard to the worthy magistrate who held me to bail, I have no doubt he felt he was justified; but when my trial takes place, I shall be able to prove my entire innocence of any illegal act whatever. By my profession, if fighting a few battles can be so called, I have been taught to love ‘fair play.’ I know enough of the sporting gentlemen of Leicestershire to believe that they are equal admirers of that truly British characteristic; and I rest perfectly satisfied that I shall not be sacrificed to any unjust prejudice which may have been excited against me from my being a member of the P. R.

“Yours respectfully,

“EDWARD BALDWIN.”

On Tuesday evening, the 5th of February, the time appointed for making the fifth deposit, the “Union Arms,” in Panton Street, was overflowing at an early hour. Neale and Baldwin were both present, and on “time” being called, both said their money was ready. Baldwin, alluding to the late unfortunate affair at Leicester, although perfectly innocent of any act of disorder whatever, said he had been held to bail to appear at the sessions, and also during the intervening period to keep the peace towards all His Majesty’s subjects. This was an event which he had not foreseen, and he hoped Neale would liberally assent to the match being postponed for such a time as would allow him to appear at the sessions, when he should be enabled to show that he had been the victim of prejudice. Neale had said he meant fighting; so did he, and he hoped the stakes would be permitted to remain till the event came fairly off.

Neale said he was willing to give his antagonist every indulgence, and to meet his wishes to the fullest extent.

The articles were then altered according to the new arrangement, the men to fight for an even £250 a-side, and the match fixed for the 22nd of April. If Baldwin should be bound in recognisances at that time, he would pay Neale’s expenses to go to France; and if imprisoned, he would agree to forfeit £200 of the stakes down. With this all parties were satisfied, and Baldwin was applauded for the spirit he had displayed.

On Tuesday evening, March 4th, 1828, a meeting was held at Harry Holt’s for the purpose of making good the last deposit towards the £250 a-side. Neale’s money was ready, but Baldwin had been disappointed in the expected arrival of a friend, who was to have posted a portion of the needful on his behalf. Neale said that he would not claim the forfeit. The word of a gentleman being therefore given that the required sum should be placed in the hands of the stakeholder in the course of a week, it was considered as understood that the whole of the money was made good. Another alteration was then made in the time of fighting. Baldwin remarked that the 22nd of April (the day then fixed) was in the week appointed for the Newmarket meeting, and this might prevent many of the turf men from being present. Baldwin therefore proposed an adjournment of the fight for a week. Neale said a week would make no difference to him; but if he acceded to Baldwin’s wishes, he ought to have the right to name the place of meeting. To this Baldwin at once agreed, and it was therefore arranged that the fight should stand over to the 29th of April, and that Neale should have the right to say “where.” Ill luck, however, pursued the fixture; and on Thursday, April 29th, 1828, many hundreds left London, and returned, few of them until the next day, after a weary journey to Liphook, in Hampshire, thence to Guildford and Godalming, to find that warrants against Neale and Baldwin were out in Surrey, Sussex, and Hampshire. A move into Berks was decided on, and Bagshot made the rendezvous. Here, at Hatchard’s Lane, in the parish of Wingfield, the ring was pitched, and shortly after Neale arrived in the carriage of his patron, Mr. Sant. Ned quietly alighted, and threw his hat into the ring, attended by his seconds, Josh. Hudson and Harry Holt. Bob was equally on the alert, and repeated the token of defiance, followed by Peter Crawley and Dick Curtis. Bob won the toss, when the colours were tied to the stakes, a bright purple for Baldwin and a dark blue bird’s-eye for the Streatham Youth. The betting was seven to four on Neale. At half-past one o’clock the fight commenced:—

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The condition of Neale appeared good on stripping, but a few of his friends thought he was rather too fat, and blotches on his body were, as usual, prominent; Bob was also well, but he looked pale. Ned was confident, and after a little manœuvring for the first advantage, Bob hit out with his right, but Ned was leary, and it fell short; Bob then commenced the bustling system, when a few blows were exchanged. In closing Bob napped one on his cheek as he was going down. Neale fell on him. “Well done, Neale!”

2.—Bob, still on the bustle, hurried to his work, but again hit out of distance and fell on his hands. Ned missed a heavy upper-cut with the right, that might otherwise have done mischief.

3.—Both hit short. Baldwin missed in a second attempt; but Ned planted a nobber, then went to work in right earnest, and not only put in a teaser on the side of Bob’s head, but closed and gave the white-headed one a cross-buttock.

4.—Bob planted a slight facer, but received a severe return. In closing, Ned fibbed his opponent, and then threw him like a first-rate wrestler.

5.—On Neale’s coming to the scratch, Curtis claimed “first blood” from Ned’s nose, but the umpires could not perceive it. This was a short round, facers on both sides, the White-headed one again thrown.

6.—Ned planted two severe facers; Baldwin, in return, hit out wildly, and lost his distance. Neale repeated the dose on the left ear of Bob, which produced the claret, and the event of first blood was decided in favour of Neale. In closing Baldwin got down skilfully to prevent being thrown.

7.—The right hand of Neale again told, but in struggling for the fall Ned was undermost. “Bravo, Bob!”

8.—Nothing. Both men hit out of distance, when Bob ran in wildly after his adversary, missed him, and fell.

9.—Bob fond of bustling, but in rushing in he napped a snorter, the claret following the blow. In going down Neale was successful in planting two hits.

10.—This round looked like fighting; both men were on their mettle, and anxious to do mischief. Ned’s right hand told—ditto, ditto, and ditto; yet Bob was not idle, and returned well; nevertheless, Baldwin was hit down. (“It’s as right as the day,” said the John Bull Fighter; “Ned’s turned auctioneer; he knocked down the last lot cleverly, and Mr. Baldwin bought it.”)

11.—The right hand of Bob would have been mischievous if he could have timed his blows; but he appeared so much in a hurry that they fell short. Baldwin put in a heavy body blow, but was thrown.

12.—Ned took the lead, and nobbed his adversary; Bob, endeavouring to return, missed. In closing, Baldwin slipped on his knees. Ned threw up his hands and walked away, amidst thunders of applause.

13.—Neale again had it all his own way; he threw Baldwin. Four to one and no takers, so satisfied were the spectators that Neale would prove the conqueror.

14.—Baldwin’s left hand told on Neale’s cheek, but the latter countered with effect. Bob received another severe cross-buttock.

15.—Bob could not change a single round in his favour, hitting wildly, and quite out of distance. He received a heavy blow on the nose. In closing Bob was thrown on the ropes.

16.—Bob did not heed scientific movements; he endeavoured to overwhelm Neale by bustling in helter-skelter, missed his aim, and fell.

17.—Of no importance. Bob piping. Ned planted his right hand. In closing, both down.

18.—A straight facer, and ditto by Neale, Bob returning as wild as a novice. Baldwin thrown.

19.—Bob had a small turn in this round. He planted a heavy hit on the left peeper of Neale, and another blow, which produced the claret on Neale’s cheek. In going down Neale was undermost. (“That’s the way to win,” said Dick Curtis; “wait for him and make your right tell.”)

20.—Both milling, counter-hits. Bob tried the bustling system again, and bored Neale down. (“Well done, Bob!”)

21.—Bob stopped Ned’s left hand cleverly, and gave Neale a teaser on his left eye. In struggling for the throw, both went down.

22.—This was a milling round. Bob seemed steadier, and returned hit for hit; but Neale planted a tremendous blow on his opponent’s left eye, and threw him cleverly.

23.—Ned got out of mischief like an able tactician. He, however, soon returned to the charge, and with his right floored the White-headed one. This was the first knock-down blow.

24.—Bob came to the scratch rather abroad; he ran in wildly, slipped, caught hold of Ned, and fell on his knees. Neale again walked away, receiving lots of applause for his forbearance. In fact, he actually helped him up, which kindness Baldwin returned by a shake of the hand.

25.—Bob, full of pluck, fought his way into a spirited rally, and give and take was the feature for a short period, until Ned finished the round by giving Bob a severe cross-buttock.

26.—Bob commenced fighting as wild as ever. Ned endeavoured to stop his rush, when Bob slipped down with his hands up. Neale, though in the act of hitting, restrained himself, to prevent anything foul.

27.—Ned planted his right and left with success, Bob hitting out of all distance, as heretofore. In closing both down.

28.—Baldwin retreated to the ropes, followed by Ned. In closing at the ropes Neale tried fibbing, and also threw Bob.

29.—Had Baldwin steadied himself, and measured his distance, he could not have thrown so many right-handed hits away. Ned planted some slight taps, when both went down.

30.—The blows of Ned did not appear to do so much execution as heretofore; his friends thought he hit with his left hand open; Baldwin was met in his rush by a flush hit on his nob. In closing, Ned went down.

31.—Baldwin, by a sort of scrambling hit, felt for the left peeper of Neale, but the latter made good his right and left. In closing, both down.

32.—Neale again triumphant. He went up, sans cérémonie, to Baldwin’s nob, and floored him. (A tremendous shout of applause from all parts of the ring.)

33.—Decidedly in favour of Neale; the right hand of the latter told with severity on Baldwin’s already damaged listener; another desperate cross-buttock closed the round against Baldwin.

34.—The game exhibited by Bob was loudly praised; both men were fighting at points in this round. The advantage, however, was on the side of Neale, and Bob was ultimately thrown out of the ropes.

35.—Counter-hits. In closing, both went down; Neale struck his nob rather in an awkward manner.

36.—In spite of all the advice given by Dick Curtis to Bob he would still rush forward to attack his adversary. Ned, like a skilful general, got out of the way of danger, rendering the attempts of Baldwin abortive. Bob was thrown.

37.—The rounds now were short. Ned hit right and left, but not severely. Both down.

38.—Neale took the lead, and planted several hits; both again went down.

39.—Baldwin almost ran in to punish his adversary, which Neale perceiving stepped aside nimbly, and Bob fell.

40.—Up to this period of the battle Neale was the favourite. The latter got away from Bob’s fury, and in closing Baldwin was thrown.

41.—Bob got a small turn in his favour in this round. It is true he was the most punished, but he did not appear reduced much in strength. Bob again missed with his right; but in closing he made a desperate effort, and threw Neale a severe cross-buttock. (The friends of Bob gave him thunders of applause, and the disinterested spectators were not backward in crying out, “Bravo!”)

42.—Both men countered well; and after a long struggle, in closing, both down.

43.—(“Hit with your right hand,” said Dick, “and the battle must be your own. Don’t run at your man like a mad bull.”) But all advice was thrown away—Bob acted as heretofore, when Ned got neatly out of trouble. Baldwin received a heavy right-hander on the side of his head, which he endeavoured to return with his left; in so doing he fell on his knees, but instantly jumped up to renew the fight, when Ned obtained the throw.

44.—Ned made play with his right hand, but Bob was again on the bustle, and in struggling for the throw got Neale down.

45.—This was a short but busy round. Both on the alert—counter-hits—a rally, and in closing for the fall, Ned was thrown.

46.—Ned, as if determined to finish off his man, went to fight, sans cérémonie. He caught Baldwin on the right side of his nob, threw him a heavy cross-buttock, and fell over him.

47.—Neale’s right and left told; Bob bored in, caught hold of his adversary, and fell on his knees. Ned, instead of punishing him, patted Baldwin on the back, and once more walked to the knee of his second, amidst uproarious applause.

48.—Neale took the lead right and left. Bob, wild at such treatment, closed, and got Neale down.

49.—A fighting round; capital counter-hits. Bob received so severe a facer that he went down like a spinning-top.

50.—The game displayed by Baldwin was the admiration of the spectators; his mug was punished, and his eyebrow badly damaged. Ned took the lead; and Bob, anxious to return, fell in the attempt.

51.—Bob was piping, and rather abroad; nevertheless his right hand was always dangerous; he was again unlucky in his distance. Ned planted his right hand, and Bob found his way to grass.

52.—Bob without delay fought into a rally, when Ned got out of trouble by turning round, but immediately resumed milling. In closing, Bob obtained the throw, and Neale came heavily down on his neck.

53.—Bob was no sooner at the scratch than he rushed in without any system, and succeeded in getting Neale down.

54.—The execution of Neale was not so severe as in the early part of the battle; and his left hand was open. In closing, Baldwin obtained the fall.

55.—Each trying for the best; stopping and hitting until both down.

56.—Neale appeared angry, and did not deliver his blows so steadily as heretofore. In closing, Baldwin found himself on the turf.

57.—The left hand of Neale was a little puffed, but he planted his right severely. Both down.

58.—Bob now stood higher in the opinions of the spectators; his strength was not so much reduced as might have been expected; but high odds were still offered on Neale. In closing, both down, and both weak.

59.—Baldwin certainly appeared better, and did not pipe so much as he had done in several of the preceding rounds. Neale went to work right and left, Bob endeavouring to be with him, but Ned obtained the throw.

60.—Bob left all system out of the case, and hit in all directions. Exchanges, when Bob, in closing, almost pinned Ned to the ground by superior strength.

61.—Counter-hits, Baldwin soon down.

62.—The right of Neale told: but with his left he could not do any execution. Bob went down from a slight hit.

63.—Baldwin crept into favour with the spectators this round, by the game he displayed, and his determined mode of fighting. Ned made play, but Bob was with him; and some smart exchanges took place. In closing, after a severe struggle, Bob got his opponent down.

64.—Bob, revived by a nip of eau-de-vie, planted his right well; but Ned countered, and mischief was done on both sides. Bob pushed on his luck, and boring in, laid hold of Neale by the neck, and in a severe struggle for the fall the Streatham hero received a dangerous twist, and fell in a singular manner. Ned was quite abroad for a few seconds. Dick Curtis exclaimed, “We have won it!” The anxiety of the spectators was intense; but Ned revived, and was ready at the scratch when time was called.

65.—Neale was distressed by the late fall, but he began his work well. Some sharp counter-hits. In closing, Bob again tried for the throw, but he was not so successful. Neale punished Baldwin as he was going down.

66.—The White-headed One was kept on the alert by his admirable little second, Curtis, and slashed away like a good one. Had his distances been anything like correct at this juncture, he had yet a chance of winning. In closing, Neale was again thrown, and he told Harry Holt “to take care of his neck” as he was picking him up.

67.—Baldwin was quite alive to the position, and neglected no opportunity to turn it to account. He again kept Neale on the bustle, caught the latter round the tender place on his neck, and obtained the throw. (“Bravo, Bob! you’ll win it now, if you mind what you are at!”)

68.—Neale still distressed; Bob to all appearance the stronger man. The White-headed Blade now thought the bustling mode to be successful, and tried it on at once. Neale fearlessly met him. In closing, Baldwin squeezed his opponent, got him down, and fell on him. (“Why, Bobby,” said Curtis, “you have found out the way at last. You are doing the trick.”)

69.—Neale commenced milling. In closing, Bob’s strength enabled him again to get the fall. At this moment a great bustle was heard on one side of the ring, and a cry of, “The beak! the beak!” An elderly, pale-faced gentleman in black was observed making his way for the ring. He proclaimed himself a magistrate, and called upon all parties to desist. The smooth-tongued blades of the Fancy tried all their eloquence to appease the wrath of the beak, by stating to him what a pity it would be, at such an interesting period, to put a stop to the event, which, as a matter of course, an hour having elapsed, would end of itself in the course of a few minutes.

70.—During the argument time was called, and the men appeared at the scratch. Neale was ready, and Bob equally so—no flinching, until Baldwin was floored.

71.—Neale rallied himself, and went to work with considerable spirit; Baldwin attacked his adversary wildly. Both down.

72.—The beak endeavoured to break through the crowd to get at the combatants, but he could not. Hitting away on both sides, but Neale now and then jobbing the nob of his adversary. In closing, both down.

73.—(“Now’s the time,” said the Pet to Bob; “go to work, hit steady with your right hand, and you can’t lose it.” “What nonsense!” replied Hudson; “how can you mislead the poor fellow so!”) Both on their mettle, and several blows were exchanged. In closing, Baldwin obtained the throw.

74.—The rounds were now very short. Baldwin bustling, while Neale was endeavouring to catch him as he was coming in. Both down, Neale undermost.

75.—Exerting themselves like brave men, regardless of danger, until both of them fell out of the ropes.

76.—Neale successively planted three jobbing hits; nevertheless, Bob returned to the attack undismayed. In closing, Baldwin pulled down his adversary.

77.—Counter-hits, and a good round altogether, until both went down, Baldwin uppermost.

78.—The fight had materially changed. Bob, who, in the early part of the battle, in the opinion of nearly all the spectators, had no chance of success, was viewed with a different eye. Neale’s left hand was of little use to him. Both down.

79.—Neale took the lead, and planted his right and left. Baldwin fell on his knees.

80.—Counter-hits, but not heavy enough to put a finish to the battle. In closing, both down, Neale undermost.

81.—(The disinterested part of the ring—those persons who had not a copper on the event seemed to think that it was anybody’s battle.) Neale, always ready, went to work; Bob, on the bustle, endeavoured to be with him. In closing, both down, Neale undermost.

82.—Neale hit with his left hand half open, then planted a facer with his right. Baldwin, still wild, but determined, endeavoured to return. His distance as heretofore proved incorrect. He rushed into a close, when both fell.

83.—Neale had not lost his gaiety, and tried to administer punishment. In closing, the struggle was desperate for the throw; after a severe encounter, Bob was uppermost. Both men much distressed.

84, and last.—Baldwin at the scratch, and Neale also ready to the call of “time.” Both combatants went to work without hesitation. Some sharp hits were exchanged, when both men went down in the corner of the ring, close to the magistrate. One hour and a quarter had elapsed.

His worship now waxed angry at the want of attention paid to his authority, exclaiming, in a peremptory tone of voice, “I’ll endure this no longer!” Laying hold of the arm of Josh Hudson, he told Harry Holt of the consequences which must result to the whole of them, if they did not put an end to the battle. Hudson, obedient to the law, resigned his situation as second, when an amateur rushed into the ring and gave his knee to Neale. The magistrate then spoke to Neale and Baldwin, and observed that he had been sent for by a gentleman in the neighbourhood, to interfere and put a stop to the fight: that he entertained no hostility against any person present, and if they immediately quitted the ring peaceably, he should take no further notice of what had occurred. “If the battle is continued,” said he, raising his voice, “the combatants, seconds, and every individual present aiding and assisting must take the consequences.” The magistrate, however, good-naturedly acknowledged that he had met with more civility and attention than he could have expected from such a multitude. His worship then retired from the scene of action, amidst loud cheers from the spectators.

Further opposition was voted imprudent, and hostilities ceased. Bob and Ned shook hands together, left the ring, and walked to their vehicles. The reporter asked Baldwin how he felt, when he emphatically replied, “What should be the matter with me?” It was thought advisable by the friends of both parties that the combatants should return to Bagshot, and be put to bed.

It was not to be supposed that the question of superiority would remain thus undecided between two such courageous and well-matched men; so, after some little debate upon the “draw,” consequent on magisterial interference, they agreed to add £50 a-side to the stakes, and to meet once more—the time the 28th of May, 1828, the place No Man’s Land, in Hertfordshire. How gallantly Neale fell, after a desperate battle of sixty-six rounds in seventy-one minutes, may be read in Chapter VII. of this volume.

Neale’s friends and admirers did not desert him in defeat. At Neale’s benefit at the Tennis Court, on the 21st of July, 1828, at which Tom Spring, Peter Crawley, Holt, Curtis, and the leading men appeared, a silver cup of the value of 100 guineas was presented by Pierce Egan as a testimonial of his “bravery, honour, and incorruptible integrity.” This trophy for many years formed one of the treasures of the “Rose and Crown.”

Reuben Marten now proposed to back John Nicholls for £100 a-side against Neale, and the cartel being accepted, the match was made off-hand, at Marten’s house, the “City of London,” Berwick Street, Soho. The deposits were duly made until £60 was down, when Nicholls’s backers were absent, but Neale waived the forfeit, and generously agreed to take £25 when the fight should come off; £50 being promised by a gentleman, a backer of Nicholls, for the fight to take place on his estate. We note this, as on another occasion, with Baldwin, Neale waived his claim to forfeit when £170 was down.

The day was fixed for the 23rd September, 1828, the place Fisher Street, in Sussex. Nicholls—a fine, powerful young man, whose recent victory over Dick Acton, a pugilist thought good enough to be matched against Jem Ward and Peter Crawley, had raised him by a jump to the pinnacle of fame—had good friends. The sporting men of London, however, did not believe in a comparative novice being pitted against the victor of a dozen battles, and seven to four was laid at the “Castle,” “Queen’s Head,” and “King’s Arms,” on the Streatham champion.

On Tuesday morning Guildford, Godalming, and the villages near the scene of action were all alive, the amateurs having left London overnight. An immense cavalcade was soon on the move towards Fisher Street, where, at the Royal Cylinder Works, the property of Mr. Stovell, preparations had been made from an early hour. Banners were displayed, two military bands, and six small pieces of cannon in a turf battery were discharged occasionally, and a general rustic merry-making, more like a fair than the preliminaries of a fight, was going on. Tables and forms, with eatables and drinkables, were provided gratuitously for certain visitors within the houses and factory of Mr. Stovell. In an enclosed piece of ground a twenty-four feet ring of turf, laid and levelled, was roped in, with seats for the umpires and referee. At a distance of twelve feet a roped circle kept back the spectators, while round all was a double line of wagons, the inner ones sunk in the ground by holes dug as deep as their axletrees, the outer line being on the level of the field. The ground was kept by 150 stout countrymen with staves, in white smocks, with blue ribands in their hats, marshalled by the indefatigable Mr. Stovell.

At eleven o’clock a curious procession approached. Reuben Marten and Nicholls, in a light two-wheeler, followed by some friends, were succeeded by Neale in a barouche, in which were seated Tom Spring and Harry Holt, the “ribands” handled by Will Scarlett, the renowned “dragsman.” The men were accommodated with separate apartments in Mr. Stovell’s house till the hour of battle arrived.

At ten minutes past one Nicholls dropped his hat within the ropes, and Neale immediately followed his example. Neale was attended by Tom Spring and Harry Holt, Nicholls by Jem Ward and Reuben Marten. Nicholls won the toss for corners, and both men sported true blue for their colours.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Nicholls justified the report of his superior personal requisites. He stood nearly two inches over Neale, and his weight, thirteen stone four pounds, was well and evenly distributed. He was indeed the model of an athlete. Neale, whose weight was twelve stone four pounds, looked hard, brown, and muscular, and well capable of a long day’s work. Great caution on both sides. The men stepped round and round each other, making feints, for full five minutes—the seconds of Nicholls advising him to use caution and let his man “come to him,” which Neale did not seem inclined to do. At last Nicholls sent out his right at Neale’s throat. It was short, for Neale jumped away. More tedious sparring and manœuvring, until both men seemed weary of holding up their hands, the young one most so. Neale, seeing a favourable opening, sprang forward, delivering a straight right-hander on his adversary’s collar-bone. It was intended doubtless for the side of his head, but fell lower from the superior height of his opponent. It was a terrific blow, and sounded like the crack of a pistol-shot, leaving a broad red mark, that soon after swelled, as a token of its force. A rally followed, in which Neale planted a heavy body blow with the right, and his left on Nicholls’s mouth, who returned on Neale’s head. Neale finished the round prettily by getting hold of his huge adversary and throwing him neatly from the hip. Immense applause from the Londoners.

2 to 12.—All similar in character. Neale drew his man and punished him for coming in, Neale now and then getting down to end the round.

13.—Nicholls, finding himself out-manœuvred, rushed in ding-dong. Neale met him coolly, and actually sent him off his legs. (“It’s all U P,” cried Ned Stockman. “Who’ll take two to one?”)

14 to 17.—In every round Neale made his right and left tell with effect, getting away or stopping the return, until poor Nicholls was a pitiful spectacle. In the sixteenth and seventeenth rounds Neale sent Nicholls down with a straight left-hander. Cries of “Take him away.”

18, and last.—Nicholls tried to get in at his man, but was literally hit out right and left. Neale closed and threw his man heavily. Jem Ward stepped forward and said his man should fight no more, and Neale, stepping up to the umpires and referee, was told he was the conqueror.

Remarks.—This one-sided affair hardly calls for comment. It merely adds one more instance to the innumerable proofs that mere strength and courage are more than balanced by the skill, readiness, and precision of the practised master of the science of defence.

Roche, a publican of Exeter, whose provincial reputation as a wrestler was higher than his boxing capabilities, was matched by his overweening friends against Neale. The preliminaries duly arranged; the stakes, £100 a-side, made good; and the day fixed for the 2nd December, 1828; the men met on the North Chapel Cricket Ground, Sussex, forty-four miles from London by road. Neale trained at Milford, in Surrey, and there, it afterwards came out, he was “interviewed,” as modern reporters would style it, by an envoy from Roche’s party, who offered to secure to him £500 to lose the fight, and a further sum of two hundred if he would give in under fifty minutes. All this Neale communicated to his backers; and so well was the secret kept that a double defeat awaited the “Knights of the x,” in the disgrace of their champion and the depletion of their pockets. Had the countermine been discovered, the defeated Devonian declared, “all the King’s horses” should not have drawn him into the ring. In order yet further to keep up the “fool’s paradise” into which these bucolic knaves delivered themselves, the emissary presented Neale with a new suit of clothes and £18 “earnest money,” keeping £2 for commission; and on the very morning of the battle he added £8 out of £10 entrusted to him for the same nefarious purpose. The “cross coves,” assured that all was right, freely backed their man, and were not aware of the mine until it burst beneath their feet, scattering to the wind their hopes and calculations. Roche, who had come up to London, finished his training at the renowned Johnny Gilpin’s house, the “Bell,” at Edmonton, then a charming rural retreat, with its flower and tea gardens; now a well-accustomed modern ginshop, resplendent in gilding, gas, and plate glass, and belted in with brick, mortar, and shops.

Roche, who reached Godalming overnight, set out a little before twelve in a barouche; while Neale, in a four-horse drag, started from Milford, and soon overtook him on the road. Tom Spring, the “Portsmouth Dragsman,” Harry Holt, and other friends, were on the roof of Neale’s coach, and were first on the ground. Roche soon after alighted, under the care of Ben Burn and young Dutch Sam, who were engaged as his seconds. His colours were a light blue, Neale’s a dark blue bird’s-eye. The toss for corners was won by Harry Holt for Neale, who was also waited on by Tom Spring. As the men stood up, the contrast was striking. Roche, who stood nearly six feet, weighed, it was reported, fourteen stone. His advantages in weight and length, however, were fully counterbalanced by his apparent age and staleness. His superfluous meat hung in collops over the belt of his drawers, and he was altogether soft and flabby. The Streatham man, au contraire, looked bright, sinewy, fresh, and active, though he had trained rather lighter than on some former occasions, weighing twelve stone two pounds. The umpires and referee having been chosen, the men stood up, at ten minutes to one, for

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—As Roche held up his arms and moved half round to face the movements of Neale, he betrayed the yokel in every move. The Streatham hero eyed him with satisfaction, and walked round him with his hands well up. Roche flourished his long arms awkwardly, with no particular object but defence, and as soon as Neale saw an opening in he dashed, delivered with his left a half-arm hit on Roche’s eye, following it by such a tremendous bodier with the right that down went the mighty wrestler on the broad of his back, amid the shouts of the Londoners, the long faces of the provincials, and the consternation of the “ready-made luck” division, who were utterly dumbfounded at such a commencement. As Roche was picked up and taken to his corner he looked towards Neale with a mixture of surprise and reproach, as if to say, “Is this the way I am to be served?”

2.—A repetition of Round 1. Roche made play awkwardly; Neale retreated and shifted, stopping him cleverly. At length he in turn stepped in, delivered his one, two, cuttingly, and down went the Devonian. Roche was evidently remonstrating with his seconds in his corner, while his friends of the + division were running about frantically, hedging their bets if they could.

3.—This round only differed from the two preceding in the fact that, after some exchanges, in which the balance was all in favour of Neale, the latter suddenly closed, and giving Roche his leg, clearly threw the wrestler, amid the shouts of the Londoners and the astonished silence of the men from the “West Countrie.”

4, 5, and 6.—Ditto, ditto, ditto. Roche tried, however, a little up-hill fighting, and hit Neale twice or thrice, but with little effect, while Ned’s left-handers operated like kicks of a horse. (£100 to £10 on Neale offered.)

7.—In a bustling exchange Ned sent his left obliquely over Roche’s shoulder, who instantly clutched him, and endeavoured to bear him down. To the surprise of all Ned fairly lifted his ponderous adversary, and sent him down heavily by the back-heel, falling on him. (Utter dismay among the Devonians, and uproarious joy among the regular ring-goers. Ten to one going begging.)

It would be a mere waste of space to detail further the ensuing rounds, which went on up to the 30th. Roche, however, cut up game, and manfully did his best when he found how he was “sold” by his friends, who were themselves deservedly “sold” in turn. In Round 29, Ned being called upon by Spring to “put on the final polish,” went and delivered a left jobbing hit; Roche shifted, and in returning got Ned by the neck, under his arm, and fairly lifted him off the ground. Neale was for a few seconds in a critical position, but Roche, as he hung his weight on him, did not know what to do with him, and instead of being severely fibbed Ned got down cleverly, to the great relief of his anxious friends.

30, and last.—Neale broke ground cautiously, but confidently, making play with both hands, first delivering on the head and following it with a body blow, in the coolest and most workman-like manner, Roche “standing it like a lamb,” as one of his backers bitterly remarked. Neale after following him round the ring, at length caught him a straight one on the nose, then a flush hit on the mouth, and Roche went down on his back, Neale falling over him. When Roche was in his corner there seemed to be a sort of conference, when Ned walked across and assured Roche that he “meant to win and no mistake, so he might go on if he liked.” This plain hint was duly appreciated, and Roche declared he would “fight no more.” Time, thirty minutes.

Remarks.—A less accomplished fighter than Roche never stripped to contend with so tried a boxer as Ned Neale. Independent of heavy slowness, his ideas of defence and stopping were of the clumsiest and most puerile description. Though no doubt superior to Ned as a mere wrestler, even in this he was taken by surprise and signally overthrown. Great pains were taken to circulate stories of the strength and prowess of Roche, to cover the arranged defeat of Neale, as the vanquished man afterwards confessed. There is no doubt that Roche first issued his challenge inconsiderately, and, from an undue estimate of his own boxing capabilities; but that his confidence was based upon the information that he was to have an easy victory, all matters being made smooth for the result. Poor Roche, in truth, was a mere tool in the affair, and paid the penalty of his presumption and credulity.

Neale returned to the Swan Inn to dress, and after his ablutions met a party of friends from Portsmouth at dinner, his features being without a scratch. In the afternoon his “caravan” set out, decorated with blue and white favours, and accompanied a pair of Kentish-keyed bugles—the predecessors of our modern cornets-à-piston—on a drive through the villages, amid the cheers of the multitude, to Milford, where, on reaching his training quarters, he found the house ornamented with blue and white bunting, and bannerets of blue and white ribbons, with mine host Mandeville at the door, his old wrinkled face cracking like a mealy potato as he announced dinner number two, which was prepared in his spacious and convenient club-room. A score of smiling friends welcomed the victor, and Ned’s health was drunk with enthusiasm. Neale declared, in returning thanks, that “he was never happier, and hoped he had convinced his friends that he would not deceive them, as honour was dearer to him than money. He had punished those who would have had him rob those to whom he owed his fame and good name, and to deceive those who meant wrong he considered both fair and honest.”

Far different was the case with poor Roche. After being taken back to his inn and bled—for which one of his chapfallen backers tendered the operator a shilling—he was deserted, and but for one friend might have been almost penniless. That the downfal of the “clever ones” was signal was manifest, and those country friends whom they “let into the secret” were loud in their protestations of the whole affair being “a fluke.” Two or three London houses used by the conspirators, which had prepared illuminations in honour of the “certainty,” were conspicuous for their total eclipse when the real news arrived.

Neale and Roche showed on the following Thursday, at Harry Holt’s benefit, Roche exhibiting heavy marks of head punishment, while Neale had not a scratch.

With the close of 1828 came our hero’s retirement from the P. R., and it is to be regretted that mine host of the “Rose and Crown”—for he had now settled down as Boniface in the pleasant village of Norwood, then celebrated for its rurality and gipsy encampments—did not adhere to this resolution; but it was not to be. Some taunting words of a very “fast” young boxer, Young Dutch Sam, led to Neale’s acceptance of his challenge for £100 a-side. The fight came off at Ludlow, April 7th, 1829, and after a gallant struggle of seventy-one rounds, in one hour and forty-one minutes, Neale succumbed to his youthful and scientific opponent. Dissatisfied with the issue, Neale lost no time in challenging Young Sam to a second encounter, which, after an arrest of Neale and a postponement, came off near Bumpstead, in Essex, on the 18th of January, 1831. Here the result was again defeat, this time in fifty-two minutes and fourteen rounds. It was clear that Neale’s best days had gone by.

Prompted by courage rather than prudence, he made yet one more appearance in the P. R. It was with an early opponent, Tom Gaynor (See Life of Gaynor, Chap. IX., post), and here again he had miscalculated his energies, succumbing after a gallant battle of 111 minutes, during which forty-five rounds were contested.

The fistic career of Ned Neale thus closed, as with so many other athletes, in defeat. Yet he retired with his laurels unsullied, his character for courage and honesty unsmirched; and respected by all who knew him, he shuffled off “this mortal coil” at the “Rose and Crown,” Norwood, near the place of his birth, on the 15th of November, 1846.

CHAPTER VI.
JEM BURN (“MY NEVVY”)—1824–1827.

The sobriquet “My Nevvy” with old ring-goers long survived the sponsor (Uncle Ben), who first bestowed it upon his protégé on introducing Jem Burn to the P. R., an event which took place in 1824.

Jem first saw the light at Darlington, in the county of Durham, twenty years previous—namely, on the 15th March, 1804—and was in due time apprenticed to a skinman (vulgo, a “skiver”) at Newcastle-on-Tyne. We need not say that Jem came of a fighting stock—both his uncles, “Big Bob” and “Ben” being well known within and without the twenty-four-foot roped square miscalled the “ring;” the latter at this period being the popular host of the “Rising Sun,” in Windmill Street, Piccadilly, in after years the domicile of “Jolly Jem” himself.

Now the fame of his muscular relatives had reached the remote northern residence of Jem, and, like Norval, “he had read of battles, and he longed to follow to the field some warlike chief;” so, having tried “his ’prentice han’” on a north country bruiser of some local fame, hight Gibson, he, like other aspiring spirits, looked towards the great Metropolis for a wider field for the exercise of his talents.

It is recorded that Jem’s battle with Gibson was a severe one, occupying one hour and twenty minutes; and that in another bout with a boxer named Jackson, a resolute fellow, Jem, in a two hours’ encounter, displayed such quickness and ability as to spread his fame throughout the district.

Brown, a twelve stone wrestler, with some fistic pretensions, challenged “Young Skiver,” as his comrades then called him. In twenty-five minutes he found out his mistake, retiring from the ring with second honours, while Jem was comparatively without a mark.

As a matter of course, on his arrival in London Jem made his way to Uncle Ben’s, where he was received with a hearty welcome, had the run of a well-stocked larder, and was soon hailed as a “morning star” of the first magnitude, and fit herald of new glories to the “Rising Sun.”

Uncle Ben lost no time in presenting “My Nevvy” to the Corinthian patrons of his “crib;” and as Jem was certainly clever with the mufflers, stood five feet ten in his shoes, with good arms, no lack of confidence, and great youthful activity and dash, he was looked upon as a likely aspirant, at no distant day, for the championship of England, recently vacated by the accomplished Tom Spring, after his two fights with Langan.

The friends of Uncle Ben, however, were too prudent to risk Jem’s opening prospects by matching him with a first-class professional. At this period there was an immense immigration of heavy “Patlanders,” chiefly viâ Liverpool, of whom Pierce Egan was the literary Mæcenas, and Jack Langan the M.C. Among them was one styled “Big O’Neal,” who must not be confounded with the “Streatham Youth,” Ned, whose name, for some time, Pierce insisted on printing with the national prefix “O’,” though he expunged it from the fifth volume of “Boxiana,” and on his presentation cup.

Articles were drawn for the modest figure of £25 a-side, witnessed by Langan and Uncle Ben, and the day and place fixed for the 26th of July, 1824, within fifty miles of London. At the appointed time the men met at Chertsey Bridge, near Staines. O’Neal, attended by Langan and Peter Crawley, first threw his hat into the ring, and “My Nevvy” soon followed suit, esquired by Tom Owen and Uncle Ben—so that all six, principals and seconds, were emphatically “big ’uns.” The Irishman was the favourite, at six to four, his fame having “gone before him.” The colours, a green bandanna for O’Neal, and a chocolate with light blue spot for Burn, having been tied to the stakes, the men lost no time in peeling, and stood up at a few minutes past one for

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On stripping, it was any odds in favour of O’Neal; it was a horse to a hen by comparison; indeed, some said that it was a shame for Ben Burn to have matched his nephew against a man of such superior weight. “The young one can foight a bit, I know, and we’ll soon tell’ee all aboot it,” replied Ben. Burn went to work with considerable judgment, held up his hands well, shifting round cleverly, and milling on the retreat, Cribb’s favourite mode. Burn put in two nobbers, and got well away; when O’Neal, like novices in general, kept following his opponent all over the ring, napping punishment at every step, till the Young One was bored upon the corner of the ropes, when he dropped. (Loud shouting for Burn; and “My Uncle quite proud of his nephew.”)

2.—O’Neal wiped his peeper; in fact, he had received a nasty one between his ogles, that had placed them on the winking establishment. Burn was a little too fast. He stepped in to draw his man, when Pat met him with a smart jobber on his nose, which convinced the North Country Sprig that he must avoid O’Neal’s clumsy fist as much as possible, or his fine science might be of little service to him. O’Neal made a hit, but Burn returned the blow with interest. The Sprig kept the ring well, and Pat was compelled to run all over the ground to make a blow. Burn went down from a slight hit.

3.—The mug of O’Neal was altered a little; the claret was streaming down from his temple, and his right eye was damaged. Burn fought in great style; he made a number of good hits without any return. The Irishman was bothered: he got a lick every now and then, and he looked about him, as much as to say, “Where the devil did that polt come from?” Burn finished the round by going down.

4–10.—In all these rounds, except the last, Burn had the “best of it;” and it was evident, if his strength stayed with him, he could not lose the battle, but he was getting weak. Burn was hit cleanly down. (“That’s the way,” said Langan. “Do that again, and I can make money by you, if it is only to floor oxen for the butchers.”)

11–15.—The nob of O’Neal was sadly disfigured, and he was almost a blinker. He gave every chance away, instead of fighting his opponent. (“Long Bowls,” said the Sage of the East, who was close to the ring, “will never do for a novice, especially when he has got weight on his side. O’Neal ought to be placed close to his man, and told to hit out, and never leave off till he has put the gilt on his antagonist.”) Burn, after bestowing all the pepper he was able to on O’Neal’s face, went down weak.

16–20.—The gameness of O’Neal could not be questioned; and although so bad a fighter, he was backed as a favourite on account of his strength. He got Burn down, and fell heavily upon him.

21–25.—The last round was the best contested during the battle; the Irishman, though nearly blind, administered some heavy hits, and finally knocked Burn down.

26.—It was anybody’s battle at this period. Burn was getting extremely weak, and O’Neal in such a dizzy state that he threw most of his blows away. The fighting of Burn was highly praised; he planted three or four nobbers on the old places; but the Yorkshire Youth was hit down.

27–30.—O’Neal was nearly in the dark, and Burn nobbed him as he thought proper; in fact, the Irishman was completely at the mercy of the fists of his opponent. O’Neal went down in a state of stupor, and Langan could scarcely get him up. (“Take the game fellow away!”)

31.—O’Neal was quite abroad—he could not see his opponent, and, in making a hit at the air, stumbled forward on the ground.

32, and last.—On time being called, O’Neal left his second’s knee, and turned away from the scratch. He was completely blind. Over in fifty minutes. Langan gave in for him.

Remarks.—Great credit is due to young Burn, not only for the pluck he manifested throughout the battle, but the science he displayed, and the mode he persevered in to win the battle. We never saw better judgment displayed upon any occasion. It may be urged, we are well aware, that he had nothing to fight against but weight: yet, if that weight had been brought up to him on setting to every round, there was a great probability that that weight would have so reduced his exertions as to have prevented young Jem from proving the conqueror. He ought not to be overmatched again. O’Neal did all that a brave man could do. He proved himself an excellent taker, and there is some merit even in that quality belonging to a man who enters the P. R. We have seen several fine fighters who do not possess the taking part of milling, but who have been most liberal in giving handfuls of punishment to their opponents; but to give and not receive is one of the secrets of prize-fighting. We never saw a man more interested in the success of another, or exert himself more, than Langan on the part of O’Neal; but O’Neal is not of the stuff of which clever pugilists are made.

Sir Bellingham Graham, who viewed the contest, was so pleased with the exertions and courage of Jem Burn that he made the young pugilist a present of five sovereigns.

Jem was matched by Uncle Ben against Martin (the well-known “Master of the Rolls”) for £300 a-side. This match was to have been decided on Thursday, October 26th, 1824, and was looked for with anxiety, as the goodness and skill of Martin were well established.

On the day appointed the cavalcade had reached Staines, when part of the secret was let out, that “it would be no fight between Martin and Jem Burn.” Upwards of an hour having elapsed in consultation, the mob started off to Laleham, to take a peep at the ring. It was ascertained at Laleham that Martin would not show; but in the midst of the doubts a magistrate appeared. Luckily for the backers of the Master of the Rolls, this circumstance saved their blunt, otherwise the stakes must have been forfeited to Jem Burn. Something wrong evidently had been intended; but that wrong could not be performed so as to deceive the amateurs of pugilism, and therefore the fight did not take place. Jem Burn threw his hat into the ring, declared he meant to fight a fair battle, and demanded the battle-money. This, however, was contrary to agreement, as the magistrate remained, and declared he would not allow a breach of the peace.

Jem was backed against Aby Belasco, to fight on the 18th of November, 1824, but the stakes were drawn by the consent of both parties. This was in consequence of a meeting at which Ned Neale offered himself to “My Uncle’s” notice, who thought this a better match. Articles were drawn and signed for Jem to do battle with Neale for £100 a-side; to come off on Tuesday, December 19th, 1824, on Moulsey Hurst. After an obstinate contest of thirty-one rounds, occupying one hour and thirty-eight minutes, Jem was defeated, as related in our last chapter.

Our hero was next matched with Phil Sampson for £50 a-side. This battle took place at Shere Mere, in Bedfordshire, on Tuesday, June 14th, 1825. Jem did all that a brave man could to win the battle, and his backers were perfectly satisfied with his conduct; but, after twenty-three rounds, occupying one hour and ten minutes, Burn again sustained defeat.

Jem stood so well in the opinion of his friends, notwithstanding he had lost his two last battles, that he was matched against Pat Magee for £100 a-side. Magee, in Liverpool, was patronised by the fancy of that place, but he was only known by name in milling circles in the Metropolis. He had beaten a rough commoner of the name of Boscoe, a fine young man of amazing strength, and a tremendous hard hitter with his right hand; but, in a second contest, Magee had surrendered his laurels in turn to Boscoe. Such was the history of the Irish hero, Magee. It was asserted, however, that he had recently made great improvement as a boxer, and as he was determined to have a shy with a London pugilist, he was backed against Jem Burn.

It was agreed the mill should take place between London and Liverpool; but the backers of Magee having won the toss, it gave them the advantage of twenty miles in their favour, and Lichfield race-course was selected as the place for the trial of skill. A more delightful situation could not have been chosen; from the windows of the Race Stand the prospect was truly picturesque and interesting.

On Tuesday morning, July 25th, 1826, the road from Birmingham to Lichfield exhibited some stir of the provincial fancy; and although the races at Derby and Knutsford and the Nottingham Cricket Match might have operated as drawbacks to the spectators at the fight, not less than six thousand persons were present.

On Monday evening, Burn and his uncle took up their abode at the Swan Inn, in the city of Lichfield; Magee and his friends patronised the “Three Crowns.” The ring was well made, and everything conducted throughout with the most perfect order. Randall, Oliver, Sampson, Dick Curtis, Ned Neale, Fuller, Barney Aaron, Young Gas, Fogo, Harry Holt, Tom Gaynor, and Arthur Mathewson, appeared on the ground to render their assistance to the combatants. The swells in the Grand Stand were admitted at the low figure of six shillings per head. Previous to the combatants appearing in the ring, it was whispered that two men, “dressed in a little brief authority,” were in attendance to stop the fight; but this matter was soon disposed of, and made “all right,” when Jem Burn threw his castor into the ring, attended by Tom Belcher and Phil. Sampson. In a few minutes afterwards, Magee, arm-in-arm with Donovan and Boscoe, also repeated the token of defiance, by planting his pimple-coverer in the ropes. The colours were yellow for Burn and green for Magee, which were tied to the stakes. The odds were six to four on Jem. Burn weighed twelve stone one pound, and Magee thirteen stone five pounds. Donovan won the toss for the latter boxer, when hands were shaken in friendship, and the battle commenced.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On stripping, Magee reminded us of Ned Painter. Magee was in excellent condition; but some friends thought him rather too fat. The comparison between the combatants was obvious to every one present. Burn looked thin and boyish before his opponent; but, nevertheless, he had been well trained, and no fault was found with him by his backers. Magee, at the scratch, planted himself in a fighting attitude, kept up his hands well, and was not the novice that had been anticipated by the Londoners. He had been for some time under the tuition of Jack Randall in Ireland; and by the advice and practice with such a master Magee must have profited a good deal as to an acquirement of science and hitting. Pat made play, after a little dodging about with his right and left hands, but he was out of distance from the leariness of Burn, and nothing was the matter. Jem was extremely cautious, looked upon his opponent as a dangerous customer, and the hit he made alighted slightly on Magee’s canister; but the latter countered without any effect. A tiny pause, and both on the look-out for squalls. Pat, quite alive to the thing, planted a blow under the left eye of Burn, which produced a small drop of claret. Donovan quite elated, exclaimed, “First blood!” Both now went to work, and Magee bored Jem to the ropes; here a blow or two was exchanged, when Burn went down. Pat viewed the circumstance for a second, and then fell upon his opponent.—Disapprobation was expressed by the spectators, but Donovan said, “Magee could not help it.”

2.—Burn with much dexterity planted a body blow, and got away. Some sparring, when Jem returned the compliment for Pat’s favour in the last round, and drew the claret from Magee. Both of the men were on their mettle; but it appeared that Magee was the stronger man. A sharp rally occurred, and Pat’s left ogle napped it. Magee, however, bored Burn to the ropes, where he went down, and Magee fell upon him with his knees upon the abdomen, which operated so severely that he uttered a loud groan.—Loud expressions of disapprobation—“foul fighter,” &c.

3.—Jem appeared at the scratch in pain, and extremely weak; Magee, too, exhibited symptoms of “bellows to mend.” Sharp work for a short time, the blows telling on both sides, when Jem was compelled to retreat to the ropes, where he fell with his back upon the ropes. In this situation, Magee with all his weight lay upon him; and the struggle was so great for the advantage that Randall exclaimed, “Burn’s eye is out.” The claret was pouring from his peeper. (Cries of “shame”—hisses—and a tremendous uproar in all parts of the ring.) Jem, after extreme difficulty, extricated himself from his perilous situation, and with much skill planted a conker on his adversary. In closing, both down; Magee uppermost.

4.—A pause. An exchange of hits and another pause. Well done on both sides. The science of Jem gave him the advantage; but his extreme caution in several instances operated as a drawback. Magee went in with much spirit, and Burn went down with a slight hit. (“That’s the way, my boy; try it again, Magee, and you can’t lose it,” from his Irish friends.)

5.—Pat fought this round with much ability. He stopped well, and was successful in planting his blows. A sharp rally; and at the ropes Magee had the best of it, punishing Burn till he went down. (“It is all your own,” cried Donovan.)

6.—This round was soon over. Magee stopped very neatly a left-handed blow, and obtained the praise of Randall. Burn in planting a facer appeared weak, and slipped down.

7.—Magee was in full force, and bored Burn to the ropes. In close quarters, some sharp fighting occurred, till the nob of Jem was under the cords, and he was screwed up tight by his opponent. Burn ultimately succeeded in getting away, and with much quickness put in two facers. Magee was almost wild, and he ran at his opponent like a bull, forcing him again to the ropes till “My Nevvy” went down.

8.—Magee stopped the left hand of his adversary extremely well, but Jem at length had the best of it. As Magee bored in he gave him a tremendous teazer on his ivories, which operated as a stopper for a short period. Magee, full of game, was not to be deterred, and pursued his opponent to the ropes, till Burn went down.

9.—In the minds of several of the spectators the battle did not appear so safe to Jem as had been anticipated. Magee, in this round, fought with skill and spirit, and stopped and countered his man well. Jem nobbed Magee right and left; a sharp rally took place, when Jem went down rather weak.

10.—Burn was out of wind, and endeavoured to get a little time by sparring. Pat made play with his adversary, and Jem retreated to the ropes, when he fell on his knees. Pat lifted up his hands, and was loudly applauded for his conduct.

11.—Jem was extremely cautious, in fact, rather too cautious, as in retreating from his adversary several of his blows were ineffectual. The right ogle of Magee received so severe a hit that he was again on the wild system, and pushed Jem to the ropes. As the latter was balancing, Magee fell on him, and with his knees hurt Burn severely. (A tremendous roar of disapprobation; “shame! shame! cowardly!” &c. &c.) Jem ultimately fell on the grass, and Magee upon him, and his face appeared full of anguish. Belcher complained to the umpires of the conduct of Magee.

12.—Burn was in great distress, from the conduct he had experienced in the last round, nevertheless he endeavoured to do some mischief. The nob of Magee was again peppered, although he made several good stops. In a rally, both of the men were bang up to the mark, till Jem went down.

13.—Burn appeared to be rather better, and went to work without delay, but Magee stopped his left hand. Burn pinked his opponent with dexterity, and retreated. Magee always forced Jem to the extremity of the ring, as if to obtain the superiority. Burn was now in a dangerous situation; his neck was on the ropes, and Magee, with all his weight, upon his frame. (Loud cries of “foul! foul!” and hissing from every part of the ring. Several of the fighting men were round the combatants, but none dared to interfere, as Burn was in a balancing situation on the ropes.) Jem, quite exhausted, fell to the ground, and he was placed on his second’s knee almost in a state of stupor.

14.—The friends of Burn were now in a state of alarm, lest the repeated pulling and hauling he received at the ropes should take the fight out of him, as Jem came up to the scratch in a tottering state. Magee, by the advice of Donovan, went to work without delay, but Jem met him in the middle of the head like a shot. Magee, however, was not to be deterred, and rushed upon his opponent in a furious state, and drove him to the ropes, at which Jem got out of his difficulties and went down like an experienced milling cove.

15.—In this round the fighting of Jem was seen to great advantage. He put in three facers without any return, till the strength of Magee compelled him to retreat. Magee again fell upon Burn, and more disapprobation was expressed by the spectators.

16.—The blows Jem had received were “trifles light as air,” compared with the injuries he had sustained upon the ropes. “My nevvy” was recovering a little, and Magee soon found it out by the pepper-box being administered upon his nob. Some good fighting occurred on both sides, until Magee endeavoured, as usual, to finish the round at the ropes. Once more Jem was at the mercy of his adversary, by hanging across the ropes; but unlike the days of the “Game Chicken,” who exclaimed, when he found Belcher in a defenceless state, “Jem, I will not hurt thee!” and walked away, Magee threw the whole weight of his person on him, and was also not nice as to the use of his knee. (Disapprobation, and “the foulest fighter that ever was seen.”)

17.—This was a short round, and although Burn was the weaker of the two, yet he pinked his adversary to advantage. Magee’s nob exhibited considerable punishment, but it is right to say of him that he never flinched from any blows; he also stopped the left hand of Burn with good science. Jem had the best of the round, and was fast improving in the opinion of his friends.

18.—Burn was now decidedly the hero of the tale—“He’ll win it now,” was the general cry. It was ditto, ditto, ditto, and ditto, as to facers upon Magee’s pimple, and then Jem got away without return. Magee seemed abroad, and in a wild manner ran after Burn to the ropes, but Jem got safely down.

19.—“My Nevvy” went gaily to work, and “my uncle” said, “Jem Burn for £100.” Magee napped a severe body blow, but he returned a rum one for it. Magee also hit Jem down in style—the only knock-down blow in the battle. (Donovan observed, “Pat, see what you have done—you have almost finished him: another round and it is all your own.”)

20.—Jem had now reduced the “big one” to his own weight, and had also placed him upon the stand-still system. Magee, on setting-to, stopped the left hand of Burn, but, on endeavouring to rush in and bore his opponent to the ropes, he received such a stopper on the mouth that he almost felt whether his head was left upon his shoulders. Pat wildly again attempted the boring system, and in retreating from his adversary Jem fell down: Magee also went down with his knees upon his opponent, amidst one of the most tremendous bursts of disapprobation that ever occurred in the P. R.

21.—The case was now altered: Jem Burn the stronger man. “Bellows to mend” upon the other leg, and Pat in trouble. Burn peppered away right and left, until Magee was as wild as a colt. He pursued Burn to the ropes, when he again hung upon him. (“Shame!” hisses, &c.)

22.—The finish was clearly in view, and Pat was nobbed against his will. Magee was distressed and piping, when Jem, on the alert, punished him right and left. Magee again bored his adversary to the ropes, and also fell upon him.

23, and last.—Magee was quite abroad, when Belcher said, “Go to work and put the finish to it.” Jem took the hint, and slashed away right and left a good one. Every step Pat moved he got into some trouble, and Jem continually meeting him on the head, as he was boring forward. Pat became quite furious, and rushed in scarcely knowing what he was about, and having got Jem upon the ropes, he caught hold of him in a foul manner. It is impossible to describe the row and indignation which burst forth from all parts of the ring at the unmanly conduct of Magee. An appeal was immediately made to the umpires by the seconds: the umpires disagreeing on the subject, the matter in dispute was left for the referee, who decided the conduct of Magee to be foul, and contrary to the established rules of fighting. The seconds of Magee insisted upon renewing the fight, and declared they should claim their money if Burn left the ring; but Belcher took Jem out of the ring, observing at the same time his man had won the battle, yet he would instantly back him if they would commence another fight.

Remarks.—Had not this wrangle taken place, we have not the least doubt that Burn would have been proclaimed the victor in less than half-a-dozen more rounds: as Jem had “got” his man, who only wanted polishing off, which “My Nevvy” would have done in an artist-like manner. Magee is a game man, and better acquainted with the science of milling, as far as stopping and hitting goes, than the cockneys had anticipated; but as a boxer he is one of the foulest fighters we ever saw in the P. R. If any apology can be offered for his conduct in this, we hope it will be imputed to his ignorance of the rules of boxing as established by Broughton, rather than to intention. The referee not only acted with promptness, but his decision ought to have a good effect, by making boxers more careful in future.

The victorious Jem partook of a hearty dinner at the “Swan” at Lichfield, in the evening. He declared himself none the worse for Mr. Magee’s fistic visitations, but sore from the pulling and hauling he got while being hugged at the ropes.

Burn now rested upon his laurels for a few months, and during this interval, in the autumn of 1826, he took unto himself a spouse, in the person of Miss Caroline Watson, daughter of Bob Watson, of Bristol, of milling fame, who was brother-in-law to Tom Belcher.

The honeymoon had scarcely waned when the friends of Ned Baldwin (“White-headed Bob”) made another sort of “proposal” to jolly Jem. It was that he should box their man for £100 at his own convenience. Jem placed the matter in the hands of Uncle Ben, and April 24th, 1827, was set down in the articles, for Jem to meet another sort of “best man” than that of a bridegroom.

During the three months from signing Baldwin was decidedly the favourite, at six to four, as Jem had taken a public (the “Red Horse,” in Bond Street), besides (though he was never a heavy drinker) being a sought-for chairman and companion at Uncle Ben’s and elsewhere. Tom Belcher, however, took Jem in hand as mentor and trainer, and this was a great point—while on the night before the battle a gent at Tattersall’s took Burn for a “cool thousand” at evens.

The road to St. Albans on Tuesday, the 24th April, 1827, was thronged with vehicles, No Man’s Land, Herts, on the borders of three counties, being the rendezvous. Baldwin, with his mentor, Tom Cribb, took the road from his training quarters at Hurley Bottom, and reached St. Alban’s overnight; while Jem remained at Kitte’s End, near Barnet, where he had taken his breathings for some weeks previous. Jem’s weight was twelve stone eight pounds; Baldwin’s, twelve stone ten pounds.

The morning was cheerless and stormy, but this did not damp the spirits either of spectators or combatants; and shortly before one o’clock the veteran Commissary, Ould Caleb, having completed his arrangements, Jem Burn, attended by Tom Belcher and Harry Harmer, threw his white castor inside the ropes. He looked the picture of health, youth (his age twenty-three), and smiling good humour, and was warmly cheered. Baldwin quickly followed, Tom Cribb and Ned Neale (his late antagonist) being his seconds. The operation of peeling soon took place, and the active condition of the men attracted all eyes. Bob looked full of muscular power, but was thin in proportion to Jem. His countenance did not exhibit that florid glow which characterised Jem’s, nor did we recognise that confidence which his previous declarations betokened. Jem had the advantage in height and length, and on shaking hands it was clear that he had screwed his courage to the sticking-place. It was all or nothing with him, and he advanced like a man about to play for his last stake.

The seconds and bottle-holders all agreed to stake colours against colours, which were all tied to the stakes, and at the moment of setting-to, Ned Neale bet, and Tom Belcher took, six to four on Bob.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Baldwin placed himself with great coolness in front of his antagonist, as if prepared more for defence than attack, while Jem seemed all anxiety to begin. A very few seconds were occupied in sparring, when Jem went to work upon the hay-sack[^[50]] system; he hit out with quickness with his left, and caught Bob slightly, a sort of half-hit; his right then went out with great activity and force, and alighting on Bob’s cranium, dropped him cleverly, amidst loud cheers.

2.—Ned came up smiling, but Jem left him no time for reflection, for he again went to work left and right. The former was stopped, but the latter came in contact with Baldwin’s muzzle, and again floored him, while it loosened his grinders and drew first blood. More acclamations in favour of Jem. Bob looked both surprised and alarmed. The odds were now five to four on Jem.

3.—Ned, on coming up, was bleeding from the mouth, and his phiz was a good deal flushed. He again assumed a posture of defence, but Jem had no intention to spar. Mischief was his maxim, and to it he went left and right, putting Baldwin’s guard aside, and catching him with terrific force on the left ogle. The visitation was awful; Baldwin was hit off his legs in the most finished style. Nothing could exceed the consternation of Bob’s friends. “He is licked,” was the cry; and the White-headed one, on getting to his second’s knee, seemed anxious to ascertain whether his eye was yet in its proper position, and if possible to stop the swelling, which was rapidly advancing. During these rounds Bob had not made a single return, and Jem was as gay as one of his uncle Belcher’s larks.

4.—Neale now urged Bob to go in, as he evidently saw that he had no chance at out-fighting. “Yes,” said Bob, but he kept still à la distance, when Jem again burst upon him, and delivered right and left with great force, while Bob was getting away, and trying to stop. Jem followed him up, and was well stopped in some of his straight ones, but he succeeded in planting another floorer, and away went Bob for the fourth time off his pins.

5.—On coming up it was seen that Baldwin’s left eye was completely closed. Jem saw his advantage, put aside Bob’s science, tipped two facers, right and left, and then catching him on the sneezer, tapped the claret in a new quarter; and in the close, Bob was down again.

6.—Bob, though dreadfully punished, came up game. Neale shouted to him to go in, and Bob replied, “he knew what he was about.” A good rally followed, in which Bob went boldly to his man. Some good exchanges followed, right and left, in which Jem received a heavy blow on his left cheek, which was cut, and bled freely. He returned as good as he got, and Bob fell on his knees. (“Bob is not beat yet,” said his friends; and hopes were entertained that Jem would fall off. Bob was still strong on his legs.)

7.—Jem pursued his old game, hitting left and right with great severity. Baldwin made some good returns, but in a rally which followed had the worst of it. In a close by the ropes, Jem was pushed down.

8.—Bob stopped Jem’s left with neatness. Short sparring, when Jem again went in with his left, his right hand being a good deal puffed. Bob stopped him, and was rushing to hit, when Jem slipped down.

9.—Jem again went to work with energy. Bob stopped him cleverly at first, but Jem would be with him, and planted a rattler on his nose with his left, drawing more of the carmine. Bob shook it off, and went to fight, when a good rally followed, in which Bob was almost hit stupid. Again did Neale call upon him to fight. He rushed in and bored Jem to the ropes, when Jem went down to avoid harm, and Bob fell on him with his knees.

10.—Bob stopped a well-intended visitation from Jem’s left, but Jem succeeded in jobbing him several times. A close at the ropes, in which each tried for the advantage. At last Jem broke away, and in a rally Bob hit him down with a random blow. Jem now showed weakness, and piped, although his spirit seemed unbroken, and Bob showed most fearful marks of punishment.

11.—Bob now thought there was a chance in his favour, and rushed at once to his man to increase his distress. Jem, however, was ready, though puffing, and met him with a couple of facers. Bob fell on his knees.

12.—Bob again made a desperate effort to increase Jem’s exhaustion, but Jem broke away, hitting him with his left as he approached, in the middle of the head. Bob planted a slasher on Jem’s mouth, but Jem countered in good style. Jem then bored him to the ropes, and both went down piping.

13.—Jem threw in a nobber. Bob nodded, and put in a good body blow. Jem returned a facer with his right. A long and desperate rally followed, in which good hits were exchanged. In the end, Bob went down. Both were much distressed, but Bob decidedly the worse.

14.—Bob came up as if determined to strain every nerve to make a turn in his favour, but it was in vain. Jem, after sparring for wind, repeatedly jobbed him right and left on the old spots, and both eyes were nearly on a par in point of darkness. Bob retreated, stopping Jem’s slashing hits, but Jem never left him, and he fell heavily at the ropes.

15.—Jem pursued the jobbing system, and Bob, though he stopped some blows, received too many to be agreeable. He stood for some time almost stupefied. Jem peppered away, until he fell in a dreadful condition as to punishment. Any odds on Jem, and Bob’s friends wished him to give in, begging that he would not fight a second beyond his own inclination. He would not, however, be persuaded to stop, but again got up with a resolution to do his best.

16.—Jem rushed to his man, and after a severe struggle both fell out of the ring.

17.—Bob only came up to be hit down.

18.—Jem seemed to get fresher with the consciousness of victory, and caught Bob a nasty one on the body. He then followed him up, jobbing as he went. In the close, both went down.

19.—Jem jobbed his man right and left, and he went down at the ropes.

20. and last.—Jem popped in a body blow. Bob, still disposed to make a desperate struggle, after a short rally, seized Jem by the ropes, and held him fast for a considerable time, in the exertion getting his finger in Jem’s mouth. Jem at last got a little free, and then forcing Bob with his back over the upper rope, poised him equally, and delivered three finishers with astounding force in the middle of the head. Bob tumbled over, and was senseless. Jem was, of course, pronounced the conqueror, amidst the shouts of his friends. He walked with great firmness to his drag, while Bob was carried to a post-chaise, and driven off the ground to St. Albans.

Remarks.—The result of this fight excited no small surprise in the minds of many who profess to be good judges. Bob, it was said, never fought worse. He never seemed to be firm on his legs, but kept hopping back as if sparring. It was also obvious that he did not go in to his man with that determination which could alone give him a chance of victory until too late. When jobbed in the head, he kept nodding as if he considered all he was getting was nothing compared with what he was about to give; but the giving time never came, and with the exception of the blows on the cheek and mouth, and a tolerably good body blow, he never made any impression. On the other hand, Jem’s blows all told with tremendous effect, and the game and resolution with which My Nevvy conducted himself throughout was highly creditable. He set out with a determination to hit out left and right at Bob’s nob, and he stuck to this system till the close of the battle, winning in very gallant style. Towards the middle of the fight he certainly was distressed, and Bob did all he could to take advantage of his piping, but was himself too far gone, and Jem by keeping away gained his second wind and made all safe. Jem’s right hand was a good deal puffed, and the skin was knocked off most of his knuckles, from coming in contact with Bob’s masticators. In other respects he was not damaged, and in fact, when he arrived at Wildbore’s, at St. Albans, he sat down to dinner with a large party, and ate as heartily as if he had been merely taking a morning walk. After dinner he paid a friendly visit to Bob, who was in bed, and completely blind. Poor Bob said he didn’t know how it was; he felt he had not fought as he was wont to do, and attributed his misfortune to the severe hitting in the first three rounds, which he said completely took away his senses. The fight lasted thirty-three minutes. Jem, after offering his fallen opponent some pecuniary consolation, returned to town in a swell drag and four.

On the Thursday after the fight, Jem Burn took a benefit at the Tennis Court, at which Baldwin showed, and expressed his regret at having been beaten, more, as he said, for his friends’ than his own sake, and announced his readiness to make a fresh match, to come off as soon as possible. Burn was by no means disinclined to consent to a new trial, and on the very next evening, at a meeting at Belcher’s, the Castle Tavern, Holborn, articles were duly signed for a meeting on the 3rd of July. Betting was begun by “Uncle Ben” laying seven to four on “My Nevvy,” and so the wagering went, especially at Tattersall’s, where seven to four in hundreds was taken by one of the best judges of the day. The sequel proved the soundness of Mr. John Gully’s opinion. Baldwin defeated our hero, after a desperate contest of eighty-five rounds, occupying ninety minutes, as may be seen in the life of Baldwin, Chapter VII. of this volume.

On the 13th of November in the same year (1827) Jem a second time met Ned Neale, but after a hard battle of forty-three rounds, occupying forty-six minutes, had again to succumb to the conquering arm of the Streatham Youth. (See Life of Neale, ante, Chapter V., p. 310.)

This was Jem’s last appearance as a principal within the ropes of the P. R. As a second, a backer, and a demonstrator of the art, the Press and the sporting public never lost sight of him. His house, the “Queen’s Head,” Windmill Street, Haymarket, which he kept for some years, was the resort of all lovers of jolly companionship, and those who wished to keep themselves au courant to all sports of the ring.

Jem’s Master of the Ceremonies at his sparring soirées was for some time the accomplished light weight Owen Swift; and many an M.P. slipped away from St. Stephen’s, and many a smart guardsman from a Belgravian dinner-party, to give a look in at Jolly Jem’s snuggery; an inner sanctum, communicating with the sparring-room, and set apart for “those I call gentlemen,” as Jem emphatically phrased it. The inscription over the mantelpiece of this room, from the pen of “Chief Baron Nicholson,” was appropriate:—

“Scorning all treacherous feud and deadly strife,

The dark stiletto and the murderous knife,

We boast a science sprung from manly pride,

Linked with true courage and to health allied—

A noble pastime, void of vain pretence—

The fine old English art of self-defence.”

In vain did mere playmen, or “calico swells,” attempt to gain a footing in Jem’s “private room.” Jem instinctively detected the pretender. “There’s just as much difference in the breed of men as there is in the breed of horses,” he would say. “I read that fellow in a minute; the club-room’s his place.”

In his later days Jem shifted his domicile to the “Rising Sun,” in Air Street, Piccadilly (previously kept by Johnny Broome), where many a night burly Jem was to be found, enjoying his pipe and glass, surrounded by the few surviving members of the old school, and visited during the season by many youthful saplings of the Corinthian tree, to whom Jem would mirthfully and cheerily impart the adventures and sporting experiences of his earlier days.

“A merrier man,

Within the limit of becoming mirth,

I never spent an hour’s talk withal.

His eye begat occasion for his wit,

For every object that the one did catch

The other turned to a mirth-moving jest.”

For several years, as Jem grew in years and in portliness, and, though not a hard drinker, fully enjoyed the good things of this life, he was subject to intermittent attacks of gout, which, towards 1862, assailed him with increasing frequency, yet failing, when they gave him even a short truce, to subdue his natural fun and frolic. It was during one of unusual severity that we looked in to inquire after Jem’s health, and his pleasant daughter (Mrs. Doyle) having taken up our name, the bedridden boxer desired us to be “shown up.” We expressed our sympathy, regarding at the same time with some curiosity a contrivance suspended from the curtain-rods of the four-poster in which Jem was recumbent.

“Ha! old fellow,” said the merry Yorkshireman, “you’re wanting to spell out the meaning of that. I’ll tell you, if this blessed crab that’s just now got me in toe don’t give his claw an extra squeeze. If he does, why, I’ll strike, and he shall tow me into port at once.”

“No, Jem, it’s not come to that yet.”

“But it very soon must, if it don’t stalk. See here,” said he, pointing to a strong cord stretched from the top rail across the bed, from which another cord was suspended midway, and made fast to the handle of an old-fashioned corkscrew. “If it warn’t for this tackle I’d get no sleep night nor day. Inside the bedclothes I’ve got a bung—good idea for a licensed victualler—into that I screws the corkscrew through the bedclothes, which I then raise tent-fashion by this hal’yard, and that I make fast down here to the bedpost. There’s a wrinkle for you, Miles’s Boy; but I hope you’ll never want it for yourself.” Poor Jem we never saw again. His arch-enemy ascended to his portly stomach, and on the morning of the 29th of May Jem slept with his forefathers.

“——Men must endure

Their going hence, even as their coming hither,

Ripeness is all.”

CHAPTER VII.
EDWARD BALDWIN (“WHITE-HEADED BOB”)—1823–1828.

Ned Baldwin, whose sobriquet was suggested from the profusion of his pale flaxen hair, was born at Munslow, near Ludlow, in Herefordshire, on the 6th May, 1803. His youth was spent in his native county, in which, and in Shropshire and Worcestershire, several unimportant battles are placed to his credit by “Boxiana.” After a gallant contest on Worcester Racecourse with a local boxer named Souther, whom he defeated in an hour and a quarter, a gentleman well known in the London Ring, finding him an active, civil, and intelligent fellow, engaged him as his groom, and brought him to London. A trial battle in Harper’s Fields, Marylebone, with a big Irishman named O’Connor, in which the youngster displayed more pluck than science, led to his master putting him under the tuition of the scientific Bill Eales, who then superintended a boxery at his house in James Street, Oxford Street. Here he rapidly improved his style, and gained the reputation of a quick and fearless hitter, with some skill in defensive tactics. In February, 1823, he went down to Wimbledon, and there, after Hall and Wynes had settled their differences, Bob, as he was now called, threw up his hat to accommodate any man who had not yet fought in the Prize Ring, for £10 of his master’s money. Here he was made the victim of a not very creditable “plant.” The afterwards renowned Jem Ward, who had already defeated Dick Acton and Burke (brother to “Warrior” Burke), and fought a draw with Bill Abbott, habited in a countryman’s smock frock, was introduced as a “yokel” aspirant. The men set to, but the ruse de guerre was soon seen through, and after nineteen minutes Bob’s friends took him away, though Bob was game enough to have fought it out with defeat staring him in the face.

EDWARD BALDWIN (“White-headed Bob”).

After a disappointment with Harry Lancaster, Baldwin was matched with Maurice Delay, for £50 a-side, and the battle came off at the classic ground of Moulsey, on the 11th of February, 1824. Bob was brought upon the ground in a carriage, in a smart Witney upper, and threw his hat into the ropes, esquired by Bill Richmond and Paddington Jones; Delay, accompanied by Josh Hudson and Ned Neale, quickly followed. Tom Owen fastened a green bandanna to the stakes for the East Ender, and Richmond tied a blue bird’s-eye over it for Bob. The seconds and principals shook hands, and the men threw themselves in attitude. Five to four on Maurice Delay.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Delay on peeling looked an effective man; and the White-headed One also appeared well as to condition. Bob did not weigh more than 11st. 7lb. Delay was heavier by several pounds. The latter made himself up for mischief, although he wore a cheerful smile, and Bob had also a grin upon his countenance. Very little time was lost in scientific movements, when Bob made a feint, but it would not do. Delay hit out, and Bob got away. Delay stopped well the right hand of his opponent. (“Stopping is very well,” said the John Bull Fighter, “but hitting is better; be with him, he’s coming, Maurice.”) Delay put in a heavy body blow, but Bob prevented a repetition. A tiny bit of sharp work occurred, in which Delay’s lip showed a slight tinge of claret, when the man of colour called out, “First blood for a hundred!” The lads tipped it each other heavily. In a sharp rally Delay was rather too much for his opponent; Bob went down, and Delay hit him as he was going down. (A tremendous shout from the East Enders; Tom Oliver offered 2 to 1 on Delay.)

2.—The left side of Delay’s temple, also his eye, exhibited specimens of the handiwork of Bob. This was a short but a good round, and Bob again went down. (The East Enders were “all happiness;” and Maurice gave them the office it was as right as the day.)

3.—Maurice, full of spirits, gave Bob’s chest an ugly touch; ditto, and ditto. (“What are you arter?” said Tom Jones to his man. “Go to work, he can’t hurt you.”) Bob countered in good style, also caught Delay’s nob under his arm, and fibbed him down. (“Well done, Bob!”)

4.—Bob was piping a little. The White-headed One took the lead, fibbed Maurice severely, and hit him twice as he was going down. (“Where’s the umpires?” from the John Bull. “We must look after this man. We will have nothing foul.”)

5.—Short and sweet to Bobby; a sharp rally; Delay went down distressed.

6.—This was nothing else but a good fighting round; it was give and take like a couple of good ones. Maurice satisfied the ring that he was a game man; but Bob convinced the amateurs he was the best fighter. After a sharp rally in which some ugly counter-hits occurred, Maurice went down on his knees.

7.—Delay bored Bobby all over the ring, till he went down distressed.

8.—Nothing. At the ropes a struggle took place for the throw; Maurice was undermost.

9.—The counter-hits of Bob did precious mischief to the phrenology box of Delay. He bothered Maurice’s order of caution. Bob also got into his wine-cellar without a key, and tapped his claret without the aid of a corkscrew. “Only look,” said Paddington Jones, “here’s a bit of good truth,” while Bob kept fibbing his opponent till they both went down, Maurice undermost.

10.—Wind was necessary on both sides, and both found that a little pause was agreeable to their feelings. Delay’s hand told on Bob’s body. After an exchange of blows, Bob again got Delay’s nob under his arm, and tipped it to him à la Randall, till he went down.

11.—Both had quite milling enough in this round. It was hit for hit when they separated, and both fell.

12.—When time was called, Maurice came up as gay as a lark, and endeavoured to mill his adversary all over the ring. Bob stopped two heavy hits skilfully, and in closing got Delay’s head under his arm, and punished him so severely that Delay fell down stupid. (“Go along, Bob, it’s all your own!”)

13.—This might be called a Big Ben and Tom Johnson round. Maurice’s face was completely changed, his left eye nearly closed. He made one or two good stops, and also planted a stomacher, but game was more prominent than science. They stuck to each other blow for blow, till they were both distressed to a stand-still. At the conclusion of the round they merely pushed each other down.

14.—The strength, however, appeared on the side of Delay, and he bored in to mill his adversary. Some severe blows were exchanged, when Bob went down from a left-handed blow.

15.—The White-headed One had the best of the fighting; and at the commencement of this round Delay bored his antagonist to the ropes, when Bob put in two tremendous nobbers, and in turn drove Delay across the ring, and sent him down on his knees.

16.—Bob was piping, and it was the opinion of several of the amateurs that the strength of Delay would ultimately bring him through. Maurice again drove Bob before him to the ropes, and got him nearly down, when the White-headed Cove, full of pluck, recovered himself on his pins, and milled away, till both went down.

17.—Very short. Delay napped several nobbers, and went down terribly distressed.

18.—Hudson, with all his industry and attention towards his man, could not keep him clean. Still he would bore in upon Bob—this conduct brought him terrific punishment. The White-headed One planted one, two, and three blows in succession, right in the middle of his already damaged face. He was positively hit to a stand-still; but on recovering himself, he went resolutely in to mill, and got Bob down. (“His game will win for him!” was the cry.)

19.—Both as good as gold; true courage displayed at every step, with conduct and fortitude, adding honour to the character of Britons. (Our eye at this instant observed the French Hercules in a wagon, in company with another Frenchman, expressing their admiration, and applauding the manly and honourable mode of settling a quarrel in old England.) Delay commenced this round with the pluck of a gamecock; and the gluttony he displayed astonished the ring. At every step he received a jobber, sending him back; nevertheless he would not be denied, and absolutely bored in, fighting hand over head till he sent Bob down. “It’s as right as the day,” said Maurice to his second.

20.—The counter-hits of Bob told unmercifully upon Delay’s nob. This was a manly-fought round, good on both sides, when Delay dropped, Bob also very much exhausted.

21.—This was a terrific round. Bob, although extremely weak, had decidedly the best of the milling; he planted his hits effectually, and in several instances he broke ground well. Delay, who was met at every movement on the nob, would not retreat, but contended for victory like the best out-and-outer upon the list. The determination of Maurice enabled him to send Bob down.

22.—This round decided the battle. It appeared to us that Delay wanted elasticity about his shoulders—his blows were not effective. Yet with as fine game as any man ever exhibited in the Prize Ring, he persevered without dread or fear. Delay appeared at the scratch undismayed, and after receiving three severe hits, pressed upon his antagonist, and, strange to relate, he sent Bob down.

23.—Of a similar description. Delay went down exhausted. “Bob for any odds!”

24.—This was short but effective against Delay; he had the worst of the hitting, and in going down Bob fell upon him. (“Three to one—take him away!”)

25.—This was a sharp round. Delay would not give up an inch of ground; but he stood up only to receive additional punishment. He however got Bob down.

26 and last.—Nature had done her utmost, but Delay, game to the end of the chapter, appeared at the scratch, and fought “while a shot remained in him.” Bob did not like to punish his opponent any more, and Delay went down quite exhausted, falling forward upon his hands and knees. Here the John Bull Fighter showed his true character to the spectators. Josh loves winning; but he was satisfied that Maurice had done all that a brave man could perform; so, with consideration and humanity, he loudly exclaimed, “My man shall not fight any more!” The battle was over in forty-two minutes. The first words uttered by Delay to Josh, after his recollection returned, were, “Have I won it?”

Remarks.—Bob did not win the battle without receiving a sharp taste of Delay’s quality. The White-headed One was not in such good condition as his backers wished him to be; in fact, he was sick and ill from a cold four days before fighting. It was countering with his opponent that gave him the victory. In the middle of the fight it was by no means safe to him; nay, it appeared to us that he was so weak as almost to leave off fighting. But he recovered himself, and turned the tide in his favour till the 22nd and 23rd rounds, when some of the best judges declared it “anybody’s battle.” In the 11th round Bob turned round to avoid the punishment of Delay; but the sun was so powerful at that period as to deprive him almost of viewing his antagonist; he therefore shifted his ground with dexterity. In the 3rd round Bob hurt one of his hands considerably against his adversary’s nob; and Baldwin has since asserted that the latter circumstance, and also having the sun continually shining in his face, prevented him from winning the battle so soon as he might otherwise have accomplished. Baldwin’s back was cut by the ropes. Delay was put to bed at the “Bell,” at Hampton, and every attention paid to him that humanity could suggest, backed by the advice and assistance of a medical man. A collection was made on the ground for one of the bravest pugilists that ever took off a shirt in the Prize Ring.

This manly battle placed the milling talents of White-headed Bob in a favourable point of view with the amateurs. He aspired to riding inside a carriage instead of holding the horses; and thus, unfortunately for himself, the injudicious patronage and loose companionship of swells were brought within his reach.

Bob might now be said to have obtained a footing in the sporting world, and he was determined to push his fortune without delay. Notoriety in the Metropolis is a taking feature, and Bob was determined not to remain in obscurity; he visited most of the places of amusement, and manifested indications of his fondness for a “bit of high life.” He soon recommended himself to the notice of Mr. Hayne, then and afterwards known as “Pea-green Hayne,” and for his affair with Miss Foote and Colonel Berkeley; and Bob had the art to induce this liberal-hearted gentleman to become his patron and backer. Baldwin was fond of dress, and knew its advantages; he was frequently seen in the company of swells of the first water, at the “Royal Saloon,” and other resorts of “fast life” where the “Corinthians” of George the Fourth’s time “most did congregate.” As a proof that Bob possessed some knowledge of “character,” he appeared at one of the masquerades at the Argyll Rooms,[^[51]] habited “as a fine gentleman” of the modern time!

Bob took his first benefit at the Fives Court on Tuesday, May 14th, 1824, when he was well supported.

Soon after his benefit Baldwin was matched against the Streatham Youth, for £100 a-side. The parties met on Monday, July 26th, 1824, at Chertsey. Bob appeared on the ground in the drag of his patron, and would have entered the ring, but Mr. Hayne, on account of his bad state of health, preferred forfeiting £100 rather than risking his reputation. So much for dissipation.

A second match for £100 a-side was immediately made between Bob and Neale at Harry Holt’s, and three months were allowed to Bob to get himself right. This battle was decided at Virginia Water, on Tuesday, the 19th of October, 1824. The fight continued for one hour and thirteen minutes, occupying forty rounds, when Cribb said Bob should not fight any more. Fast living is fatal to athletes.

Bob, anxious to recover his lost laurels, inserted the following letter in the sporting journals, to the editors:—

“Sir,—Having recovered from my recent illness, to which alone I attribute the loss of my fight with Neale, I feel anxious for another job; and as Neale is matched with Jem Burn, and Jack Langan does not appear to fancy Shelton for a customer, I am ready to accommodate Langan for £200 a-side, as soon as he pleases. If Langan does not accept this challenge I shall offer myself to the notice of the winner of the next fight between Neale and Jem Burn.

“Yours, &c.,

“EDWARD BALDWIN.

“November 26th, 1824.”

Baldwin did not wish to leave London for Scotland (January 9th, 1825) without announcing his intention to Neale, that his friends were ready to back him for £200 a-side; but if the time was too soon for Neale to enter the ring, he was open to any twelve stone and a half man in England.

To the surprise of the admirers of scientific pugilism, Bob was matched against George Cooper, distinguished in the annals of boxing as a fighter of superior pretensions, for £200 a-side. This battle was decided at Knowle’s Hill, thirty miles from London, on Tuesday, July 5th, 1825. It was completely a foregone conclusion in the minds of the “judges” that George Cooper must win in first-rate style; nevertheless, the ring was surrounded by amateurs of the highest distinction. At ten minutes before one Bob threw his hat into the ring, attended by Holt and Oliver. He was applauded by a few backers, but his countenance was angry, and he complained of having been neglected by his friends, and said that if it had not been for the kindness of one gentleman (Mr. Hines) he might have arrived completely unattended at the ring. George Cooper was seconded by Hudson and Shelton.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Condition was not wanting on either side, and every spectator was perfectly satisfied that both men had paid the necessary attention to training. The frame of Cooper was fine and manly, but it did not exhibit that muscle and strength which characterised the body of the White-headed One. The knowing ones, the old ring-goers, booked it as a certainty that Bob would be little more than a mere chopping-block for the display of Cooper’s great milling talents, and the John Bull Fighter, the Nonpareil, Tom Belcher, and Tom Shelton, looked upon the event as a certainty. Under such flattering circumstances, and backed liberally at odds, George Cooper entered the ring, equally confident in his own mind that victory was within his grasp. Bob, on the contrary, had but few friends, excepting his late opponent Ned Neale, who observed, “Bob will turn out a better man than is expected, and I have no doubt he will win the fight.” However, this opinion had no weight, as it was thought Ned was paying himself a compliment. The attitude of Cooper was elegant, and Bob seemed perfectly aware that he was opposed to no commoner, by the caution he displayed. The White-headed One hopped away from a feint of Cooper’s, but at length he tried the bustling system, and planted a single hit on his opponent’s cheek. (Applause, and “Well done, Bob!”) Cooper, however, returned a swinging right-handed hit on Bob’s ribs. Bob did not seem to mind it, but rushed in, and gave Cooper a facer; the latter returned on the body. Exchange of blows, and Bob as good as George; the former also made a good stop. (“Bravo, Bob!”) Cooper napped another facer. George, on the alert, put in a severe ribber, and also produced the claret from Bob’s right eye. (“Mind, Pierce,” cried Josh, “this decides first blood.”) The White-nobbed One displayed more science than was anticipated against such a skilful fighter as Cooper. He took the lead gaily, bored Cooper to the ropes, who acted on the defensive till he napped a rum one on the side of his head, when George went down. (Uproarious applause for Bob, symptoms of uneasiness among the friends of Cooper, and the majority of the spectators exclaiming, “Why, Bob will win!”)

2.—This slice of luck put Bob on terms with himself, when he observed George’s face displayed some of his handiwork. Cooper planted a ribber with his right, but Bob said it was “no go” with his left. The fighting was excellent on both sides; Cooper found out he had indeed a troublesome customer, one not to be disposed of as a matter of course. Bob had sense enough to see that out-fighting was dangerous to him, therefore he resolutely went in, hit George’s sensitive plant, and in struggling for the throw Cooper went down and was undermost. (“Hallo, where’s the six to four now?”)

3.—This round was decidedly in favour of Bob. He found out that the bustle of a young one is very tiresome and dangerous to an “old cock,” and he went in sans cérémonie. Bob took the lead, planting blows right and left, and also by a well-planted hit on the nose of George the claret flowed freely, and he was also sent down completely out of the ropes.

4.—Bob’s rush was stopped by a facer, but he was not dismayed, and in endeavouring to get in at his opponent he fell.

5.—The spectators were now satisfied that the capabilities of Bob had been treated too lightly, and that more danger was in him than had been anticipated. Cooper again planted his favourite hit on the ribs of his opponent, but injured the knuckles of his right hand. The science of Cooper was delightful, and although bored by Bob, he stopped several blows. The White-headed One, however, would not be denied, and the result was Cooper went down weak. Bob was now the favourite, and five and six to four was offered on him.

6.—George had the best of this round. He administered the pepper-box in style, and Bob put up his hand. Counter-hits, and severe ones; Bob, in closing, had the advantage, and Cooper went down.

7.—Short. Bob rushed in, caught hold of Cooper, and both went down.

8.—The White-headed One had made up his mind to adopt the bustling system, and rushed in to work, but he met with a precious stopper, very near his middle piece. Bob recovered himself, and was resolved to “try it on” once more; but Cooper, on the alert, put in a cracker on the jaws, and Bob went down on his hands and knees. The friends of Cooper recovered their spirits, and George was once more the favourite.

9.—This round amounted to nothing; it was almost over before it began; a struggle at the ropes, and both down.

10.—Fighting on both sides, till Cooper took the lead, punishing his opponent with his left hand, until Bob went down across the ropes, and fell out of the ring.

11.—George appeared anxious to go to work, and although Bob stopped his left with great skill, Cooper fought his way into a sharp rally. Harry Holt, who was behind Bob, was forced against the stakes, and the bottle broken which held the water. Both combatants were on their mettle, and some hard hits were exchanged, till, in closing, Bob was thrown.

12.—Cooper had not done enough to make it satisfactory to all his friends that he must win, although his backers flattered themselves that his fine skill, united with his game qualities, would ultimately bring him through. On appearing at the scratch, both went to work like good ones, particularly Bob, who stood to no repairs, and rushed at his opponent, determined to do mischief. In struggling at the ropes, both down.

13.—The White-headed One was determined to tire George, if possible, and to reduce his skill and strength. Bob’s scheme did not succeed, and George stopped his efforts with science. Bob likewise showed science. Some rum ones passed between them; in closing, both down, Bob undermost.

14.—Youth must be served; and Bob, in this respect, had the best of it. Cooper appeared weak, and in struggling for the throw, went down, and rolled over his opponent. Bob astonished the spectators by his good fighting.

15.—The science of Cooper told to advantage, and Bob’s nob napped it in two instances; but the latter was now confident that to bustle his man was the way to win it; he therefore fought his way in, but in closing Bob went down, Cooper on him. The friends of George flattered themselves he would win it by his skill; and some even betting, for small sums, occurred at the close of this round.

16.—Bob received punishment on going in, but would not be denied. Cooper was now compelled to fight on the defensive, and in retreating went down at the ropes.

17.—Although Bob was almost sure to receive it in the bustle, he preferred that mode; he got two stoppers, and by way of a finish George threw him. The friends of Cooper cheered.

18.—The right hand of George was puffed, and was nearly, if not quite, gone. In point of strength, it was now two to one in favour of Bob. A severe struggle took place for the fall, and by a desperate effort on the part of Cooper, he succeeded in giving Bob a tremendous back fall.

19.—Bob had completely proved himself a game man, and also a good fighter. He was now decidedly the favourite, and two to one offered on him. Bob went to work uncommonly sharp, and planted a heavy facer. In struggling for the throw, Cooper got his leg twisted in going down. During the short space of the half-minute, he communicated to Hudson that he had hurt his leg, but before it could be examined “time” was called.

20.—Cooper stood up at the scratch, but his leg gave way, and he fell without a blow, as Bob was making himself up for a hit. (Loud murmurs, “Foul!” “Foul!”) “His leg is broken,” said Josh. “We’ve won it,” observed Holt—“do not leave the ring, Bob”—when time was called.

21, and last.—Cooper, although in great pain, endeavoured to meet his man in the highest style of game, when Bob dropped him by a straight hit. It was ascertained (by a surgeon) that one of the small bones of Cooper’s ankle was fractured, when Hudson gave up the contest in favour of Bob. It was over in twenty-six minutes and a half.

Remarks.—Cooper’s accident leaves the event of the battle in some doubt; but in canvassing the matter fairly the opinion of the majority was in favour of Bob. The courage he showed was excellent; he was not deficient in science, and his judgment was equally good in the mode he adopted in fighting an older man, by keeping him at work. Scarcely an amateur would allow Bob a shadow of chance against such an accomplished boxer as George Cooper. The front piece of Bob was rather the worse for the engagement, but in other respects his strength was undiminished; and as a proof he put on his clothes, and walked about the ring, to witness the battle between Young Dutch Sam and Stockman. Bob also observed he was extremely sorry for the accident, and had much rather the battle should have been terminated by fighting, as he felt confident of winning. Upon recapitulation of the whole affair, Bob had the advantage of fourteen years in age, but proved a much better and cleverer man than was calculated upon by the cognoscenti.

Bob, still soaring into swelldom, in imitation, longo intervallo, of John Jackson, opened what he called “The Subscription Rooms,” in Pickering Place, St. James’s Street, for the purpose of “giving private lessons in the art of self-defence,” having previously, as a contemporary wit said, “studied Chesterfield in the stable,” to qualify himself for the professorial chair. Like other “stars” Bob now took a provincial tour with Jem Burn, Neale, and others, and was well received at Liverpool and in the north. A severe illness, said to be “the measles,” laid Bob up during the summer of 1826; a retirement from London life restored him, and in January, 1827, at the “Castle,” Holborn, Baldwin was matched with Jem Burn for £100 a-side, to meet on Tuesday, April 24th, 1827.

At No Man’s Land, on the day appointed, in nineteen rounds, occupying thirty-three minutes, Baldwin was knocked out of time and the stakes by the fresh and vigorous arm of “My Nevvy.” (See life of Jem Burn, in preceding chapter.)

Baldwin took a benefit at the Tennis Court on Wednesday, May 9th, 1827.

The difference between winning and losing a battle, Bob asserts, was clearly proved to him on that day. However, a respectable muster of the amateurs assembled to witness the sports. The sets-to were effective, particularly the bout between Tom Belcher and Jem Burn, which proved a high treat of the art of self-defence. Scroggins, as Clown to the Ring, afforded much fun in his set-to with Deaf Davis.

It was not to be supposed that Baldwin, whose stamina certainly improved, thanks to youth and a good constitution, whenever he was under a cloud, and compelled, by what he called “the neglect of his patrons,” to practise self-denial, would long lie idle. Hence, on the day of trial, July 3rd, 1827, when Bob peeled at Ruscombe Lake, he was “himself again.”

The second trial for £100 a-side took place on a fine piece of common about a mile from Twyford, Berks, called Ruscombe Lake, from its being covered with water in winter time. From the facility with which Bob was beaten by Burn in their previous encounter, and the rumours, of course exaggerated, of Bob’s “saloon” exploits in “the wee hours ayont the twal,” Jem was the favourite at six and seven to four; Uncle Ben having actually booked two to one “rather,” as he said, “than not do business.” There were those, however, who thought, with us, that there was nothing in the comparative qualities of the men to justify odds, and it was impossible with those who witnessed the former battle not to see that Bob was not only not “all thar,” as the Yankees have it, but so utterly surprised by Burn’s mode of attack in the first three rounds that he never recovered his fighting tactics. Nevertheless, there was a period, in the middle of the fight, when Jem became so distressed that had Baldwin a vestige of strength left, he might have snatched the victory. The long odds were therefore freely taken by many, and especially at Tattersall’s. The sequel proved that the opinions thus founded were fully borne out, and that a solitary instance of defeat under peculiar circumstances ought not to deprive a man of the chance of redeeming his credit. Both men quitted their training-grounds on Monday, and proceeded to Twyford, Burn taking up his quarters at the “Bell,” and Baldwin at the “King’s Arms Inn.” They were accompanied by their friends, and professed themselves to be equally confident. In point of condition, too, they appeared to be pretty much on a par. Bob’s weight was twelve stone and a half. Jem Burn never lost a day during his training, and could not have been better. His weight was twelve stone, six pounds.

On the morning of action Twyford exhibited the usual lively scene; vehicles of every denomination were seen pouring in from the surrounding country, and among them were many carriages and four; in fact, few had witnessed a more slap-up turn-out of the Fancy. An excellent ring was formed at an early hour in the morning by Tom Oliver, Fogo, and Jack Clarke, in the centre of an immense number of wagons, within which there was an inner roped circle, so as to confine the spectators to a proper distance from the stakes. The veteran Bill Gibbons arrived just in time to perform his part of the duty, and all was in readiness soon after twelve o’clock—the weather delightful, the crowd numerous, but orderly, and not the most distant apprehensions of an unfriendly beak. Orders having been issued from headquarters, the men left their respective inns for the place of rendezvous, Bob dressed in a smock frock, sporting his blue fogle, and Jem in a post-chaise, wearing a yellow squeeze with black stars. Both were cheerful, and on their departure scarcely an inhabitant was left in the village.

Shortly before one they entered the ring; Bob attended by his backers, and his second and bottle-holder, Jem Ward and Dick Curtis, and Jem Burn by Tom Belcher and Harry Harmer. The ceremony of peeling was soon performed, and the excellent condition of both men became visible. Bob showed most muscular strength and sturdiness of frame, but Burn was the longer and taller man. Jem was still a marked favourite, and just before setting-to was backed at two to one, but there was little money laid out on the ground. At last the interesting moment arrived, and the men were placed at the scratch, Baldwin having won the toss for choice of position.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Jem did not now, as on the former occasion, let fly the moment his man was placed before him, but having the sun in his face, veered a little round, to get rid of that disadvantage. Bob soon showed that he had not come on a waiting job. He at once rushed to work, and hit out right and left at Jem’s nob. Jem stopped him, and got away, but immediately returned, and caught Bob with his right on the left ogle. Bob pursued his quick system, and hit away with rapidity, but did not succeed in planting any important blow. Jem fought with him, and again jobbed him with his left, while he caught him on the body with his right. Bob stopped some well-intended compliments, and after a bustling rally, was forced against the ropes, where a long and severe struggle took place, equally exhausting to both, which ended in their going down, Jem uppermost. (“That’s the way,” cried Bob’s friends, “wear him out; he can’t stand bustling.”)

2.—Bob, true to his orders, lost not a moment in going to work, but commenced hitting right and left. Jem stopped him cleverly; some slight wild returns followed, and, in the close, Bob was thrown, scratching Jem’s face with his nails as he went down, to the dissatisfaction of the spectators, who cried out against such practice.

3.—The moment the men were at their posts counter-hits were exchanged on their canisters, and Bob proceeded to pepper away as quickly as his power would permit. Jem was all alive, and hit with him, but science was laid aside, and nothing but downright rattling followed. In the end, Jem bored Bob to the ropes, and threw him. It was obvious, however, that these rapid movements set his bellows to work, and the judges exclaimed, “If Bob keeps to that, he’ll win it.”

4.—Jem came up flushed, and Bob was at him. Jem was ready, and hit away, straight, but wild. Some hits were exchanged, when Jem, in hitting, went down.

5.—Bob pursued the bustling game, and threw in a blow with his right on Jem’s ribs. Jem returned on his face. A desperate rally followed, to the advantage of Jem in hitting, but the pace seemed too fast for him. At last, after a severe assault, both fell in different directions from the force of their own blows, and on rising Bob showed first blood from the eye.

6.—Bob again took the start, and hit Jem on the body. Jem returned on his canister, and both closed at the ropes, when another severe struggle took place; both down, Bob under. In this round Jem made a right-handed up-hit, as Bob was following him, with great success.

7.—Bob came up piping. Bob stopped Jem’s right and left, but did not return. Jem was more successful in the next attempt, and touched him heavily on the ogle, drawing more blood. A spirited and rapid rally followed, hits trod on the heels of hits, and both received heavily. A close and violent struggle at the ropes followed. Both down, blowing.

8.—Bob came up black in the peeper, but game. He hit out with his right, but the blow went over Jem’s shoulder. He received a right-handed job in return, and Jem forced him back on the ropes, himself falling over him on his head, out of the ring.

9.—Bob came up rather more cautious. Jem jobbed him right and left in the face. Bob fought wildly, and missed several blows. He fought round, and did not hit at points. Jem was more steady, and had him repeatedly. Bob, in boring in, was thrown.

10.—Bob took the lead, but his right hand again went over Jem’s shoulder. Jem closed, threw him, and fell heavily on him.

11.—Jem put in two of his favourite nobbers, but received in return slightly on the head and body. The weaving system now commenced, and both men fought wildly, but interchanged several blows. A close at the ropes, and a struggle in which both went down, Jem under.

12.—Bob made some good stops, and again held off on the defensive. Jem rattled at him and caught him for the fall, but Bob slipped through his arms and went down.

13.—Bob made a good stop, but had a jobber in the next trial. Wild weaving followed, Bob planting a few blows on Jem’s ribs, which Jem returned on his head. In the bustle Jem went down on his knees.

14.—Bob again stopped Jem’s right and left, and then hit away, Jem retreating and jobbing. A close at the ropes, and Bob pulled Jem down.

15.—Jem delivered right and left. Bob instantly closed, and both went down.

16.—Jem popped in a good body blow with his left, and then retreated. Bob followed him wildly, and was hit up in good style on the mouth, from which more claret was drawn. In the close Bob was thrown, Jem on him.

17.—Bob rushed in on the bustling system, but Jem met him right and left on the canister. Jem then retreated, and Bob, in following, fell on his face.

18.—Bob received a right-handed facer, and in attempting to close for the throw, fell on his knees.

19.—Bob kept his hands well up, and stopped Jem’s jobbers. He still preserved his strength, and went in to mill. Jem got away, hitting as he retreated. At last Bob, in a wild effort to punish, fell forward, scrambling down by Jem’s legs.

20.—Bob came up abroad, and rushed in to fight open-handed. Jem caught him right and left. Bob, urged on by Dick Curtis, bored in with his right, but the blow passed over Jem’s shoulder. In the close Bob was thrown, Jem standing over him.

21.—Jem, elated, went to work. Bob fell on his knees, and immediately jumped up to renew the round, but his seconds prevented this unnecessary display of game.

22.—A scrambling round, hitting away without judgment on either side. Jem went down by the ropes, but no mischief done.

23.—Bob came up as lively as a lark, although his left eye was completely closed, and he bore other marks of severe punishment. He delivered a right-hander on Jem’s body. Jem countered on his nob. A spirited rally followed; both worked might and main, and at last Bob was thrown across the ropes, Jem upon him.

24.—Jem became a greater favourite, and the moment Bob came up he rushed at him. Bob retreated, and they reached the corner of the ring. A violent struggle followed, Bob hanging on Jem, and attempting to fib. He did, in fact, catch Jem on the paunch, below the waistband. We thought the blow a foul one, but it was not seen by the umpires. Bob was at last thrown, and was weak. The fight had now lasted thirty minutes, and some bets were decided on Bob’s being licked in half an hour.

25.—Bob stopped well Jem’s jobbing manœuvres. He then went to work. Jem was ready, stopped Bob’s rush, and caught him right and left. In the close both down.

26.—Bob, still holding his hands well up, again stopped Jem’s right, but did not return. Jem caught him on the nozzle. Bob bored in; both down, Bob uppermost.

27.—Bob, on the bustling system, but fought open-handed. Jem nobbed him and closed. Bob showed great strength. He threw Jem over the ropes and fell on him.

28.—Bob, desperate, fought away without reflection. Jem was ready, and after a short rally, in the close both went down.

29.—Bob showed most physical strength. He rattled to Jem and put in a blow on the ribs. Jem let fly right and left, but Bob stopped the favours and bored in to a close. A long struggle followed at the ropes. Bob at last got the fall, and was loudly cheered. Jem piped woefully, and another change took place in the betting; Bob, from his lasting qualities, reducing the odds to even betting.

30.—Jem distressed, and Bob not much better. Jem delivered right and left, and Bob fought wildly, missing his blows. In the close both down.

31.—Bob’s face was now much punished; one eye shut, divers gashes on his phiz, his conk distilling the ruby, and lips pouting. Jem also showed his marks, but nothing like so severe; his body was red and scarred from the ropes, his right hand puffed, and his bellows in full play, while his right eye was a little swollen. Jem occasionally popped his fives into Harry Harmer’s jacket pocket, in which there was a supply of powdered resin, to assist him in keeping his hands tight. Jem made his left good on Bob’s right ogle and closed, when both went down heavily. Bob very weak.

32.—Jem came up as bold as brass, and made up his mind for quick work. He rushed at Bob, caught him right and left, and Bob fell on his knees distressed. Another change for Jem, who was the favourite at five to four.

33.—Bob bored in wildly; Jem met him in the canister with his left, and Bob fell.

34.—Jem now had recourse to the brandy bottle. Bob came up wild as a colt, and went sprawling down.

35.—Jem missed a tremendous jobber with his right. Bob fought to a scrambling rally, and, in the close, was thrown on the ropes.

36.—Bob, cheered on by Dick, bored in to bustle, and forced Jem down on the ropes.

37.—Jem met Bob, as he rushed in, on the conk with his left, and in the close Bob was thrown.

38.—Again was Bob hurried in, fighting open-handed, and was thrown.

39.—Bob, game, followed Dick’s orders and rushed in, but Jem was ready, hit away, and in the end floored him.

40.—Jem put in a jobber between Bob’s guard with his left, and got away. Bob pursued him, and Jem fell in the retreat.

41.—Good counter-hits for Bob was still determined, though groggy. Jem jobbed him right and left, but as his left hand had now gone as well as his right, his blows wanted force. In the close Bob was thrown across the ropes, Jem upon him. The latter fell out of the ring.

42.—Bob was first to go to work, but Jem was awake, and after a short and fruitless rally, threw him.

43.—Bob, urged on, hit away, but Jem retreated, and met him as he advanced, right and left. Bob at last closed in and Jem fell, Bob getting weaker.

44.—Jem now seemed to make certain of his work, and nobbed away in good style to finish. Bob went down from a clink on his noddle, all abroad.

45.—Bob, still alive, was cheered on by Curtis. Counter-hits. Bob went in to weave, but made no impression, Jem getting away in good style. Bob, in pursuing, fell on his marrow-bones.

46.—Bob rushed in wildly, closed upon Jem, and pulled him down. Fifty-four minutes had now elapsed, and it was thought it could not last much longer.

47.—Jem set to work to polish off his customer. Bob, almost blind, was hit right and left, and then turned his back to his man. Jem tipped him two luggers right and left, and dropped him. Both men remained on their seconds’ knees a minute after time was called.

48.—Bob stupid. Curtis roared in his ear. He then bored in, and hit Jem on the body, and fell over the ropes.

49.—Bob, still a stickler, rushed in to mill, hit wildly, was jobbed, and thrown.

50.—Bob’s stubborn gameness surprised the ring. He went in to bustle, and received Jem’s right and left, but, as we before remarked, the force was deadened by the state of Jem’s hands. Weaving on both sides. Bob down weak, and almost dark of both ogles.

51.—Jem made another attempt to finish, rushed to Bob, hit him right and left, and threw him at the corner of the ring.

52.—Jem again took the lead, but Bob was with him, wild, though weak, and grappling with Jem, at last threw him, and fell heavily upon him.

53.—Jem had another sup of brandy. The fight had now lasted an hour. Both men got to work on coming to the scratch, and were both greatly distressed, but Jem succeeded in throwing Bob from him.

54.—Jem, on the cautious system, to repair his bellows, kept off. Bob was hallooed on by Dick, and in he went, neck or nothing. Both fell, side by side.

55.—Jem very weak. Bob rushed to him, and was the first to fight. Jem rattled away, right and left, and as Bob was falling on his knees, caught him on the ear.

56.—Bob made a body hit, but not in the right place. A close at the ropes. After a struggle, Jem went down, Bob on him.

57.—Both groggy, but Bob the first to begin. Wild fighting; no discretion. Bob, in getting away, fell heavily on his back, Jem upon him.

58.—It was now considered that Bob had every chance of winning, as Jem was unable to steady himself with sufficient precision to finish his work, and both, on “time” being called, seemed much disinclined to quit their second’s knees. Still Jem was the favourite, and “My Uncle,” seeing his distress, called upon him not to hurry himself. In this way, to the 65th round, Bob bored in to bustle, and was loudly cheered by his friends, who assured him that he had every chance of victory. In the closes, Jem went down, evidently to gain time, and the turn was again in Bob’s favour. In the 70th round, Jem produced another change, delivering heavily right and left. Bob, almost blind, never attempted to return, and dropped.

71.—Bob was lifted up, was hit right and left, and fell. Curtis again rang a peal in his ear. “It’s all up,” cried the Burnites, and a good deal of excitement followed, several persons calling out time who had no right to do so, and Bob was actually taken from his second’s knee before the proper time had arrived.

72.—Bob, dreadfully weak, rushed in to close, hung round Jem’s neck, and both went down.

73.—An hour and twenty minutes had now elapsed. Bob made a desperate effort, and cheered on by his seconds, bored in to Jem, who caught him on the nose, and both fell. The water was now exhausted, and Bob had not a drop to wash his mouth with. Still he bore up, and looked round as if still fit for battle. Tom Belcher, with great kindness, gave him a swig from his bottle.

74.—Bob came up all abroad. Jem peppered away, and dropped him.

75 to 77.—All in favour of Jem, who hit away, and dropped his man in good style, although he was greatly exhausted.

78.—It was any odds on Jem, and “Take him away!” was the cry, but “No,” said Dick, “we’ll win it yet.” Bob had a drop of brandy, and was again driven in with desperation. He grappled Jem by the ropes, and, after a short struggle, threw him heavily.

79.—Jem, after this, came up very weak; his head sank on his second’s back, and he seemed much exhausted. The backers of Bob ran to the time-keepers, and loudly called on them to watch the time, while they cheered Bob with the cry, “It’s all your own.” Bob, like an old hound, pricked up his ears, and, on going to the scratch, darted at Jem, bored him back over the ropes, and fell on him. Here was another extraordinary change.

80.—Bob got new life, rushed in, and again threw Jem heavily, with his loins on the ropes, and fell on him. The ring was in an uproar, and Bob’s friends in extasies.

81.—Bob got up from his second’s knee before time was called, as if sure of winning. He rushed in, but fell from his own attempt.

82.—Jem, at the last gasp, stood up to fight, but Bob bored in hit him with the right on the body, closed, and threw him.

83.—Jem came up hardly able to stand. Dick shouted, Bob rushed in, and both went down.

84.—Bob again bored in, hit with his right, and floored Jem. Bob fell with him.

85, and last.—Jem, all but gone, collected his remaining strength, and jobbed slightly with his left. Bob returned, catching him on the front of the head, and Jem fell at the stake, completely doubled up from exhaustion. Belcher tried to bring his man to the scratch, but he could not stand, and “time” being called, Bob was proclaimed the conqueror, in exactly one hour and a half, amidst the warm congratulations of his friends. Jem remained for some time unconscious, while Bob stood up shaking hands with his admirers, and was carried off in triumph. Belcher was, of course, dreadfully mortified. He accused Jem of laziness, for not going in to finish before; and charged the time-keeper with calling time too quickly at last, when Jem was distressed, while he gave additional time to Bob when he most wanted it. This was denied; and, in fact, the irregularities in time-calling, as we have already stated, were not attributable to the time-keeper, but to those who assumed his prerogative, and thereby created much confusion. Some time elapsed before Jem could be removed from the ring, but on comparing punishment, the odds were fearfully against Bob, who, we think, was more punished than in his last battle. His wiry frame, however, added to the uncommon pains taken by Curtis and Ward, brought him through, and, in fact, as it were, he performed a miracle.

Remarks.—Never was there a fight in which so many extraordinary changes took place. Nor ever was there an event won so completely out of the fire, except the fight between Cooper and Shelton. In speaking critically of the affair, without disparaging the bravery of the men we must pronounce our opinion to be unfavourable to the character of the contest. Bob fought badly. It is true, profiting by experience, he kept his left hand well up, to save his nob from Jem’s right-handed jobs, but in his returns he was irregular and wild, fought round, and with his hands open. He did not hit at points, and, in fact, as far as punishment went, made but little impression; bustle was his motto, and bustle alone gave him the day. Jem Burn fought infinitely better; he hit straight both left and right, but his in-fighting was bad, and he did not make as much of his man as he might in the closes. At the time when Bob was brought to a stand-still, too, he was unable to make an effectual finish. This may be attributed to the disordered state of his hands; but from the distress of his opponent, if he could not hit, he ought to have rushed in and got him down any way, for Bob, at one time, had no notion of protection left. Perhaps his seconds were to blame in not giving him this hint, instead of permitting him, after time was called, to sit upon the knee until Bob made a move. At one time it was a hundred to one in his favour, and yet Bob was suffered to recover, and thus gain those laurels which appeared at an immeasurable distance from his grasp. Looking at the quickness of the fighting, and recollecting that at least 50 minutes were devoted to time, some judgment may be formed of the men’s condition, for it will be seen that 85 rounds were fought in 40 minutes, during which the exertion on both sides was immense. This proves that training had not been neglected, for nothing but the finest physical powers could have stood such a test. There was no standing still, no idle sparring, but all slap-up work. Jem lost the light solely from exhaustion. Nature left him. His frame is not anatomically so well calculated to endure continual work as Bob’s, and thus Nature, and not the want of good milling qualities, lost him the victory. He was weak when he most wanted vigour, for if he could have steadied himself to put in two or three good hits in the middle of the battle, his labours must have been brought to a conclusion. Whatever may have been said of Bob’s game, he, on this occasion, proved himself entitled to every praise. Large sums were dropped by Jem’s friends on the event.

Baldwin, by his defeat of Jem Burn, having turned the tables on one of his adversaries, appeared to think the time had arrived for effecting a similar operation upon another. Accordingly he issued a challenge to Ned Neale for a second trial of skill. The Streatham Youth, ever willing, accepted the proposal, and articles were signed to meet on the 29th of April, 1828, for £200 a-side. The details of this undecided battle, which was interrupted by a magistrate, will be found in Chapter V., under “Neale,” p. 316.

On the Thursday after the fight Baldwin took a benefit at the Tennis Court. He took the money at the door, was as gay as a lark, and bore but little marks of face punishment. He jestingly remarked that he had “just got half through his job of beating Neale when the beak popped in.” As neither man was satisfied with this unsettled question of superiority, a third match was made, the stakes being increased by £50. Wednesday, the 28th of May, 1828, was agreed upon; as the fight between Jem Ward and Carter was fixed for the Tuesday, both men’s friends, thinking them too good to play second fiddle in a second fight on the same day, shifted the tourney a day forward.

St. Albans was, accordingly, all alive on the Wednesday morning, and before one the gathering round the ring at No Man’s Land amounted to over four figures, including a goodly muster of the Corinthian élite of ring-patrons. Neale first put in an appearance, accompanied by Harry Holt and Dick Curtis as his seconds, Baldwin soon after following suit, attended by Young Dutch Sam and Tom Olion. Betting seven to four on Neale. All being in readiness the men were led to the scratch, shook hands smilingly, and their seconds having retired to their corners, threw up their hands for

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—An opportunity of judging the condition of the men, about which there had been so many rumours, was now given. Neale was a trifle lighter than we have seen him, but looked bright and well, his weight, in all his clothes, being under 12st. 4lbs. Bob was as fine as a star, every muscle in his splendid frame fully developed, his skin fair, his eyes clear, and in every point in first-rate trim. His weight was said to be 12st. 4lbs.; we believe it was a few pounds more. For the first five minutes the men manœuvred steadily, each watching for an opening, and each endeavouring by mutual feints to throw his antagonist off his guard. Both, however, were extremely cautious; and Neale more than once, in jumping back from a threatened attack, displayed great activity. At last Neale, as if impatient of fencing, stepped in, and delivering right and left rapidly, caught Baldwin on the side of his head and on the mouth, drawing first blood from the latter. Bob hit out rather wildly, and closed. In the effort for the fall both were down.

2.—Bob came up smiling, and Ned made himself up for quicker operations. After a short pause he again planted his right and left on his adversary’s nob. Baldwin returned with the left lightly, and closed. Ned grappled for the throw, and chopped him on the back of his head with the right; he then put out his leg for the lock, and threw Baldwin over on his head, falling with him. Five to two on Neale.

3.—On coming up, Neale said, “Fight fair, Bob; don’t push your finger in my eye.” Baldwin nodded, then dropped in his right on Ned’s left side. Ned hit out heavily with his right, but it went over Bob’s shoulder, and some half-arm hitting followed. In the close Baldwin got down easy.

4.—Both began at a quick pace. Slight hits were exchanged, when Bob tried for the fall, but got thrown himself, amid cheers from the Streathamites.

5.—Bob came up laughing, and kept his guard well up. Ned, determined on work, went in left and right. Bob slashed away in the weaving style, but without much effect; in the close Baldwin was thrown, Neale upon him.

6.—No serious marks of punishment as yet. Ned planted a right-handed jobber on Baldwin’s frontispiece, and jumped away. Bob stopped the repetition of the compliment with the left, and then hit short with his left. Ned drew back, but coming again quickly, popped in left and right. He then closed, and some in-fighting followed, in which Ned caught it on the ivories, showing blood on the lips. In the close, both down, Bob falling awkwardly.

7.—Ned lost not a moment in going in, delivering right and left. Bob countered with his left, and in a rally which followed, Ned hit up cleverly, and then threw Bob from him. Bob fought wildly, and not at points, and Neale continued the decided favourite.

8.—Bob hit out resolutely, but Neale jumped away. At length Bob planted slightly on Neale’s smeller, and stopped his return neatly. The latter, after parrying a vicious right-hander, stepped in to mill, and got on heavily with his right. Baldwin fell backward, rather from a slip than a blow.

9.—Ned reached Baldwin’s ear with his right; Bob instantly closed, and catching him round the neck, both were down in a scramble, Neale laughing.

10.—Bob tried right and left on the weaving system, but Neale retreated nimbly. Exchanges, but little done. Baldwin was down in the close.

11.—Neale rushed in and hit Bob on the os frontis with little effect, except on his own knuckles. Bob hit out right and left, and closed. Ned pegged him on the back of the head with the left, and both went down.

12.—Bob stopped Neale’s left, and put in his right once more on Ned’s ribs; Ned returned on his nob, and a wild rally followed, in which heavy blows were exchanged, Bob catching it on the leg. Both down.

13.—Ned put in his left with cutting precision on Bob’s cheek, then popped in his right above the eye, cutting his adversary’s eyebrow, which bled profusely. In the close, he threw Bob a cross-buttock. Offers of ten to one on Neale.

14.—Bob came up game, though evidently shaken by the last fall. Ned was ready, and went in, but Baldwin cleverly stopped his left, and was in turn stopped in his return. Ned went in for in-fighting, and tried to screw up Bob for another cross-buttock, but he was foiled, and both were down together.

15.—Bob stopped Neale’s left neatly, and went in turn for close quarters. Exchanges, in which Bob was cut on the cheek and Neale on the brow. Bob got hold of Neale round the neck and threw him. (Shouts for Baldwin. “It’s all right as yet.”)

16.—Bob short with the left. Ned again missed with both hands, and his man shifted. Bob, in trying for the return, missed, and fell forward.

17.—Ned jobbed with his left, but Baldwin was on the alert, and caught him on the cheek with a counter. Bob then kept out, but Ned would be with him, hit right and left, and forced a rally. Bob fought bravely, though rather wild, and Ned fell.

18.—Ned tried three times unsuccessfully to lead off with the left, Baldwin sparring neatly. At last Neale closed, and gave Baldwin another heavy cross-buttock. (Shouting for Neale.)

19.—Bob, awake, though blowing slightly, stopped Neale’s left. Many blows thrown away on both sides. In the close Baldwin was thrown.

20.—The fight had now lasted thirty minutes. Bob rattled in left and right, but was neatly stopped. Ned pursued the same game, but was more successful. Bob fought with him, but rather wildly; in the close Baldwin was down.

21.—Ned received a sharp hit on the right eye, and retreated. Bob rushed to a rally, and the men fought in the corner of the ring. Neale planted a nobber, and Baldwin went down. A claim was made for Baldwin that Neale hit him with his right when on his knees. The referee said he did not see the blow given, and the men were ordered to “go on.”

22, 23.—Wild fighting on both sides, and both down.

24 to 34.—Similar in character. Each man with slight alternative advantage, and each in turn distressed, and fighting on the defensive to recover.

35.—Bob rushed in hand over hand, and was met by Neale with a flush hit, and fell. Ned’s hand was uplifted, but he withheld the blow, and walked to his corner. (Applause.)

36.—Science seemed to be disregarded on both sides. The men went in weaving right and left, each determined to make a turn. At length Baldwin was down, Neale on him.

37.—Forty-five minutes had now elapsed, and Neale was favourite at two to one. The latter hit down Bob with his right.

38, 39, 40.—In all these rounds Neale led off, and Baldwin fell from a blow. In the last-named round there were cries of “Take him away!” from the opponents of Baldwin. Indeed, the proportion of punishment at this time was largely on the side of the White-headed One.

41 to 48.—Much of the same character, but Neale’s blows seemed to lack steam, especially those from his right hand, which was visibly swelled. Bob’s friends saw this, and he went in desperately. In the 47th round Neale fell from his own blow, apparently rather weak. In the 48th Baldwin got in heavily with his left on Neale’s head, who went down.

49 to 54.—Anybody’s battle. Baldwin now the stronger man, though Neale yet fought best at points. In the 54th round Neale was hit on the nose, but returned the blow with interest, Bob slipping on his knees. In this position Neale hit him on the side of the head. There were cries of “Foul!” and an appeal, but as Baldwin had his hands up it was not allowed.

55.—Great confusion round the ring, and loud shouting for Baldwin. Ned planted his puffy right hand without much effect, and continued to weave away. Both down.

56.—Neale rushed in, but was evidently unsteady. He missed both hands; both went down.

57.—Neale groggy, Bob regaining strength. Ned went in as before, and a rally ended by both rolling over.

58–63.—Wild but courageous fighting. In the 61st round Bob rushed in like a lion. Neale met him cleverly with an up-hit, but went down from his own blow, greatly distressed. In the 63rd Ned fell from a heavy body blow, Baldwin on him. (“It’s all over!” from Bob’s friends.)

64.—Neale guarded his ribs and head steadily, making some good stops, but Baldwin bored in; Ned could not keep him out, and was hit in the body and thrown, Baldwin falling over him. (Shouts for Baldwin.)

65.—Neale planted his left, but Bob hit with him, gave him a rib-bender with the right, and finally hit him down. (“It’s all over, Neale’s beaten!” was the cry.)

66, and last.—Neale came to time greatly distressed; Bob was loudly called on, and as he came in met him with a right-hander in the mark, and poor Ned fell heavily. This was the coup de grace. On Neale being lifted on his second’s knee his head dropped, and he became perfectly insensible. On “time” being called Baldwin was saluted as victor of the hard-fought field. Both men were reconducted to St. Albans, where they were carefully attended to. Neale, whose condition was certainly the worst, complaining chiefly of pain from the body blows he received, and the disablement of his right hand. The fight lasted one hour and eleven minutes.

Remarks.—By this victory Baldwin placed himself on the topmost round of the ladder as a game, enduring, and resolute boxer, while Neale’s superior art, activity, and precision all but balanced Baldwin’s advantages in weight, strength, and stamina. It was an heroic battle, and either of the men at different changes of the well-fought fight might have resigned the prize without discredit to his courage or his honour. Indeed, more than once a scrupulously strict time-keeper might have called on one or other of the men with fatal result to his chance of success. A fairer or better ring, and more fair-play principle in those surrounding it, have seldom been seen of late.

Baldwin and Neale both showed on the following Tuesday, when White-headed Bob took a benefit at the Tennis Court. Considering the severity of the contest, both men looked well—a satisfactory proof of their excellent condition, and of the effects of careful training.

This was Baldwin’s last encounter in the P.R. By the assistance of his aristocratic patrons he became host of the “Coach and Horses,” St. Martin’s Lane, afterwards kept by Ben Caunt. Baldwin was a free liver, and his position one of temptation, which he was by constitution and temperament by no means inclined to resist. He died at his house in October, 1831, aged twenty-eight years, from an inflammatory attack, after a short illness.

CHAPTER VIII.
SAMUEL EVANS (“YOUNG DUTCH SAM”)—1825–1834.

Among the town celebrities of the second quarter of the nineteenth century the subject of this memoir held a prominent place. His immediate and personal intimacy as boon companion or “pal” of a certain notorious marquis, and an earl whose career, while “sowing their wild oats,” savoured rather of the early days of the Regency than those of Queen Victoria, brought him too often before the public. Indeed, the nature of the associations into which he was thus unfortunately thrown, acting upon a volatile and reckless disposition, led him into excesses which destroyed a fine constitution, prevented his availing himself of more than one opportunity of achieving competence and a fair social position, and finally consigned him to a premature grave. In the ensuing pages, however, we shall chiefly deal with Young Dutch Sam as a public demonstrator of the art of self-defence, and as one whose biography furnishes an illustrative chapter in the history of the Ring.

Samuel Evans, deservedly distinguished as “the Phenomenon,” was born in Wells Street, Ratcliff Highway, on the 30th of January, 1808. He was descended from a sire whose fame as a professional boxer the son did no discredit. The battles of Samuel Elias, in his day also dubbed “the Phenomenon,” will be found in our first volume. Sam’s earlier years, from all that we have gathered from his own lips and his intimates, were spent in the same “university” which another famous “Samuel” (not Johnson, but Weller) declares to be the “best for sharpening the intellect” of the youth who may chance to be subjected to its rough discipline. The traditions of Rosemary Lane, now itself swept into what Thomas Carlyle calls “the dustbin of the past,” were once rife with reminiscences of the intuitive fistic skill and the marvellous mastery of milling manœuvres displayed by “Young Sam,” in many an encounter with the pugnacious progeny of the “peoplesh,” who once populated that inodorous but sweetly named thoroughfare, renowned for the “ancient and (fried) fish-like smell” of its edibles, and the yet more fusty emanations of its clobbered and thrice-renovated garments.

Thus Sam fought his way upwards in the rude “battle of life” until his sire “shuffled off this mortal coil” in the month of July, 1816, when Sam appears to have been thrown upon his own resources. Sam was evidently a precocious youth, for in his fifteenth year, if we take Pierce Egan’s account, he was following the employment of a baker, when his associate in dough, one Bill Dean, a chap with some milling pretensions, threatened to serve out Young Sam for some trifling fault. This brought forth the father’s blood in his veins, and in emulation of his warlike sire, he challenged Dean out to fight early the next morning; but old Burntcrust, his master, locked Sam up in his bedroom to prevent the mill. Sam, however, in defiance of bolts and bars, got out of the garret window, scrambled over the tiles of several houses, found his way into a strange house, ran down the stairs, ultimately into the street, and met Bill Dean at the appointed place, Kennington Common, when the battle commenced without delay. In the course of four rounds Young Sam played his part so well that Dean would not fight any longer, gammoning it, as was supposed, that his thumb was out of joint.

Dean was not exactly satisfied with this first battle, and, after several quarrels, a second match was agreed upon, Sam fighting Dean for three half-crowns to two. This mill was also decided upon Kennington Common, Tom Cooper and Spencer acting as seconds for Young Sam, a fact which shows that “the Young Dutchman” was already an associate, if not a member, of the P.R. Dean “screwed his courage to the sticking-place,” and fought well for three-quarters of an hour; but finding the chance was against him, he declared his knee was injured, and he would fight no more. Sam was loudly applauded by the spectators for the pluck and science he had displayed throughout the battle.

SAMUEL EVANS (“Young Dutch Sam”).

Soon after this affair our hero migrated westward, leaving the “dead men” of the east, and becoming an apprentice at case in the office of Mr. Charles Baldwin, in the Crescent, Blackfriars, on the very spot now occupied by the Ludgate Terminus of the London, Chatham, and Dover Railway. Sam had scarcely taken his initiatory lessons in the mystery of a typo when he got into a fracas with the peripatetic potman of the neighbouring public, which supplied the printing-office with beer and other alcoholic stimulants. The purveyor of heavy wet had with him a pair of gloves, and he and the youthful Sam (we had this from his own lips) at first began to spar “in fun,” for the entertainment of such of the compositors as were taking their midday meal beneath their “frames” and on the “stone” from pressure of business. The publican and sinner was short-tempered as well as conceited, and Sam having “pinked him” more than once on his prominent proboscis, the gin-spinner’s deputy threw off the mufflers, let go right and left viciously, and “went in” in earnest. He was a strong fellow, a stone, or perhaps two, heavier than the youthful Sam, but the Young ’Un retreated milling, and popping in “teazers” all along the passage and out into the short street, when, after half an hour’s fighting, from Apothecaries Hall to Bridewell, Mr. Gin-and-Bitters cried, “Hold, enough!” In the opinion of Mr. Charles Baldwin’s overseer, however, Sam’s skill in “setting-to” did not seem to compensate for his deficiencies in skill in “setting up,” and our hero was soon after a “gentleman at large.”

Released from the confinement of a printing-office, Sam turned his attention to selling newspapers instead of setting them up. In this vocation he became known to Pierce Egan, and with his natural predilection for sporting, Sam took up the supply of his sporting paper to sporting houses. It must be remembered that newspapers were then costly articles—the Dispatch, Bell’s Life, and Pierce Egan’s Life in London being 7d. to 8½d. per copy, and the trade profit proportionate.

About this time, also, Young Sam obtained an introduction to Mr. John Jackson, Captain Dudley, and other amateurs of distinction, whose judgment of the pretensions of the young aspirant for fistic fame was decidedly favourable. London then teemed with “professors” of the noble art, and among them one known as Jack Poulton, of the Mint, opened a school in that classic locality “to teach the young idea how to shoot” straight from the shoulder. Sam was “planted” on the-rough-and-ready Southwark bruiser as a lad who wanted improving. The result was comical to all but the “professor.” Sam stopped him, got away, nobbed him as he came in, and so completely bothered the soi-disant “professor” that he threw down the gloves, and never again showed as the principal of an academy. At this period, Pierce Egan says of him: “On comparing likenesses, it is the general opinion that the Young ’Un’s countenance does not possess the fine-spirited animation of the late renowned Dutch Sam’s face, yet the resemblance was admitted to be genuine, allowing for the difference between youth and age, and the want of large whiskers. The sparklers of the Young ’Un, if not partaking (? possessing) the penetrating look of the once Phenomenon of the P.R., nevertheless gave Young Sam’s nob a lively appearance throughout the battle. Our hero is in height five feet eight inches and three-quarters, weighing ten stone and a half, and generally considered a fine-grown young man.”

Soon after Sam’s introduction to the sporting world, his friends were so satisfied with his abilities as a sparrer that they matched him, as a trial, against Jack Lenney (the Cowboy), a boxer who had won three ring fights, but had surrendered to the “Pet of the Fancy,” Dick Curtis. Monday, the 28th of March, 1825, was named as the day, and the Old Barge House, opposite Woolwich, as the battle-field. Young Sam showed at the scratch, his “soul in arms, and eager for the fray,” but no Cowboy came in sight. It was reported he was locked up in town, so the Young ’Un claimed and pocketed the stakes (£25), without a struggle for the prize. About this time Sam, while in training at Tom Shelton’s house at Walton, in Surrey, made the acquaintance of the scientific Dick Curtis, an acquaintance that soon ripened into a warm friendship. Dick’s report to Hughes Ball, Esq. of Sam’s capabilities led to a glove exhibition before that gentleman and his friends at Combe Park (when Dick gave his opinion that the “novice” must beat Lenney), and the subsequent patronage of “The Golden Ball,” one of the notabilities of the Fourth George’s reign.

Sam declared himself much disappointed, and possessing the utmost confidence in his powers, he soon found an opening for a public début.

On Tuesday, July 5th, 1825, after White-headed Bob (see Life of Baldwin, ante, p. 342) had defeated the game George Cooper at Knowle Hill, Berks, Young Sam made his first bow in the Prize Ring, as the opponent of Ned Stockman, for a purse of twenty pounds. Stockman was well known to the Fancy as “the Lively Kid,” and, in addition to several victories, had beaten Harry Jones (the Sailor Boy, 10st.) three times, and lately defeated Raines. The general idea was that Sam was too much of a novice and too boyish to defeat so experienced and crafty a boxer as Stockman, who was therefore backed freely at six to four, and at setting-to at two to one. On this occasion Sam was waited upon by two East-End friends, Dick Curtis and Josh Hudson, the John Bull Fighter. Stockman had the attentions of Harry Holt and Dick Acton. The colours, a canary-yellow for Sam and a blue bird’s-eye for Stockman, being tied to the stakes, the men shook hands and stood up for

THE FIGHT

Round 1.—Sam was not only in excellent condition, but appeared the better man of the two, as he had length and weight over his opponent. Stockman soon perceived he had reach against him, and did all he could to get between the guard of Sam, but in vain. Stockman, determined on mischief, let fly, but Sam stopped him with perfect ease, and returned with advantage. In a sharp rally Sam hit his opponent so neatly as to call forth the admiration of the ring; be also adopted Cribb’s favourite mode of milling on the retreat, and jobbed Stockman’s nose repeatedly, till he went down. (Immense applause. “This,” said Josh, patting Sam on his back, “is not a chip of the old block, it’s Old Sam himself. He’ll win, for £100.”)

2.—Stockman, full of gaiety, came to the scratch, and in a resolute manner tried to find out a soft place on Sam’s head, but it was “no go.” Sam sent down his opponent by a rattling hit with the left in the neck. (Thunders of approbation; and “Here’s a Shiloh for Duke’s Place! Here’s the pink of Petticoat Lane!”)

3.—This round, at this early stage of the battle, decided victory in favour of Young Sam. He jobbed Stockman all over the ring; in fact, the nob of Stockman was a mere drum to the hands of Sam. The latter finally floored his opponent. The Sheenies, who always claimed the Dutchman, were uproarious in the praise of Sam. (“Vat a nishe boy! Vat a shweet hitter! Isn’t he like ish fader!”)

4.—Stockman positively had not a shadow of chance, and if he planted one blow he got five in return. The jobbing system was resorted to by Sam, and in closing at the ropes he held Stockman in his left arm, and with his right hand he nobbed him in the Randall style, ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto, and ditto, till Stockman went down quite bothered, amidst the loudest applause ever heard in the Prize Ring.

5.—The length of Sam, his steady guard, and his confidence, prevented Stockman from placing any hits with effect. Stockman, after the receipt of several blows, went down on his knees; but Sam held up his hands, smiled, and walked away. “That’s right Sam; he only wants a foul blow.”

6.—We never saw Stockman so much at a loss before; he was nobbed with the utmost ease by his opponent, and fibbed tremendously till he went down.

7.—Sam stopped the rush of Stockman, hit him as he liked, till Stockman dropped. Two to one, but no takers.

8.—Stockman might have resigned the contest—every round was against him. The left hand of Sam was continually in his face, when with a heavy blow Stockman was floored. Three to one.

9.—Stockman countered well, but Sam got out of the way of punishment with the skill of an old general. Stockman received a staggering hit, and a repeated blow sent him down.

10.—This was a good round. Fine science was exhibited on both sides, till Sam sent Stockman down on his knees. Sam raised his hand. (“Be careful,” said Josh, “we won’t have it that way at all, Sam; mind, don’t be caught for a foul blow!”)

11.—“Move your feet in and out,” said Curtis; “but it is all your own.” Stockman made a good stop, and also put in a heavy blow on Sam’s throat. In closing both down. Any odds against Stockman, but shy of taking.

12.—Stockman went down on his knees from a hit, but Sam held up his hands, and walked away. Applause.

13.—Stockman put down his hands, and appeared to wish the battle was at an end. Sam planted a tremendous blow bang in the middle of his opponent’s head; Stockman’s eyes flashed fire, he was quite abroad, and went down completely exhausted. Ten to one laid and taken.

14.—The battle nearly over; by way of a finish, Sam caught hold of Stockman and fibbed him down. The Jews in rapture on beholding the talents of Dutch Sam the second.

15.—It was all U P.; Stockman, groggy as a Jack Tar three sheets in the wind, was sent down before he was scarcely at the scratch.

16.—Stockman still showed fight, but he was met by Sam on going in, when he fell on his knees, but he instantly got up, and with much fury rushed in to mill Sam. The latter, however, floored him like a shot.

17. and last.—Sam had it completely his own way, till Stockman went down. While sitting on his second’s knee he hinted that he had enough—if not too much. Sam was hailed the winner in thirty-six minutes and a half.

Remarks.—The “Downy Ones” were completely thrown out, as the non-favourite proved victorious. Stockman did all he knew to win; but he could not get at his opponent. Sam was completely his master in every point of view; in fact, he felt so surprised on being declared the conqueror that he exclaimed: “Is it all over? Why, I’m not hurt in the least; I could fight an hour longer.” Stockman, on being taken out of the ring, was quite exhausted, and insensible for a short period. Young Sam was positively without a visible scratch.

Young Sam was now welcomed as the true son of the Phenomenon of the Prize Ring, entering eagerly on a life of gaiety which must impair the stamina of an athlete. Dick Curtis, too, selected him as his partner in public sparring exhibitions. At this period it was the fashion to illustrate the art of self-defence at the theatres, and more especially upon the stages of the transpontine houses. Dick Curtis and Young Dutch Sam figure frequently in the playbills of this period, and he showed off his graceful and effective style with much éclat behind the footlights of the Surrey, Coburg (now Victoria), and Royalty Theatres, and at the Sanspareil, in Catherine Street, Strand.

Sam was not long allowed to be idle. Harry Jones, the Sailor Boy, offered himself to his notice, and a match was made for £25 a-side.

This battle was decided at Shere Mere, on the borders of Bedfordshire, on Tuesday, the 18th of October, 1825. Jones was backed for this event in consequence of his being said to have had the best of Sam in a sparring match at the Jacob’s Well, Barbican. The odds, nevertheless, were against Jones, six to four, and in several instances two to one, and some persons even ventured to lay three to one on the ground. Sam was attended by Dick and George Curtis, and Jones by Goodman and Reid. The Young One had the length of his opponent, but Jones showed most muscle and strength, and also the best condition. Two to one on setting-to in favour of Sam.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Caution was the order of the day on both sides—Sam on the look-out, and the Sailor Boy equally leary to guard against squalls. Sam tried all the manœuvres he was master of to do summat, but Jones, who had a good knowledge of milling, was not to be had. Some minutes elapsed and nothing was done, until the Sailor Boy rushed in to work. He made a hit with his left hand on Sam’s cheek, and closed. The weaving system was now adopted; Sam was thrown; and the Sailor Boy fell on the young Israelite. (“Well done, Jones!”)

2.—Jones cleverly stopped Sam’s left hand; sparring for advantages; and Sam hit short. The Sailor Boy, eager for work, went boldly up to his adversary, and planted a right-handed hit on Sam’s nob. A sharp rally of give and take occurred. In closing, the Young One received a cross-buttock, and Jones fell heavily on his opponent.—(“Bravo, Jones! that’s the way to win.”)

3.—Jones hit short, being too eager to make play; however, he soon made up for it, by planting a heavy blow on Sam’s cheek. In closing, the pepper-box was handed from one to the other, the Sailor Boy fighting at the nob, while his opponent was hammering at the body. The round was finished by Jones getting down as well as he could, Sam keeping on his pins.

4.—The Young One did not show anything like the superiority he exhibited in the fight with Stockman. The claret was running down from Sam’s mouth, while, on the contrary, the Sailor Boy looked none the worse for his engagement. Sam’s mouth was open, rather piping. Jones, with excellent skill, stopped a heavy left-handed blow of Sam’s. In fact, considerable science was displayed by both combatants, till Jones rushed in to mill; sharp counter-hitting; in closing, the pepper-box was in full use until they separated. Another sharp rally took place, when the Sailor Boy went down.

5.—This was a prime round; and the fighting was excellent on both sides. Sam’s peeper napped a rum one from Jones—the Sailor Boy repeated the dose. (Great applause; and “He’ll win it!”) Sam was also bored down at one corner of the ring.

6.—The Sailor Boy appeared as fresh as when he commenced the battle. Sam’s condition was not satisfactory. He sparred, and looked anxious. The Sailor Boy appeared quite up to the movements of Sam, and would not be decoyed from his mode of fighting by the stratagems of the young Israelite. Severe counter-hits, which told on both sides. Jones, however, received a heavy one on his listener as he was going down.

7.—A long fighting round, and Harry as good as Sam. A sharp rally, and mischief in it. The Sailor Boy broke ground, but soon returned to his adversary, laid hold of him by the body, and sent him down in an ugly manner. (“Well done, Jones—you can’t lose it!”)

8.—Sam’s left hand was stopped by Jones; still the former persevered till he made a good hit. Sharp counter-hitting; rather too hot for Jones, so he retreated; nevertheless he returned to the charge in a passion, and planted a flush hit on the young Israelite’s face. Jones ultimately went down.

9.—The upper works of Sam napped a little one; and Jones got away laughing. A severe rally; give and take without flinching. Sam tried milling on the retreat, was successful, and the Sailor Boy slipped down.

10.—This round was decidedly in favour of the Sailor Boy. The latter began his work without delay; and Sam slipped down by accident, receiving a heavy hit on his conk; but, like a trump, he jumped up and slashed away without ceremony. The Sailor Boy drove him to the ropes. Sam adopted the weaving system, but not with effect; the Sailor Boy hung upon his neck, till both went down.

11.—The Sailor Boy was a dangerous customer. He planted a heavy blow with his left hand—then boldly went up to his opponent, and caught him round his neck—it was then blow for hit, till Sam was thrown. (Lots of applause for the Sailor Boy.)

12.—The chaffing-box of Sam received rather an ugly thump from Jones; but Sam was determined to be with him, cutting the skin of his eyebrow like a knife, the claret following. Good milling, till Jones seemed a little abroad, and pulled Sam down.

13.—Jones parried well; and in a sharp rally the Sailor Boy was extremely active. Sam was cautious, but kept milling with his opponent. Ultimately Jones went down.

14.—The young Israelite appeared distressed, and also exhibited marks of punishment. The blows of Sam, at this period, seemed to have but little effect on Jones. The Sailor Boy again parried the hitting of his opponent with much skill; but he bored in, and caught hold of his adversary round his neck. Sam, in order to extricate himself, fibbed his opponent, and at length got away. Jones went down.

15.—Severe counter-hitting, after which, Jones bored Sam to the ropes. It was expected the Sailor Boy would have done some mischief, but after a little struggling he went down.

16.—Jones planted a sharp facer with his left, but the young Israelite, in return, jobbed him with his right. A rally, of no long duration; and in closing Sam was thrown.

17.—The Sailor Boy planted several hits, after which he bored in with his head down, in order to escape milling. A struggle for the throw, when Jones got down anyhow. (“I don’t like that,” observed an Old Ringgoer; “he’s going to cut it.”)

18, and last.—Sam came up to the scratch quite gay; and the Sailor Boy was lively to all appearance. After some sparring, Sam planted a blow on the right side of his opponent’s nob, and he fell on his back. It did not appear by any means a finishing blow, and the amateurs did not like it. When time was called, the Sailor Boy was deaf to it; and Young Sam was declared the conqueror. The battle was over in fifty-three minutes.

Remarks.—There is nothing new in the Sailor Boy’s cutting it: in several of his battles he has done the same thing, when the amateurs have been perfectly satisfied that he had the best of it. It was exactly the same sort of thing in his last battle with Stockman. He showed himself decidedly the best fighter, and was also the strongest man. In truth, when he had got his clothes on, he was very little the worse for milling! The blows of Sam were more showy than effective, and his hits were trifling on the nob of Jones, compared to the style with which he finished off Stockman. To sum up the matter, it was the opinion of the majority of persons present that Jones, although a good fighter, a strong chap, and capable of doing severe execution, by the manner of his giving in, showed the “white feather” most unmistakably.

Sam’s defeat of Harry Jones did not add much to his reputation; but he was soon matched with Tom Cooper, the Gipsy, for £30 a-side. This battle was decided on Tuesday, the 25th of April, 1826, at Grays, in Essex, nearly opposite Gravesend, twenty miles from London by road.

It would be wrong to state that the road was covered with amateurs on the appointed Tuesday; nevertheless, the “Old Ring-goers” were in motion at an early hour, and a good muster of the Fancy, in gigs and other vehicles, were trotting over the ground, to arrive in time at the scene of action. Tom Cooper, by his manly behaviour in a turn-up with Bishop Sharpe, which continued for twenty minutes and upwards, was viewed as an opponent likely to test the “staying capabilities” of the Young ’Un. Nevertheless, the betting was decidedly in favour of Sam, six and seven to four. The ring was formed in a field near the Thames, in a most delightful spot; the ships in the river added to the picturesque effect. The ride from London was truly charming. At one o’clock the combatants entered the ring, Dutch Sam attended by Dick Curtis and Harry Holt, and Cooper waited upon by Jem Ward and his brother Jack Cooper. After the hands were crossed together in friendship, the men made their toilets, and in a few minutes set to.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Sam looked well, and the advantages of careful training were perceived in the improvement of his frame. The “Hero of the Bush” was also in good trim; in fact, Cooper is naturally a hardy, wiry sort of chap. Both on the alert, but cautious; and a short time occurred in manœuvring to obtain an opening. At length the Gipsy let fly, and touched Sam’s canister slightly, but the son of the Phenomenon returned a sounder on the body of his opponent with his right. In a rally, counter-hits took place. Sam, however, got away in style; but the Gipsy, anxious to do mischief, again made use of his right hand, when Young Dutchy, with great celerity, planted a second body blow. Sam also, by his skill, bored the Gipsy into a corner, and exhibited his superiority, to the delight of his backers, by using his left and right hands on the index of Cooper, producing the claret, until he went down. (Uproarious shouts of applause for Sam, and two to one offered without the slightest hesitation. “Sam will win in a canter.”)

2.—The blows of the Gipsy were seen on the frame of Sam, but did not appear mischievous. Caution again on both sides; but the Gipsy, always fond of slashing, used his left hand with success on Sam’s head. Dutchy, like a good one, and master of his art, took the lead, went in, and punished the nob of his opponent like fun. The Gipsy did not like it, but kept fighting as he was retreating from danger. A sharp rally, and milling on both sides. Sam, perceiving that he could go in without much danger, again drove his antagonist to the ropes, where the Gipsy, rather tired, went down. (“It’s as right as the day!” said the Pet of the Fancy; “we shall win without any trouble.” “Sam for a hundred.”)

3.—The mug of the “Hero of the Bush” was now the worse for fighting, but his pluck was as good as ever, and mischief seemed his object, by his slashing away at his adversary. Random shots seldom tell, and so it turned out for the Gipsy. Sam took advantage of this sort of wildness, and put in a conker so sharp that Cooper was quite mad, rushed in to work, helter-skelter, and planted a severe blow under Sam’s right ogle, which produced the claret. (“Capital!” from the friends of Cooper; “another like that, and summat will soon be the matter!”) Young Dutchy, as gay as a lark, returned the compliment by two severe hits, and as a sort of tie-up to the round, sent his opponent headlong on the turf. (“Dat’s de vay!” from the Sheenies; “Vat a peautiful hitter! Dat’s vat he ish, my dears! He’s an article not to be shold for his vally!”)

4.—The coolness displayed by Sam, as well as his superiority as a boxer, satisfied the judges he must win it, although he had napped a severe one under his left eye, which bled rather copiously. His left mauly was also a tiny bit damaged, and the friends of the Gipsy announced the circumstance with delight and hopes that it was a good chance for their man, who, they said, could last a long time. Sam got away cleverly from a desperate blow, but went in to his opponent, and by a flush hit on his mouth set Cooper’s ivories dancing. The Gipsy, not dismayed, returned on the body. A sharp rally followed, in which Cooper was floored; and Sam, rather weak, reeled against the stake. (Five-and-twenty pounds to ten, but the backers of the Gipsy did not fancy it.)

5.—This was a prime round; and the friends of the Gipsy observed, if he had but commenced the battle as he now fought, the chance might have been in his favour. The Gipsy wildly fought at the body, while Sam (adopting the traits of his master, Curtis, who was at his elbow) kept milling at the head, and doing considerable execution at every hit. Sam also got away from numerous blows; and such was the fine science he exhibited, uniting tremendous punishment, that he nobbed the Gipsy five times, one after the other, and then, by way of a quietus, floored him. (The Sheenies were now roaring in ecstasy, offering any odds on their “peautiful Young Dutch Sam!”)

6.—The courage and resolution of the Gipsy were admired by every one present, but his mode of fighting was wildness instead of science. He trusted much to desperation, and slashed out without looking at his opponent; in a word, he was no marksman. In the hands of a scientific boxer like Young Dutchy he stood no chance. When once kept out with a few nobbers such a fighter becomes an easy prey, and is licked off-hand at the leisure of the cool miller. Thus was the Gipsy disposed of in this round. He napped “divers blows in sundry places,” and was ultimately floored. (Five to one, but no takers.)

7.—The appearance of the Gipsy was considerably altered, but his friends insisted he was now fighting better, and thought they perceived a small turn in his favour. Anxiety and friendship for a man, in addition to backing, too often punishes the pocket of the amateur—he does not view the contest in a proper light. The Gipsy was still mischievous, and a chance blow might win the battle. (“Be on your guard,” said the Pet. “Give nothing away. Be ready for him; he’s coming, wild as an ox.”) Sam waited for his adversary, met him in the head, and in the struggle for the throw both went down.

8.—In this early stage of the battle it was a guinea to a dump as to the best fighter. Sam did as he pleased, as a superior tactician, and finished this round in great style by a flooring hit. Any odds.

9.—The Gipsy was piping, all abroad, and of little use, with his index out of shape. He was also fatigued, yet he went to work desperately, in order to obtain something like a chance in his favour. It, however, was “no go.” The wildness of the Gipsy was fast leaving him; and the jobbers he received at every turn rendered him nearly stupid. He was hit down distressed.

10.—It was “bellows to mend” with Cooper—in addition to which, Sam’s fists were never out of his face until he was floored. (Thirty to ten. “Take him away; he can’t win it.”)

11.—The Gipsy in this round endeavoured to hit up, which, if it had told upon Sam’s nose, might have been dangerous. But he was punished severely, and in endeavouring to make a return Cooper fell exhausted.

12.—The Gipsy was nearly done over, but he was gay, fought like a man, and contended till he went down. (“Take him away.”)

13.—Wildness and mischief was still the tactics of Cooper, but it was all up with him as to victory. Sam planted his hits as safely as if he had been attacking a dead mark. The Gipsy down.

14.—Cooper was now so distressed that all the champagne in Charley Wright’s extensive cellars—successful as it is in most cases towards recruiting drooping spirits—would have proved of no use towards renovating the strength of the defeated Gipsy. He was severely punished till he went down like a log of wood. (“Pray take the brave fellow away!”)

15, and last.—All things have an end, and the Gipsy was compelled to submit to defeat. Like a drowning man that catches at a straw, Cooper made a desperate rush as his last effort. But Sam finished his opponent by a tremendous blow on the nose as he was falling forward, which deprived him of his senses. When time was called the Gipsy was deaf to it, and Sam was declared the winner. The Young ’Un left the ring little the worse for the combat, excepting his hands, which were much swelled. The Gipsy did not open his eyes for several minutes, when he was not only carried out of the ring, but also to the nearest public-house. In fact, Cooper could not stand. The battle was over in thirty-eight minutes.

Remarks.—Sam not only proved himself worthy the confidence of his backers, but he raised himself a step higher in the sporting world by his victory over Tom Cooper. He won the battle like a master of his art. His coolness was admirable. He was perfectly prepared at all points, and he met his man with all the skill of an experienced warrior. Cooper did not disgrace himself by this defeat, but he ought to have paid more attention to science. His mode of fighting may suddenly dispose of ugly commoners in a street row, but with a skilful pugilist, when desperation is stopped, the chance is gone, and it is a heart-broken attempt to retrieve the day.

At Ascot Races, on Thursday, June 8th, 1826, after His Majesty (Geo. IV.) had left the ground, a subscription purse of £50 was subscribed for a fight. Sam, determined not to let a chance pass him, entered the lists.

This mill was patronised by some swells of the first order, £50 being collected in the Royal Stand with little difficulty, and great interest was manifested by the spectators when Young Sam was announced as prepared to contend for the prize-money. It will be observed that only six weeks had elapsed since his last fight, and Sam’s hands were said to be somewhat damaged. His opponent, Bill Carroll, was a good man. He was seconded by M’Kenzie and Lenney; and Sam was handled by Dick Curtis and Barney Aaron. Sam took the lead, at two to one, till the tenth round, when he received a severe cross-buttock. This circumstance rather alarmed his friends; but he soon recovered from its effects, and finished off his man in a canter, in sixteen rounds, occupying thirty minutes. The Duke of Wellington was present during the fight, and subscribed £30 towards the stakes, and to a purse for the losing man.

From the great improvement exhibited by Sam, not only in his person, but his knowledge of milling, he was matched, without hesitation, against Jack Cooper, known as the Slashing Gipsy, for £50. This contest was decided upon a stage, on Tuesday, February 27th, 1827, at Andover, after Dick Curtis had defeated Barney Aaron. The Gipsy, attended by Jem Ward and Mr. Nathan, ascended the stage, and Dutch Sam was waited upon by his faithful friends Josh Hudson and Dick Curtis. The appearance of the latter hero as Sam’s second excited general surprise. Curtis said, “Gentlemen, a bet was laid me, ten pounds to one, that I did not win the fight and second Young Dutch Sam. I believe,” said he, laughing, “I shall win both events.” The combatants appeared in excellent condition; Sam seemed lively as a dancing-master, and full of confidence. The Gipsy’s mahogany mug bore a smile of triumph as, after shaking hands, the men set to.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Sam did not exhibit the determined character of his late sire, who was considered the hardest hitter of his time. Young Sam stepped in and out exactly after the lively manner of Curtis, and he also held up his hands like that great master of the art of self-defence. The Pet is a model for all boxers; and Uncle Ben (Burn) publicly expressed his regret that his Nevvy Jem was not at Andover, to have taken a lesson from the battle between Curtis and Aaron. Sam endeavoured to make a hit, after long sparring; but the Gipsy got away from mischief. A precious long pause, and both upon the watching system; at length the Gipsy went in hand over head, and planted a heavy blow on the left arm of Sam, which left its mark. (“I say, governor,” observed an old ring-goer, “if that there hit had knocked at the door of Sam’s victualling office, summat would have been the matter.”) Sam, on the alert, got away from another random shot. The Gipsy followed Sam all over the stage, but gained nothing by his bustling system. The Young One planted a facer; an exchange of blows was made, but Sam had the best of it. In closing, the strength of the Gipsy prevailed, and Sam went down upon his knees.

2.—This was a long round, Sam taking his time to punish his opponent. After several pauses, feints, and other manœuvres, Sam gave a facer which produced “first blood.” The Gipsy, rather wild, rushed in and planted a body blow; but it was a chance hit. Sam, upon the whole, was too leary for his opponent, and having Curtis at his elbow might be considered three points in his favour. He nobbed the Gipsy frequently, without any return. The long space of twenty-five minutes elapsed before this round was finished. In struggling for the throw, both down, the Gipsy undermost. Sam for £100.

3.—The Gipsy, at times, stopped well; but in general he had little discretion about his hitting; he, however, planted a body blow. Sam kept out of mischief with considerable skill, every now and then planting facers, which put the Gipsy out of temper—nay, made him so wild that he rushed in like a bull, and by a sort of scrambling pull, he got the Young One down; five and six to four on Sam.

4.—Had Sam been a punishing hitter, the numerous blows which the Gipsy had received upon his mug must have reduced the fight at this period to a complete certainty, and also short in its duration. Cooper is always a dangerous customer, and his scrambling hits may win a fight. Sam, aware of this feature belonging to the Gipsy, kept out of harm’s way with considerable talent, nobbing the Bush Cove at his leisure. The Gipsy’s mug was bleeding profusely, and in rushing in to do mischief, he ran himself down weak.

5.—This was a long round, but the Gipsy, although desperate at times, could not turn the fight in his favour. The face of Sam did not exhibit punishment. It is but right to observe that Cooper stopped several well-meant blows; but he fought open-handed, and missed numerous hits. If he had measured his distance properly, another account might, perhaps, have been given of the battle. The face of the Gipsy was bleeding in every direction, and he did his utmost to win. In struggling for the throw Sam undermost.

6.—“You need not be in a hurry, Sam,” said Dick, “you are sure to win it; he’s about cutting it now. It is £100 to a kick of the rump.” Sam planted a facer that sent the Gipsy staggering, but he returned to the charge, and fought desperately. In closing Sam fibbed Cooper down. Six to one upon Sam, and “Take him away! He’s of no use!”

7.—The Gipsy, quite abroad, ran at his opponent like a madman, receiving facers at every step; nevertheless, he bustled Sam about, who appeared a little distressed. In closing the Gipsy again napped it severely, and went down, covered with claret. (“Take him away!”)

8.—Strange to say, the Gipsy answered the call of time with alacrity. He also made two good stops. (“Bravo, Gipsy! you behave like a brave fellow!”) Sam now had nothing to do but wait for the rush of his opponent and nob him with ease and certainty. The Gipsy was again punished severely till he went down. (“It is all up now! ten pounds to a crown he does not toe the scratch again! Take him away!”)

9, and last.—The Gipsy, however, showed fight, and proved himself a much gamer man than his friends had anticipated. But he only stood up to receive. Sam milled him down without ceremony. The Gipsy would again have answered the call of time. He was game enough to have had another round, but his backer humanely interfered, and said “he should fight no more.” The battle continued for one hour three minutes and a half. It is impossible to describe the joy felt by Sam; he performed some regular dancing steps in the ring on being declared the winner.

Remarks.—Sam is an improving fighter; and if he can but add force to his blows, bids fairly for the highest honours of the P.R. He left the ring without a mark upon his face, and no casual observer could have told that he had been engaged in a battle. The face of the Gipsy exhibited severe punishment. Jack Cooper never took anything like such a licking before. He did his best to win, and the bravest could not have done more. Sam is anxious to get higher on the pugilistic list; and if he can find friends to back him, expresses no hesitation to fight Bishop Sharpe. We should say, upon this point, to him, “Be bold, but not too bold!” But the Young One, perhaps, knows best what he is about. He asserts that he fancies “the Bishop” as a customer in preference to any other boxer in the Ring.

In the days of old “the road to the fight” was one of the features of sporting life, nor was the “return from the fight” made without its vicissitudes. On this occasion the sudden alteration in the weather, and the overwhelming showers of rain, rendered the roads almost impassable between Andover and Basingstoke, and the men and horses were beaten to a stand-still. But “it is an ill wind that blows no one any good,” and the “Wheatsheaf Inn,” at Virginia Water, was not neglected either in the journey from or return to London. A good larder, excellent tipple, prime beds, and moderate charges are sure recommendations to the sporting world; and here many of the London division rested for the night. Curtis and Sam arrived in town on Wednesday night, with full pockets, and amidst hearty greetings. Before he left Andover for London, Sam called upon the Gipsy, and made him a present of two sovereigns.

On Thursday, March 1st, 1827, Young Dutch Sam took his benefit at the Tennis Court, and was well supported. The sets-to generally went good, the wind-up by Young Sam and Ned Stockman. Sam was as gay as a lark, fresh as a four-year-old, and quite ready for another mill. Stockman stood up well against his clever adversary; but Sam had decidedly the best of the bout. Curtis also appeared at the Court, and was congratulated by his numerous friends upon his recent conquest over Aaron. His face was considerably swollen, and the handiwork of Barney evident. The Star of the East also showed himself. Barney’s peepers were completely in mourning; his mouth also damaged, and he complained of soreness of his throat. He was quite cheerful, consoling himself that he had done his duty like a brave and honest man.

The Gipsy did not exhibit much punishment—his head was rather out of shape—a proof that Sam was not so hard a hitter as the Pet. Sam himself had no visible signs of recent fighting about his nob; his face was entirely free from marks. He returned thanks for the support he had received, and hoped he had given his friends satisfaction.

Dick Davis, the “Pet of Manchester,” stood so high in the provincial Fancy, from his repeated conquests, that the patrons of boxing in Manchester were determined Davis should have a shy in the London Ring. He was accordingly matched with Young Sam for £100 a-side. This battle was decided on Tuesday, June 19th, 1827, near Stony Stratford. The journey was rather too long for the cockneys, being nearly sixty miles from the sound of Bow bells; as it is also one hundred and twenty-nine miles from Manchester, it was also above a joke for the Manchester lads to leave their homes. Therefore the muster of the Fancy was but thin at Stony Stratford, although the battle between Sam and Davis excited considerable interest among the lovers of boxing, both in town and country. Davis was a native of Lancashire, and twenty-eight years of age. He was employed in Mr. Peel’s iron foundry, at Manchester, as a moulder—in height about five feet six inches and a quarter, weighing ten stone twelve pounds. Davis, by his numerous victories, stood high as a milling cove; and his friends at Manchester flattered themselves that he was invincible, as with his country opponents he was never particular as to weight and size. Davis defeated twice Jack Wilson, also Witman twice; with Tom Reynolds he made a capital battle, which was brought to a wrangle; and he likewise defeated Fidler Hall. Davis entertained an opinion that he could conquer any pugilist of his own weight with the greatest certainty. Sam had now proved victorious in five battles; Ned Stockman, Jack and Tom Cooper (Gipsy), Carroll, and Harry Jones (the Sailor Boy), all in succession had surrendered to his conquering arm.

Davis, with two of his backers, and Phil. Sampson, arrived at Stony Stratford on Saturday, making the “Cross Keys” their headquarters. Davis wore his working dress, consisting of a fustian jacket and wide thick trousers; he also wore a check shirt, and he looked as rough a customer as might be met with in a day’s walk, offering in these respects a striking contrast to the smart and natty London boxer, who was a decided swell in dress and deportment.

Sam arrived with Curtis during Monday, and made his headquarters at the “George.” In walking through the streets of Stratford, the men met each other for the first time, and shook hands like brave fellows. After this rencontre, Davis appeared yet more confident he should prove the winner, the opinion of the countryman being that “such a fine gentleman couldn’t stand to be spoilt.”

On Tuesday morning the knowing ones laid their nobs together as to a spot of ground, and a field at Haversham, about five miles from Stony Stratford, was named as the scene of action. Thither the travellers repaired, and a few minutes past twelve o’clock Sam, attended by Curtis and Oliver, threw in his tile. Sam sported silk stockings. Davis appeared immediately afterwards, followed by Sampson, and Johnny Cheetham, of Manchester. The colours, yellow for each of the combatants, were tied to the stakes. Sam was the favourite for choice; but his friends were not inclined to give above five to four. Sam won the toss.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Davis reminded us of Bishop Sharpe, but was even more formidable in appearance. He had been well trained; in fact, he was up to the mark, and his heart also in the right place. To win, and nothing else but to win, he said, he left Manchester. Sam was gay as a lark, but his friends did not think him so well as he might have been, and one of his knuckles on the left hand was tender and swelled. Sam had the advantage in height and length, but the superiority in weight was with Davis. The latter hero looked every inch a milling cove. On appearing at the scratch Davis was still cautious, and watching the movements of Sam from his eyes down to his toe. Sam also measured his opponent at all points, and felt assured that he had a rum customer before him. Offers on both sides, but no blows; at length Davis rushed in, and slightly planted a hit on Sam’s arm. Sam, with great skill, crept, as it were, by degrees, up to his adversary, and let fly on Davis’s sensitive plant. Davis’s ogles winked again, (“Sam for £100!”) A trifling exchange occurred, when Sam cried, out, “First blood!” the claret slightly appearing on the mouth of Davis. Sam was not long before he planted another snouter, but Davis received it very coolly. Davis put in a body hit. Exchange of blows; when they separated, Sam waiting for another turn. A long pause. Davis would not make play. Sam planted another successful noser. Several minutes had elapsed; so much caution was observed on both sides that it was certain that a long fight would be the result. Sam retreated from some heavy work to a corner of the ring, where he received a bodier; but he returned a heavy nobber, which sent Davis staggering until he went down. This was considered a knock-down blow; and the two events had been obtained upon the part of Sam, as to first blood and the first knock-down blow. (The Samites opened their mouths like good ones, saying, it was as right as the day, and offering any money on the son of the Phenomenon.)

2.—Davis hit Sam on the ribs. Sam returned right and left. Davis missed two heavy blows. A long pause. Sam again felt for the nose of his opponent. Davis gave two body hits, but they were short, and not effective. Counter-hits; but the length of Sam gave him the “best of it.” Another tedious pause. Sam walked round his opponent to get an opening. (“As you are a fine fighter,” said Sampson, “why don’t you go to work?” Curtis observed to Sampson, “Do you recollect Ned Neale?”) Davis stopped a left-handed blow cleverly; he also got away from another. The men now went to work, and several blows were exchanged. In closing Sam endeavoured to fib his adversary; but the strength of Davis was too much for him, and in struggling for the throw Sam got down well. “Well done, Sam!” from the London boys.

3.—The claret was now visible upon the mug of Davis, and the nose-enders he had received put him on the winking system. This round was a truly tedious one—five minutes at a time and no blows passed. Sam was determined, like a skilful general, not to lose an inch of ground, and only to hit when it was a certainty to get home. Sam let fly, and the face of his adversary napped it. Some sharp fighting occurred, Davis endeavouring to do mischief, and he ultimately succeeded in planting a desperate left-handed hit on the side of Sam’s head, which floored the Young One. The Lancashire lads began to open their mouths—“That’s right, Dick!”—while the Samites not only looked blue, but were silent as fish.

4.—Sam looked rather stupid; he was labouring under the effects of the last blow. Davis did not follow up his success, but waited for Sam to make play. The latter with great ease put in a rum one, and Davis put up his hand to feel if his nose was in the right place. Sam stopped a well-meant body blow. A short rally, but Sam broke away. In closing some expressions of disapprobation saluted Davis for his mode of throwing. But as it did not appear to be done intentionally, the umpires did not notice it, and Sam was under.

5.—This was a short round, but the milling in it was better than in any of the preceding rounds. The exchanges were at par. Davis thrown.

6.—Several of the London Fancy began rather to be alarmed, and got their money off by backing Davis. Excepting his nob he was none the worse for the battle, although one hour and more had passed away. The science displayed by Sam was the delight of the amateurs; he jobbed Davis repeatedly; but the game of the latter was not to be reduced by the left-handed blows of Sam. The right eye of Davis was cut in the corner, and the claret was streaming from his nose. He made some counter-hits, but had the worst of the round until he went down.

7–9.—The fighting of Davis in all these rounds was the same; he would not go in; and stood out to be nosed at the will of Sam. The latter was thrown heavily in the last round.

10.—This was a long round. Sam was more than cautious; and under the circumstance of his bad hand his fighting was entitled to praise. The lip of Davis was cut severely. He received lots of smashers in the face, and the claret running down his throat annoyed the Lancashire man much. In closing Davis was under.

11–16.—The superiority of the style of Sam’s fighting in all these rounds gave him the lead; yet the goodness and game of Davis rendered him a troublesome customer. The latter could not get at Sam with anything like certainty, and therefore his favourite hits were at the body. Sam was thrown, and also received some heavy blows. In the last round he received a severe cross-buttock.

17–21.—(“Pray take him away,” said Tom Oliver to his backer; “he is one of the gamest fellows I ever saw, but he cannot win; you will get yourself into trouble—nay, all of us. It is a shame to let such a brave fellow fight any longer.” “Well done, Tommy,” replied a Manchester covey; “he is not half licked yet; Davis will soon begin; he can’t lose it. Sam has not strength to lick a baby.”) The head of Davis, by the repeated jobbers he had received, was quite out of shape; both his peepers were damaged, his cheeks puffed up, and his nose cut and bleeding. But his backers relied upon his gameness, and several of them calculated upon his winning. The last round was well fought, and rather in favour of Davis, who went in to fight. Sam was down.

22, 23, 24.—Nose and mouth. Although it might be termed quite safe to Sam, and three to one offered upon him, yet the son of the Phenomenon treated Davis as a dangerous rival, and kept out of mischief. He jobbed Davis at his leisure, reducing his strength every round. (“Take him away!” from all parts of the ring.)

25–27.—Davis would not listen to anything like “giving in,” and although his nose was hit two or three times in every round, he fought in the most manly style. He was down in every round. (“Take him away!”)

28.—The gameness of Davis never deserted him and it did appear to the spectators that he would sooner part with his life than lose the battle. (Ten pounds to a crown—any odds—but no takers.) Davis sent down.

29, 30, and last.—Davis again appeared at the scratch and showed fight. Sam now did as he liked with his brave opponent, punishing him in all directions, until he hit him down in the corner of the ring. His backers said Davis should not fight any more. In fact, Davis could not have appeared again at the scratch. The fight occupied three hours and thirty-five minutes.

Remarks.—Against a fine fighter like Dutch Sam something more than gameness is required. Davis may defeat a mob of yokels, but it is quite a different thing to tackle London prize-fighters. Davis is a good man, a scientific hard hitter, and stands up like a chopping-block; but the above requisites, although essential to a boxer, will not ensure victory unless he can fight more than a little. He must learn to give as well as to take; a receiver-general is but a foolish character. Davis was severely punished about the head. Had he gone in according to the direction of Sampson a different account might have been given of the fight; yet it is but common justice to say of Davis that he exerted himself all in his power to win the battle. Sam, notwithstanding it took him upwards of three hours to defeat his opponent, won the fight like a first-rate tactician. If the left hand of Sam had not been injured he would probably have won the battle in half the time. He left the ring quite fresh, and could have fought another hour without difficulty.

The backers of Sam, without hesitation, now pitted him against the “all-conquering Bishop Sharpe” for £100 a-side. This match excited an unusual degree of interest. Sharpe had the majority in his favour, particularly the old ring-goers; nevertheless, Young Sam stood well with the Corinthians and the lovers of fine fighting. The following remarks as to the different capabilities of the combatants were published a few days previous to the day appointed for the battle to take place: “First on the list stands Bishop Sharpe, the Bold Smuggler, who has proved himself successful in upwards of twenty battles, both in and out of the Prize Ring. The Smuggler never picked his customers, but took them as they came, and always got through the piece with victory. As a fighter, Bishop Sharpe is not generally admired; but as a hitter he is tremendous, and one blow well planted has often rendered it ‘no go’ to his opponents. The Sage of the East pronounces him to be ‘prodigious;’ and the John Bull Fighter asserts, ‘He hits them as I like, and so hard as his opponents do not like!’ But Sharpe will be opposed by a ‘leary’ fighter in Sam, cautious in a high degree, and who has a very great aversion to be hit at all. This renders Sam a very difficult cove to be ‘got at.’ He is also a very dangerous adversary for those customers who like to ‘go in,’ as he nobs and gets away, frequently without any return; his blows are considered light, and of the sparring school; but the Manchester Pet tells another tale. We are inclined to think—nay, almost certain—that Young Sam cannot punish anything like his late papa, nor hit as hard; but he has a knack of hitting a man twice in a place which nearly amounts to the same thing. Sam is confidence personified, and the Bishop thinks victory is as safe to him as if the battle were at an end. Sharpe is at present the favourite, five to four.”

Tuesday, October 23rd, 1827, was the day set apart for the battle to take place, and great anxiety was manifested upon the event. Many of the Londoners started overnight for the scene of action; and in consequence the Bonifaces on the road to No Man’s Land came in for a turn, more especially at St. Albans, the “Blue Boar” being the grand rallying point.

Before peep of day on Tuesday morning, the North London road was covered with vehicles of every description, filled with the lads of the Fancy, picturing to themselves a prime day’s play between Sam and the Bishop, and the complete fill up of the scene by Barney Aaron and Redmond. The “Crown,” at Holloway, kept by Joe Emms, was attractive; Young on Highgate Hill was not forgotten; Pepper, at the “King’s Arms” at Barnet, came in for a good slice, and “Little Tim’s Crib,” near to the twelfth milestone, was overflowing with company.

Sharpe, on the Monday evening, made his quarters at St. Albans, and Sam took up his residence for the night at “Little Tim’s.”

As the day wore on, it was ascertained that a screw was loose, and five to one offered that no fight would take place. Such was the state of things for two or three hours at St. Albans; at length it was announced that Sam was upon the road, and he shortly afterwards made his appearance in a post-chaise.

Time was on the wing; and Sharpe and his seconds, Peter Crawley and Ward, made the best of their way to No Man’s Land, where the ring had been previously made by Joe Fishwick. At one o’clock Bishop Sharpe threw his hat into the ring, according to custom, in order to claim the stakes should Sam not make his appearance, but Sam, attended by Curtis and Harry Holt, showed himself within the ropes. All was happiness amongst the crowd for a few minutes, and nothing but a scientific battle expected to take place; but the mishap was soon developed; Sam took off his fogle, but the remainder of his toggery remained untouched. The traps now appeared, and said they had a warrant against Sam; but on no occasion whatever did officers ever conduct themselves more gently, or act “according to their instructions” to behave in a gentlemanly manner to the offender against the law, than these did. This compliment is most certainly due to them. The warrant was demanded, and was soon brought to light. It purported to be from Marylebone Office, signed by Mr. Rawlinson, directing all constables, &c., “to apprehend Samuel Evans and bring him before the said magistrate of the county of Middlesex, on suspicion of his being about to commit a breach of the peace with one Bishop Sharpe.” During the conference with the traps, the Bishop addressed himself to several gentlemen in the ring, observing, “It is too bad—it is rascally conduct to rob me of the battle-money,” and taking off his clothes, went up to his opponent, and said to him, “Sam, do you mean to fight? I am ready for you.” Sam replied, “What am I to do?—I can’t fight in the face of the officers.” His seconds, Holt and Curtis, declared they would not give a chance away by seconding Sam in defiance of the law. The traps, to prevent any further misunderstanding on the subject, and to make “their visit pleasant,” in the most gentle manner gave Sam a hint that his services in the ring would be dispensed with, so, like “a good boy,” he retired from within the ropes without giving them any further trouble. Bishop Sharpe put on his clothes; but before he left the ring he said he had no doubt the lovers of fair play would not let him be deprived of the stakes, and thus the affair ended.

On Thursday, October 25th, 1827, the Pet of the Fancy took his benefit at the Tennis Court; and, considering the unfavourable state of the weather, it was a good one. Several bouts proved attractive; but the great feature of the day was the set-to between Harry Holt and Young Dutch Sam. This gave the amateurs an opportunity of judging of Sam’s condition; and, in the general opinion of the audience, he appeared nothing wanting; on the contrary, he was considered up to the mark. Young Sam was pitted against one of the best sparrers on the list, and one who has had great experience, not only in fighting with Jack Randall, but continually setting-to with the Nonpareil in his best days. Holt has been opposed to all the first-rate men on the list, and always proved himself a distinguished scientific artist. The attack and defence were a masterpiece on both sides. Harry was perfectly aware that he had a troublesome customer before him, and Sam had not to learn that the eyes of all the Court were on him. We do not know a better opponent than Holt for Sam to produce a trial scene for the Fancy in order that they may draw their own conclusions. Harry was capital, and Sam proved himself excellent. The “best of it” was of a doubtful nature, and a feather in the scales of candour and justice might have been the award on either side; but it should be recollected that Sam was in condition, and Harry quite out of it. This, however, was not the point in view; but the most remarkable and valuable feature in the above set-to was this—Sam, it was seen, could change his mode of fighting as circumstances presented themselves—no hopping about, no standing still, but stopping and hitting his opponent with the utmost ease, rallying like the most determined boxer, and getting out of trouble with ease, style, and decision. Indeed, such was the display of Sam and Harry Holt that the greatest admirers of Bishop Sharpe on witnessing the set-to, must have pronounced the “Young One” a formidable and dangerous customer to the Bold Smuggler. Tumultuous applause crowned their exertions and exits from the stage. It was pronounced by the whole of the visitors one of the best sets-to ever witnessed at the Tennis Court.

Several persons of rank who were present wished that Sam would give some explanation on the subject of his not fighting with Sharpe. He replied “that he had no explanation to give; he had been used very ill, and it was not his fault!”

Decision of the Stakeholder.—The “Castle Tavern” was overflowing on Wednesday, October 24th, 1827; Bishop Sharpe and his backers were present. The stakes of £200 were demanded by the Bishop, on the score that he was in the ring, and ready to fight, according to the articles of agreement. He said that Sam had declined to fight through the collusion of parties, under the idea they would lose their blunt if he fought, and not on account of any fair magisterial interruption. One of the backers of the “Young One” resisted the stakes being given up until the whole of Sam’s backers were present, as they had nothing to do with the matter in dispute. The stakeholder, Tom Belcher, considered, in point of right and fairness, the Bishop was entitled to the battle-money, and accordingly gave Sharpe one hundred pounds, holding the other hundred as an indemnity against any legal proceedings which might be instituted against the stakeholder.

Sam, full of pluck, and anxious to obtain a job, offered to fight Peace Inglis, but no match was made.

In April, 1827, Dan M’Kenzie was matched against Young Sam for £50 a-side, but the backers of M’Kenzie ultimately preferred a forfeiture to running the risk of a battle.

In a set-to with “the Young Gas” at the Tennis Court, Sam distinguished himself, proving a most troublesome customer. Jonathan had “all his work to do” to prevent his being placed in the background by the superior tactics of Young Sam.

The set-to between Young Sam and Harry Holt had given so much satisfaction to the amateurs that a second bout was called for by the admirers of the art of self-defence. At the benefit of Jem Burn at the Tennis Court on Tuesday, December 11th, 1827, the above pugilists again met. Sam, as a rising performer, appeared anxious to obtain the superiority, and Holt was equally on the alert to prevent losing his laurels obtained as an accomplished sparrer. The latter defended himself with considerable skill; but the length and activity of Sam ultimately gave him the advantage. Upon quitting the stage they received thunders of applause from a delighted audience.

The following statement, addressed to the sporting world, appeared in the newspapers in vindication of Young Sam’s character:—

“November 1st, 1827.

“Gentlemen,—I have been much surprised to perceive that almost all the blame of the disappointment experienced by the fancy owing to the fight not taking place between Bishop Sharpe and myself has been laid upon my shoulders, and yet I have been unquestionably the greatest sufferer; for I am confident that had no interruption taken place the battle-money would be now in my possession. An inference is drawn to my prejudice that as the warrant from the Mary-la-bonne Office was granted on the information of my mother, I had employed her to give such information, or, at least, that she acted with my knowledge and consent; but I declare most solemnly that this was not the case. I had no previous knowledge whatever that any one intended to adopt such a course, nor did I know that such a warrant was issued, till informed of it on the morning of fighting. Whether or not this warrant was obtained at the instance of persons who had taken a strange alarm and were afraid to risk their money on me, I shall not pretend to say; but of this the Fancy may be assured, that I meant to do my best to win, and felt fully confident of success. With respect to the assertion that the officers had no authority to take me, as their warrant was issued from Middlesex, and was not backed by a Hertfordshire magistrate, I can safely plead that they told me they certainly had full powers to act, and I did not feel sufficiently acquainted with legal niceties to resist their authority. I could not venture to fight in defiance of a couple of experienced officers, who I reasonably concluded must be much better judges of the extent of their powers than I could be. As to the alleged error of a misnomer in the warrant, my real name is Samuel Evans, so that the document was correctly drawn in that respect at least. The whole affair has ended most unfortunately for me; I am bound over to ‘keep the peace towards all his Majesty’s liege subjects for twelve months,’ and am thus prevented from exercising my profession in the Ring during that period—a consequence of most serious import to a young man who, vanity apart, was rising into notice, and had been hitherto invariably successful. Of course, it is useless for me to talk of making any match at present; but, when the above period has expired, I shall be prepared to fight any man in England, of my weight, for from £100 to £500. And now a word or two to Bishop Sharpe: If he has one spark of English feeling belonging to him, he will not fail to give me the preference as soon as I am free from the fetters of the law and able to meet him. I have a prior claim upon his notice, and shall never rest satisfied till I have a fair opportunity of proving which is the best man. Good luck, and the unfair precipitation of the stakeholder, have placed the battle-money for our late match in the Bishop’s possession (to which, under all the circumstances, he was not entitled); let him add to the windfall as much more as he pleases up to £500, and, at the end of one year from the date of this letter, I will fight him for the whole.

“Yours, &c.,

SAMUEL EVANS

“(Commonly called Young Dutch Sam).”

During the twelve months of enforced exclusion from the ring as a principal, Sam figured in a turn-up in February, 1828, with a big carman who insulted his friend, Dick Curtis, near London Bridge, polishing off the wagon-driving Hercules in five rounds. The affair will be found in the memoir of Dick Curtis, post.

In the autumn of 1828, in consequence of some personal unpleasantness, the veteran Jack Martin (the once-renowned conqueror of Scroggins, Josh Hudson, Phil. Sampson, and Ned Turner) challenged Young Sam to the battle-field, and a match was made for £100 a-side. For some months this affair was the talk of sporting circles; Sam’s conduct being the subject of much censure. At length, all preliminaries being arranged, the men met on the 4th of November, 1828, at Knowle Hill, Berks, thirty-four miles from London, a spot celebrated from its having been the scene of similar exhibitions on a former occasion—we allude to the fights between George Cooper and Baldwin, Young Dutch Sam and Ned Stockman, and Goodman and Reidie, all of which were decided on the same excellent arena without interruption. In fact, a more suitable spot could not have been selected; first, from its being at a distance from any populous neighbourhood; and next, from one side of the grounds being bounded by a gradual elevation, from which the spectators could look down upon the sports as from a sort of amphitheatre. The distance from London, too, four-and-thirty miles, brought the journey within the scope of a day, and enabled the amateurs to go and return without any serious sacrifice of time or labour.

Both men had been attentive to their training; Martin at Milford, in Surrey, and Sam first at Hartley Row, and then at the “New Inn,” Staines. In the early part of his training, Martin, from having but just recovered from a severe fit of illness, as well as from the deep wound which his feelings had sustained, was in anything but promising condition. At last he came out with every appearance of renovated health. At his benefit, on the previous Tuesday, he seemed to have reached his pristine vigour, and, as he said himself, was quite as well as an “old ’un” could expect to be. Of the result of the battle he always spoke with perfect confidence, and led his friends to believe that victory was certain. So persuaded was he himself of this issue that he advised all whom he knew to back him without hesitation, and actually gave them money to lay out on his account. In the end this confidence proved to be misplaced, and the milling maxim that “old stale ones are of no use to young fresh ones,” was fully exemplified; Martin, who had been for some years a licensed victualler, being in his thirty-third year, while Sam’s summers numbered but twenty-one. It was stipulated in the articles that Martin should not weigh more than 11st. 7lbs. on the morning of fighting—a superfluous condition, seeing that his weight, in his prime, was under 11st., and his recent illness had reduced him some pounds. Sam stated his weight at 10st. 12lbs.; to us he looked more than half a stone heavier. The toss for choice of place was won by Sam, and he very naturally named the scene of his former good fortune. On Monday afternoon Martin reached the “Castle Inn,” on the further side of Maidenhead; and Sam, accompanied by Dick Curtis and other friends, shifted his quarters from Old Shirley’s at Staines, to the same neighbourhood. It was soon ascertained that the magistracy would not interfere, and the anticipation of the approaching contest was thus unalloyed by those fears which were but too common even in those days in meetings of a like character.

The road from London during Monday afternoon was crowded by drags of every description. A great number pushed on to Maidenhead, while others pulled up at Cranford Bridge, Colnbrook, or Slough.

The dawn of day produced a new cavalcade from all quarters. Carriages, post-chaises, and gigs kept pouring through the town all the morning in an almost uninterrupted line, reminding men of the days when Crawley Downs was the favourite resort of the Fancy. Many persons of distinction were among the motley assemblage, whose patronage, under the encouragement afforded by the Fair Play Club, was hourly increasing. The weather was as propitious as the most fastidious could desire; the sun shone with brilliancy, and every countenance seemed gladdened by the cheering prospect of a good day’s sport.

The Commissary was early on the ground, and formed the ring with his usual judgment. The whole was surrounded by wagons and other vehicles, which were drawn up three and four deep, and the most perfect regularity was preserved. As the hour of combat approached the throng came rattling in from every point of the compass, and the “yellowman” of Sam and the “blue bird’s-eye fogle” of Martin were everywhere sported. Tom Cribb and most of the old members of the P.R. were present, and we were glad to recognise in the circle many of those old Fancy mugs whose countenance in former days lent life to the scene.

At half-past twelve there were not less than ten thousand persons assembled. At this time the F.P.C. whips were put into the hands of twelve of the “Order of Regulators,” and the ring was immediately cleared of interlopers, all of whom, with a few exceptions, retired behind an outer ring of ropes, in which situation they remained throughout the contest.

At a quarter before one o’clock it was announced that both men were on the ground, and in a few minutes afterwards Sam entered the ring, attended by Dick Curtis and Jem Ward. He looked serious, and was a little pale, but still appeared well and confident.

In a few minutes afterwards Martin entered from the opposite side of the circle, attended by Tom Spring and Peter Crawley. He was received with loud cheers, and appeared in high spirits. He came forward with a smile on his countenance, as if, to use the words of an old toast, “the present moment was the most happy of his life.”

Martin paid but little attention to his antagonist, while Sam eyed him with a searching look, and, turning towards his friends, said, “It will be seen to-day whether fear forms any part of my composition.” On peeling, Martin showed a fine muscular pair of understandings, and had some good points upwards; but it was obvious that his frame was not in its prime. His breast showed marks of recent blisters as well as the bites of leeches, and the flesh about his collar-bone and ribs wanted that fulness and freshness which betoken good health. Sam was “all over right,” and was evidently in slap-up condition. Though not so well pinned as Martin, his upper works were symmetry itself, and the fine muscle of his shoulders and arms was visible at every move. At length, both men being ready, the toss for choice of position took place, and was won by Curtis. The men then went to the scratch, and shook hands slightly, and immediately threw themselves into position. Breathless silence prevailed, and the seconds retired to their corners. At this time the betting was twenty-five to twenty on Martin.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The men set to across the sun, with their sides to it, and each got close to the side of the ring. Sam had the higher ground, and made one or two dips or half plunges with his left, as if going to let fly; but Martin was steady, and held his arms well up to guard his nob. In this way they stood opposite each other for some seconds, when Sam again made a feint with his left. Martin immediately broke away, and veering round, got the upper ground, so that they, in fact, changed positions. Three minutes had now elapsed, when Sam hit out slightly with his right, but was stopped. He tried it again, and popped in his left and right with great force on Martin’s right eye and left cheek. Martin then rushed in to a rally, but was cleverly met by Sam with his left, and both hit away, Sam well in, and quick with his right and left. Martin slipped on his knees from the moist state of the ground, or from a hit in the neck, but was up in a moment. Sam, ready at all points, instantly plunged in to a close in the corner of the ring, and a desperate struggle ensued, each trying for the advantage, Sam hitting right and left at the body and head, while Martin grasped him round the neck. Sam cleverly disentangled his left hand, and delivered a slashing hit on his right eye; he then hit him with the right, and both still continued to struggle with all their force, Martin receiving some severe hits, but making no return; at last Sam threw out his leg, and catching Martin on his thigh, flung him over, and fell heavily on him. The ring was in an uproar, and all Martin’s friends in dismay. It was a fearful but decisive struggle in favour of Sam, for on Martin rising to his second’s knee his right eye was closed and dreadfully swollen, while his face exhibited other marks of Sam’s handiwork. Sam himself had not a mark. “It’s all over,” was the general cry—“Sam must win;” and, indeed, it was evident that Martin was quite abroad, as well as obviously distressed. The round lasted five minutes, and six and seven to four were freely offered on Sam, but no takers, for all were too much astonished to think of hedging.

2.—Both men came to the scratch with deliberation, and each seemed desirous of recruiting his wind, which was in full play from the violence of the previous struggle. Sam again poised himself on his left leg, keeping his head well up, and his fists ready for delivery. At length Martin, as if he considered something desperate was necessary, hit out with his right, but the blow fell short; he then rushed in, but was met cleverly by Sam with his left. Martin, quite wild, bored him to the ropes, but Sam, cool and steady, broke away and jobbed him with his right. Martin, rather abroad, now tried at the body, and rushed in with his head down—Sam again met him with his right, and closed, when he caught poor Jack’s nob under his right arm, and hit up with his left ultimately flooring him, and falling on his head. Three to one on Sam, and no takers.

3.—Sam cautious, and in no hurry to begin. Martin stood with his back close to the ropes, and many thought Sam ought to have gone in to finish. He seemed to think, however, he had the game in his own hands, and was evidently collecting his wind. At last he put in a fearful job with his right on Martin’s left eye, and again with his left on the nose, drawing claret in abundance. Martin broke away and took up fresh ground (Approbation). Both got to the corner of the ring, and again waited for Captain Wind-’em. Martin hit out with his left, but was neatly stopped, and Sam smiled; Martin then tried his right, but was short, and this was followed by another desperate rally, in which Sam’s deliveries, right and left, were precise and severe. His hitting was admirable, and style of attack beautiful. Quick as lightning Martin had it in the chops, without being able to make a successful return, and again in the throat. At last Martin closed for the fall, running in with his head down, and succeeded in getting Sam down, and falling upon him. (Ten minutes had now expired, and it was pretty evident the first round had taken the fight out of Martin).

4.—Martin all abroad; but still kept his hands well up. At length he rushed in with his head down, and attempted to deliver a body hit, which fell on Sam’s breast. Sam stepped back and met him as he came in, and then closing hit up with great force, and delivered a tremendous body blow with his right. In the struggle for the fall both went down, Martin under.

5.—Spring now called for a lancet, if possible, to let the blood from Martin’s right eye, but could not obtain one; he endeavoured to scarify the skin with a penknife, but without effect, and poor Jack was again brought to the scratch, when Sam lost little time in jobbing left and right on the sore spots. This dose he repeated and broke away. Martin rushed in wild, hitting right and left, but short and without effect. Sam again closed, fibbed, and threw him. (Fourteen minutes had elapsed.)

6.—Martin came up quite abroad, when Sam, after a feint, threw in a tremendous smack with his right on the left jaw, and dropped him, thus winning the first knock-down blow as well as the first blood.

7th, and last.—It was now Bushey Park to a lark sod. On Martin being brought to the scratch Sam jobbed him right and left on the head and ear, and repeated this discipline till his man went down completely abroad and woefully punished. He tried to make a rally, but it was all in vain, and on being lifted up by Spring, he said it was no use, he was too stale, and had not a chance. Spring tried to persuade him to get up for a few more rounds, but he would not “have it,” and on his rising on his legs Spring gave in for him. He then walked a few paces, and Spring gave him his knee when he complained of his being sick at stomach. Sam was declared the victor in sixteen minutes.

Remarks.—In the history of Martin’s pugilistic feats—with the exception, perhaps, of his quick despatch by Jack Randall in his second fight, upon which so much was said at the time—we never witnessed greater disappointment or astonishment than was manifested on the present occasion. Hundreds of individuals, many of the highest respectability, who had long since abandoned the sports of the Ring, were induced to come from distant parts of the country in full confidence that they would be gratified by seeing something worth looking at, but what was their surprise to find that their anticipations were groundless, and that the man on whose talent and game they had relied proved to be below mediocrity, indeed, we have never seen even the most unpretending commoner so easily and so quickly disposed of. After the first round, in fact, he had not the ghost of a chance. It is said that he was taken by surprise by the quick assault of Sam, who from being a cautious out-fighter suddenly changed his style and became the assailant. This may have been the case; and we know that Sam, under the advice of Dick Curtis, adopted this mode as the most likely to puzzle a man of Martin’s bustling manner. Sam’s first feints were evidently dictated by a desire to try what Martin meant, and whether he would stand to be jobbed if an opening offered. The experiment told. Curtis saw the advantage, and exclaiming to Sam, “Go it!” the latter at once made play. This quickness immediately drew Martin to a rally, in which he clearly lost his presence of mind, and left himself open to the severe punishment, which he received without making anything like a return. Feeling the sting of Sam’s hits he had recourse rather to hugging and endeavouring to get his man down than to the more prudent course of dropping or breaking away. This effort in his state of constitution was decidedly the worst he could have made, as it could only lead to exhaustion on his part much more easily than with his more vigorous and youthful assailant. It also gave Sam an opportunity of hanging upon him, and fibbing him in a way which, of all things ought to have been evaded. Sam was alive to all his advantages and availed himself of them in the most decisive manner, and in so short a time we have seldom witnessed more decided execution. If anything were wanting to prove the “patched up” state of Martin’s frame, it was the rapidity with which his eye puffed up from the effect of Sam’s left-handed hit, and the distress which he exhibited when he was placed on his second’s knee. It has been observed that after this he lost his temper, but to this we do not subscribe, as he came up with great coolness and courage. He had, however, sufficient reason to lose his confidence, which combined with the punishment he had received, led him to the wild efforts he subsequently made, and exposed him to the excellent generalship which Sam displayed—not only in averting his antagonist’s injudicious rushes, but in making the best of the openings which were offered. It is true that after the first round Sam’s work might be considered as done, but still he preserved his caution, did not throw his chance away, and finished his man in a very masterly manner. After the first round Martin was sick at stomach, and when all was over this was his principal complaint, for, though severely hit, we have seen him take five times the hitting with not one tithe of the effect. A good deal of regret was expressed that Martin should have had so signal a defeat added to his other mortification. We have only to look to the character of the men in the ring; and, in this view, to give Sam every credit for his milling talent, which we unhesitatingly pronounce of the first order. From the ring Martin was led to an adjoining cottage, where he was put to bed, and received every necessary attention. Previous to Martin quitting the ring Sam went up to him and begged him to shake hands. This Martin for a long time refused, but at last put up his hand coldly, and Sam promised to give him £10 of the battle-money. Sam dressed on the ground, and appeared as if nothing had happened. He returned to dinner at Shirley’s, and arrived in town the same night. Martin, on recovering went to the “Castle Inn,” and set off the same evening for Godalming, where he arrived alone at twelve o’clock at night and remained there. He was much depressed, and refused to see any person who called.

The battle-money was given up to Young Dutch Sam on the following Thursday evening at Tom Cribb’s, in Panton Street, in the presence of a full muster of the Fancy, and all bets were of course paid.

In the September following the defeat of Ned Neale by Baldwin (White-headed Bob), Neale fought and defeated Nicholls, who had defeated Acton, an opponent of Jem Ward. This match was for £100 a-side, and was won by Neale in eighteen rounds and seventy-eight minutes. On the 2nd of December, 1828, he beat Roche for £100 a-side, in thirty rounds, occupying exactly half an hour, and was now without a competitor. At this time Young Dutch Sam, who was in the zenith of his fame, was naturally anxious still further to increase his reputation, and, although he knew that Neale was a much heavier man than himself, he, with a different feeling to that which is now but too prevalent, issued a challenge to fight Ned, provided he would confine himself to 11st. 10lbs., he (Sam) undertaking not to exceed 11st. His fighting-weight was declared to be under 10st. 10lbs., so that, in fact, he gave away at least a stone. Neale, although his milling-weight was 12st. 4lbs., agreed to reduce himself to the stipulated 11st. 10lbs., the match was made, and everything went forward satisfactorily, the battle exciting intense interest.

First Fight between Young Dutch Sam and Neale, for £100 a Side.

The battle took place on the 7th of April, 1829, at Ludlow, in Shropshire, but, owing to the distance from the Metropolis, and the difficulty of getting thence to the scene of action, did not attract that crowd of London Particulars which the known capabilities of the men would have undoubtedly attracted had it come off nearer home. The inducement to the men to go so far afield seems to have been a sum of £100 subscribed for them by the inhabitants of Ludlow.

Neale, it may be remembered, had but once found his master, and that in the never-flinching Baldwin (White-headed Bob); and Sam, although not quite so old a member of the pugilistic corps, had at this time never been beaten.

Strong apprehensions were entertained that Neale, by reducing himself so much below his fighting-weight, would weaken his frame, and give his more youthful antagonist an advantage over him (apprehensions which were fully justified by the result). Neale, however, did not participate in this feeling, and, after a sparring tour, he set out for his training quarters, at Milford, where, by constant labour, he gradually got off his superfluous flesh, and, a few days before fighting, was five pounds under the stipulated weight. This was certainly carrying the point too far, and although Ned himself said he never was in better health, he was forced to confess he did not feel so strong as when his weight was greater. In point of spirits and confidence, it was impossible that he could have been in better form, and he booked winning as a certainty. He left Milford on Saturday, and proceeded direct by mail to Ludlow, where he arrived on Sunday afternoon, under the convoy of a gallant Captain, and the Portsmouth Dragsman, the well-known Will Scarlett. It is needless to observe that such a journey so near upon the approaching struggle was not consistent with strict prudence, but such was Neale’s estimate of his opponent, and such his reliance on his own physical powers, that he treated the remarks on this subject with levity, and fancied the laurels of victory already entwining his brow. Young Sam, who trained first at Staines, was not less attentive to his duties. He was known to be in tip-top condition, and as sleek and active as a deer; showing at the same time a confidence in his carriage not less obvious than that of Neale. He said his game had been doubted, but the approaching combat would show whether these doubts were well or ill founded. He, more wisely than Neale, left London with his backers and friends on Friday, slept at Worcester, and reached Bromfield, near Ludlow, on Saturday, and there remained till the morning of fighting. He was attended by Dick Curtis and some of his favourite pals, who lost no opportunity of reminding him of those qualifications which he had so often shown to advantage, and which, in fact, had obtained for him the character of one of the prettiest fighters of the day. In point of age there was but little difference, Sam being twenty-two, and Neale twenty-five. In the course of Monday the town of Ludlow was all bustle and gaiety, and the certainty that no apprehensions were to be entertained from the officiousness of the beaks gave universal satisfaction.

The ground chosen for the lists was admirably suited for the purpose, and was situated upon the top of a hill, in Ludford Park, within a hundred yards of the adjoining county of Hereford. The ring was formed under the direction of Tom Oliver and his secretary, Frosty-faced Fogo, in their very best style, and was encompassed by an extensive circle of wagons, which were liberally contributed by the farmers in the neighbourhood, who behaved like trumps on this occasion, and were heart and hand in favour of the game.

On Tuesday morning the men were “up with the lark,” and having taken their customary walks, laid in a few strata of mutton chops, and other belly furniture, after which they submitted to the titivation of their respective barbers, who turned them out as blooming as a couple of primroses, and looking as well as the most sanguine hopes of their friends could have desired. As the day advanced, the crowd thickened, and all betook themselves to the ring-side. By twelve o’clock upwards of 5,000 persons were assembled. The weather partook of the varied character of April—alternate showers and sunshine—but, on the whole, was favourable.

At half-past eleven o’clock the men went to scale, and were both found within their weight, Sam about 2lbs., and Neale full 4lbs., but neither was weighed to a nicety. Neale, when stripped, looked extremely thin, and excited the surprise of many who had seen him in the same town a few weeks before in the full proportion of thirteen stone, and it was evident that his admirers became less sweet upon his chances, for the odds of two to one, which had been freely offered on the night before, received a sudden check, and few were found to offer them.

Immediately after the weighing had taken place, the £100 promised to the men was placed in the hands of a gentleman chosen by both, and thus the good folks of Ludlow honourably performed their part of the contract.

Soon after twelve o’clock Neale and his friends set out for the ground in a barouche and four, all sporting the blue bird’s-eye; while Sam, also in a carriage and four, displaying a bright yellowman, with a scarlet border, and a garter in the centre, surrounding the letters D.S., and bearing the Latin inscription, “Nil desperandum,” was close at his heels.

At ten minutes before one Sam entered the lists, attended by his backer and Phil. Simpson and Dick Curtis, who was very lame, as his second and bottle-holder. He was as gay as a lambkin, and remarked, as he paced backwards and forwards, “It has been said that I am not game, but the issue of this battle will prove whether this imputation is well or ill-founded. I have made up my mind to take a bellyful, and let him who first says ‘hold!’ be written down a coward.” There was nothing of foolish bravado in his manner, but his demeanour was such as betokened a man who felt the importance of the stake he had to play for, and the consciousness that he should have his work to do. His friends immediately offered to take £100 to £50, but there was no “done” in the case. Sam was loudly cheered on his arrival, and a similar compliment was paid to Neale, who soon approached, attended by Tom Spring and Harry Holt. He was the picture of health and good humour, and it was pretty clear that the last thought which found place in his breast was the apprehension of defeat. He shook hands with Sam, and offered to bet £5 each on first blood, first knock-down, and the battle, but this was no go. All was now fixed attention. The ring was admirably kept throughout under the superintendence of the Fair-play Club Whipsters. The toss for choice of position was won by Curtis for Sam.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On coming to the scratch, the frames of the men were open to general criticism. Sam was admirably proportioned and had a decided advantage in height and length of arm over his opponent. His muscles, too, were well developed, and we must say that a finer looking young fellow of his weight, age, and inches, has never entered the ring. Neale also looked well, and his broad shoulders and muscular arms betokened strength and vigour; but, taking him downwards from the waist, he was much thinner than he appeared in his former battles. Each threw his arms up, ready for attack or defence. Mutual feints were made for an opening, but both were on the alert. Sam poised himself on his left foot ready for a shoot, and kept working for mischief, but Ned stood well to his guard. At last Sam broke ground and planted his left slightly. Ned was with him, right and left, and rushed to a close. Sam stepped a little back, and jobbed him right and left as he came in. Ned grappled for the throw, when Sam caught him round the neck, and fibbed with great quickness. Ned stopped this game by seizing his arm, and endeavoured to get his favourite lock, and give him a cross-buttock, but Sam was too much on the qui vive, kept his legs well away, and at last both went down at the ropes, Ned under.

2.—Again did each manœuvre for an opening, and show his readiness for defence by throwing up his guard when assault was offered. At length Ned rushed in, and planted his right on Sam’s head. Sam returned as quick as lightning, when Ned rushed to the close, and another trial for the fall took place, during which Sam fibbed slightly, and at last got Ned down.

3.—Sam, elated, dodged on his left leg three or four times, and tried to pop in his left, but was prettily stopped. Ned broke away. Both sparred cautiously. Good stopping, right and left, by both men. Ned now finding that nothing was to be done at long bowls, rushed in, planted one of his right-handed slashers on Sam’s left cheek, and then, boring Sam to the ropes, shoved him across them, chopping with his fists as he lay, and this he continued till Sam fell on the ground, amidst cries of “foul,” and “fair,” but no exception was taken.

4.—Sam came up rather flushed in the physog, and looked serious. Sam, steady, tried again for his favourite plunge with the left, but Ned stopped him in good style, and then rushing in, hit Sam down with a left-hander on his bird-call. (First knock-down blow for Ned; and a cry of first blood, but none was forthcoming from Sam’s dominoes, although pointed at.)

5.—Ned again bored, and planted a blow on Sam’s mouth, but had it beautifully, right and left, in return. Ned now closed, and tried once more for the fall. Sam, ready, fibbed prettily, and in the end, Ned, finding it would not do, slipped down.

6.—Both their mugs flushed from hitting, and both looked serious. Ned stopped Sam’s left, when Sam tried left and right in succession, both hitting away in a beautiful rally, and each receiving pepper, but the balance against Ned. Sam delivered a stinging upper-cut as Ned got away. After a pause, both again fought to a rally, in which the nobbing was heavy. In the close, Sam hit up, and Ned got down.

7.—Little time was lost in going to work, and a beautiful rally was fought, in which hit followed hit in rapid succession. Sam’s blows were delivered with most precision, and Ned’s right ogle began to swell, while first blood was visible on his nose. Sam looked wild, and a swelling on his temple showed that Ned’s operations had not been without effect. Sam’s upper-cuts in this round were excellent, and Ned went down weak; he had clearly reduced his ordinary strength, and was altogether out in his wrestling calculations, as Sam was too quick, and, when seized, too firm on his pins for a clear throw.

8.—Ned’s face much altered and swollen, and Sam’s jowl puffy. Sam dodged for his left, and planted it neatly on Ned’s smeller. Ned rushed in, and forced back Sam to the ropes. Sam caught him round the neck, and hit up. Ned slipped down.

9.—Ned distilling claret from his snuffler, and rather abroad. Sam, ready, jumped in and jobbed him right and left, and Ned was down, bleeding at all points. Sam decidedly the best out-fighter, and betting even.

10.—Sam steady to his guard. Ned finding no chance at out-fighting, rushed in, his right hand passing over Sam’s shoulder. Sam grasped him round the neck, and hit up with great severity. Ned went down.

11.—Ned rushed in, planted left and right-hand round hits, and, in getting back, fell.

12.—Ned rattled in with his left, but received a heavy counter-hit on the nose. In the trial for the fall, both went down, Ned on his back, Sam on him.

13.—Ned again rushed in, and planted his left on Sam’s throat, but in return, Sam jobbed him right and left, with dreadful effect and precision, and in the end Ned fell.

14.—Sam put in a left-handed snorter. Ned fought wildly, and, in coming in, received the upper-cut, and fell.

15.—The odds were now in favour of Sam and the fight had lasted half an hour. Ned hit short with his left, when good counter-hits with the right were exchanged; both had it heavily, and Ned got down.

16.—Sam tried to plant his left, but was stopped; the blow was not well home. Ned retreated, Sam following him rapidly, and Ned stopping right and left. Ned at last fell, weak.

17.—Ned came up a little fresher, and well on his legs, but Sam was too quick for him, and popped in his left and right. He then retreated, Ned following him up, when Sam gave him a severe upper-cut. Ned seized his arm to prevent repetition, and after a struggle at the ropes, both went down, Sam uppermost.

18.—Ned stopped Sam’s left very scientifically, and planted his right in exchange. Sam, not dismayed, drew back a step, and then plunging in, caught Ned left and right as he approached, and hitting up very heavily, Ned got down.

19.—Good stops on both sides. Ned closed for the fall, and after a struggle, both went down.

20.—Good counter-hits, right and left. Ned rushed in, when Sam seized him round the neck, and gave him a couple of heavy upper-cuts. In the trial for the fall, both down, Ned under.

21.—Ned stopped Sam’s right and left, and after a short spar, Sam rushed in to work. Ned retreated, and actually turned round and bolted, to get away from his impetuosity. Sam still persevering, Ned went down, amidst some grumbling, and cries of “Sam, it’s all your own.”

22.—Good stopping by both, when Ned planted his right, and, in retreating, fell.

23.—Ned popped in his right at the body, but had a nobber in return. Good scientific stopping on both sides, when Ned popped in his right on Sam’s muzzle. Sam rushed in to deliver tit for tat, but Ned got down.

24.—Ned made his left on Sam’s mouth, but received a severe return on the right eye. Hits were then exchanged, rather in favour of Sam, who hit Ned down with a right-hander. Ned lay at full length on his back till picked up by his seconds, and his face exhibited severe marks of punishment, both eyes black, and his right all but closed.

25.—Ned stopped Sam’s left, and fought on the retreat. Sam followed him up, jobbing him right and left, and Ned soon went down at the ropes any how.

26.—Sam stopped Ned’s right and left, and, retreating, met Ned with the upper-cut as he followed with his head inclined. Sam’s style of fighting was the admiration of the ring; he was ready at all points. Ned went down.

27.—Sam jobbed with his left. In a second effort his left was stopped, but he planted his right on Ned’s jaw. Ned, in getting away, fell, amidst cries of “foul,” but again the umpires saw nothing to grumble at; indeed, there never was less disposition to take frivolous advantage.

28.—Ned stopped Sam’s first attack, but in a weaving bout which followed he had the worst of it, and went down.

29.—Ned showed his scientific powers of defence, stopping as he retreated. Sam, however, pursued his assault, planted his right and left, and hit Ned out of the ring. Two to one on Sam.

30.—Sam rushed in to punish, when Ned slipped on his knees.

31.—Heavy hits exchanged, right and left. In the close, both down.

32.—Right-handed hits exchanged. Sam retreated, but met Ned with the upper-cut as he came in, and, in the close, Ned pulled him down.

33.—Ned rushed in rather wild. Sam again gave him the upper-cut, and Ned went down.

34.—Ned rushed in wildly. Sam retreated, and met him with the upper-cut right and left. Ned, still game, would not be denied, and hit out desperately with his right, but it went over Sam’s shoulder. His hits were not straight, and consequently, did not tell with half the effect of Sam’s. In the close, he went down.

35.—Ned, still game as a pebble, though woefully punished, rushed in to fight, and caught Sam a nasty one with his left on the mouth. Sam, ready, returned left and right, and hit Ned down with his left.

36.—It was now evident that nothing but an accident could deprive Sam of victory; but still Ned was not beaten in spirit. In this round counter-hits with the right were exchanged, and Ned went down, thereby avoiding a severe slap from Sam’s right.

37.—Ned, still resolved to do his best, jobbed prettily with his left on Sam’s mouth. Counter-hitting. Sam had it again on the whistler, which began to pout most uncouthly, while the left side of his face was considerably swollen. He was not idle, planted his left, and Ned went down.

38.—Sam came up rather stupefied from the hits on his mouth in the last round, and was bleeding freely from his grinder-case. Ned went to work right and left, but was well stopped. He would not be denied, but rushed in, when Sam gave him his favourite upper-cut, and Ned went down bleeding and dark in the right ogle, the left greatly swollen.

39.—Sam kept a respectful distance, and hit short. Ned rattled in, but hit open-handed. Sam planted a couple of good nobbers. Ned down.

40.—A good peppering rally, both had it, but Ned went down.

41.—Ned, still trying his utmost, made an admirable delivery on Sam’s left eye, with a cross-hit from his left. Sam winked and blinked unutterable things, and Ned’s friends were again shouting for victory. A reprieve to a trembling culprit could not have been more welcome. Ned followed up this with a right-handed smack on the mouth, receiving the left in return, and going down.

42.—A good rally, Ned stopped uncommonly well, though dreadfully punished, and was still good on his pins. Spirited fighting on both sides, which ended in Ned going down. The fight had now lasted one hour, and the hopes of Ned’s friends were kept alive that he would ultimately wear Sam out, which was clearly the game he was playing, although Sam had the best of the fighting.

43.—Ned’s right hand was much puffed, but his left was still sound, as he proved to Sam by planting another cross-hit on his mouth. Sam returned the compliment by a terrific job with his right, and another with his left. He then gave the upper-cut with his right, then with his left, as Ned was going down. Sam’s style of fighting was still the admiration of the throng, while Neale’s determined game was equally the theme of praise.

44.—Counter-hitting, and a rally, in which Ned got more pepper, and went down weak.

45.—Ned popped in two excellent jobs with his left on Sam’s mouth, and went down.

46.—Sam was awake to the renewed energies of Ned’s left, and stopped it neatly. Ned rattled away. Sam retired, tried the upper-hit, but missed, most fortunately for Ned, who fell.

47.—Sam caught another poser from Ned’s left on the conversational, and looked more than surprised. Sam again missed his upper-hit, being out of distance, and Ned went down.

48.—Sam rather abroad, though still steady on his pins. He bled considerably at the mouth. Ned cautious, when Sam, after a short pause, rushed in and delivered his one two heavily on Ned’s canister, who dropped almost stupefied, and many thought it was all up; but not so, Sam had yet much to do.

49.—Ned went in to hit with his left, and that was stopped, and he went down.

50.—Ned planted his left, while Sam missed his upper-cut, and Ned dropped.

51.—Sam jobbed with his left, and, rushing in, hit up. In the close, both down, Sam uppermost.

52.—Ned popped in his left once more. In retreating, Sam rushed to punish, and Ned got down.

53 and 54.—Counter-hitting in both rounds. Ned down.

55.—From this to the 62nd round, Ned always commenced fighting, but Sam was quick in his returns, and Ned invariably went down. Nothing but a miracle, it was thought, could save Ned, and, indeed, the severity of his punishment, and the fast closing of his left eye, seemed to forbid even the shadow of a hope; still his heart was good, and he continued to come up.

63.—Sam jobbed right and left. Ned did not shrink, but, boring in, delivered another heavy smack on Sam’s mouth, and drew more crimson. Renewed shouts for Ned. Sam rushed in, and Ned went down.

64.—The long exposure to the cold air, as well as the profuse use of cold water, seemed now considerably to affect Sam, and he trembled violently. Ned seeing this, rushed in and delivered right and left. Sam was quick in his return, but Ned fell, and Sam tumbled over him.

65.—Ned popped in his right, but got a severe upper-cut in return, and went down.

66.—Sam, ready, though cold, met Ned as he came in, caught his head in chancery, and fibbed till he got down. From this to the 71st round, although Ned tried every manœuvre in his power, Sam had the best of the hitting, and Ned always got down. Still these exertions seemed to be exhausting Sam, and although every care was taken of him by his seconds, he got rather groggy at this point. It was remarked that chance might yet turn the scale in Ned’s favour. Sam, however, rallied himself, and, though apparently weak when on his second’s knee, on being placed at the scratch, resumed his self-command, met his man bravely, and planted several severe hits. To the last Ned stopped well, but in the 78th round received a finishing jobbing hit with the right on his left eye, and fell in a state of stupefaction. Every effort was made to restore him, but in vain, and when time was called, Sam was pronounced the victor, amidst the most triumphant shouts. Ned was totally blind, while Sam was enabled to walk to his carriage, but his punishment was severe on the left side of his head. There were scarcely any body blows during the fight, which lasted one hour and forty-one minutes.

Remarks.—We have been thus minute in detailing the rounds of this fight as it excited an extraordinary degree of interest among the betting circles. Neale was such a favourite on Monday and Tuesday evening that he was actually backed at three and four to one; a degree of confidence in his merits to be ascribed, we think, rather to a supposed want of pluck in Sam, than to any superior fighting points on the part of Ned, who, although a game man, and known to possess a good deal of ready resource in the ring, has no pretensions to be what is called a fine fighter. Whatever might have been the grounds for want of confidence in Sam, however, they seemed to have been strangely out of character, for he not only showed himself a quicker and more scientific fighter than Ned, but proved that he was equally possessed of courageous qualities; in fact, he never showed the slightest inclination to say “Nay.” When before his man he was ready at all points, and, by the quickness with which he took advantage of every opening, showed that he was perfectly cool and collected, and even when most punished would not throw a chance away. Of his weight there is not a man in the country who can cope with him, and, by his victory over Neale he has ranked himself deservedly high in the list of pugilists of the age, while he proved himself to be a true “chip of the old block.” Of Neale too much cannot be said in favour of his bravery and perseverance. It was clear, from the very first round, that the reduction of his weight, and especially so much below the necessary standard, had also brought down his strength, and that those closes, which with Cannon, Baldwin, Jem Burn, and Nicholls, were so effective, with Sam were of no avail. In fact, in Sam he found a man as strong as, and certainly more active, than himself, and the only chance which was left him to save his honour, and his friends’ money, was by endeavouring to take advantage of that chapter of accidents, which, in the course of a protracted fight, are often found to produce a fatal change where victory seems most inclined to rest. Neale was blamed for going down so often, but it was his only game, and we need not say he fought to win. It was admitted on all hands that a better fight has not been witnessed for many years.

Neale did not appear at all satisfied with this first defeat by Sam, and therefore issued a challenge for a fresh trial. A good deal of disputing took place as to terms, but after many angry meetings a match was at length made, which it was determined should come off on the 1st of December, 1829, Sam staking £220 to £200. Previous to the eventful day, however, Sam was grabbed and bound over to keep the peace. There was an immense deal of fending and proving, recrimination and abuse, on both sides. A postponement was, however, inevitable, and it was at length agreed that the fight should take place on the 18th of January, 1831, on which day, accordingly, the gallant battle, of which the following is an account, came off at Bumpstead, in Essex.

Sam’s victory in the first battle was by Neale’s friends attributed to the fact of Neale being reduced twelve pounds below his natural weight, while Sam’s friends, on the contrary, claimed all the credit of superior science and generalship, persuaded as they were that on the day of battle Sam was by no means up to the mark in point of condition. In order to set these doubts at rest, there were no restrictions on either side in making the second match, and thus the respective qualifications of the men were fairly brought to the test, the extra weight of Neale being placed in the scale against the superior science of Sam. Thus balanced, the general opinion of the sporting world was that a more equal match could not have been made, and of this feeling the betting throughout was characteristic, for with slight fluctuations, in which Sam was the favourite at guineas to pounds, the betting was even. It was thought, from the friends of Sam being members of high Society, and his following including several noble and aristocratic backers, that the odds on him would have advanced to five and six to four; but they were steady to their point, and rather than advance beyond the nice limits of their calculation they remained stationary. In point of stakes Neale had a decided advantage, for what between forfeits from Sam’s apprehension and laches, and a hundred guineas given on one occasion by Sam for a postponement, he had received back £165 of the original stakes of £220 put down, so that in point of fact Sam was fighting £365 to £55.

Sam won the toss which entitled him to choose the place of fighting; he named Newmarket as “headquarters,” and proceeded thither himself on the Wednesday before the mill, taking up his residence at the “White Hart.” Neale, who had been training at the Isle of Wight, on the Monday before fighting proceeded to the “Swan,” at Balsham, within six miles of headquarters, where he pitched his tent till the next day.

The road down to Newmarket, both on Sunday and Monday, exhibited considerable bustle, but the Londoners were by no means so numerous as might have been expected; still the town was crowded, and all the inns had a fair proportion of visitors. The “White Hart” especially was thronged to overflow, the friends of Sam being decidedly more numerous than those of Neale, and the display of his colours (the bright yellowman) gave a lively finish to the scene.

On Monday evening it was arranged that the ring should be formed in a field a short distance beyond Burrough Green, about seven miles from Newmarket, whither the Commissary and his assistants proceeded to make the necessary arrangements.

On Tuesday morning the rapid arrivals of swells and commoners from all parts of the surrounding country gave additional life to Newmarket; many had travelled 100 miles, and the towns of Birmingham, Nottingham, Norwich, and even Liverpool and Manchester, had numerous representatives. All the post-horses were in requisition, and the turn-out of drags was highly respectable, but the equestrians were by far the most numerous. At an early hour Sam, accompanied by Holt and Curtis, set out for a farmhouse close to the ring, where they met with the most hospitable reception. Thither they were followed by the toddlers in great force, and as the day advanced a general move took place in the same direction. Neale and his friends were seen in the cavalcade, and by 12 o’clock the approaches to Burrough Green were occupied by a dense mass of spectators, the distant view of the ring, surrounded as it was by thousands, filling them with happy anticipations of the sport. A sudden stop, however, of the advanced guard produced a general feeling of alarm, which was confirmed by the report that a beak was abroad; and in truth it was soon announced that Mr. Eaton, a magistrate of the Quorum, had appeared, and declared his fixed determination to prevent hostilities, either in Cambridgeshire or in the adjoining county of Suffolk. This was, indeed, a damper, and the cry of “no fight” became general. Every effort was made to soften the heart of his worship, but in vain; he had determined to do his duty. At length, finding resistance to such a mandate would be not only absurd but dangerous, it was resolved that a move should take place into the county of Essex, a farmer at Bumpstead having kindly offered a field for the accommodation of the belligerents. This resolution was soon communicated to the multitude, and a simultaneous advance of horse and foot was commenced amidst a general feeling of mortification, which was increased by a change in the weather for the worse, the bright rays of the sun having given way to the gloomy influence of murky and dark clouds. The vicissitudes attending the march were numerous and characteristic, many of the toddlers were bowled out, and some of the cattle which had come from long distances were completely knocked up, so that the throng, on reaching the given goal, although still immense, was stripped of much of its original proportions.

The Commissary lost no time in fixing the lists afresh, which were soon surrounded by a larger circle of horsemen than we ever remember on former occasions, behind which were ranged the carriages and gigs, the wagon train being, of course, completely thrown out. The men arrived by the time everything was ready, Sam attended by Dick Curtis and Harry Holt, and Ned waited on by Tom Spring and Tom Oliver. Sam first entered the mystic quadrangle miscalled “the ring,” and was quickly followed by Ned.

At half-past three both were stripped. Neale looked uncommonly well, his skin clear and healthful, his eye brilliant, and his weight 12st. 4lbs. Take him for all in all, we think it impossible a man could have been in better trim. With respect to Sam, he looked as fine as a racehorse; every muscle showed to advantage, and the symmetry of his frame and fine proportions of his bust were particularly conspicuous. In height and length of arm he had an evident advantage over Neale, although his weight was but 11st. 2lb. The important moment for commencing operations at length arrived; the ring had been beaten out, and was in excellent order, and at thirty-two minutes after three business commenced.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On coming to the scratch both looked serious; there was nothing of idle bravado on either side. The position of each was the defensive—the hands well up, and the manner confident. Each seemed desirous for his antagonist to commence, and a long pause followed. Sam made one or two of his dodging feints, but Ned simply threw up his guard. Absolute silence prevailed round the ring. Sam at last hit slightly at Ned’s body, and Neale sprang back. Sam tried his left short, but Neale again threw up his right, and was well on his guard. At last Sam let fly his left, catching Ned slightly on his nob. Ned countered with his right, and this brought them to a rally, in which facers were exchanged right and left. Neale bored in; Sam retreated, fighting, to the ropes, against which he was forced. Neale then closed, and a struggle took place for the fall, which Neale obtained, falling heavily on Sam in a cross-buttock. Neale’s friends were loud in their cheers, but on rising the marks of Sam’s right on Ned’s left eye were obvious from a slight swelling, while Sam showed a blushing tinge also on each cheek. In the hitting Sam had the best, and while in fibbed prettily.

2.—Both men again assumed the defensive, Ned waiting for Sam, and Sam trying to get an opening, but for some time in vain. At last Sam let fly with his left, and Neale countered, but not effectually. A smart rally followed, in which Neale was hit heavily left and right. Good fighting on both sides. Sam fought to the ropes, but got well out, and again went to the attack with quickness and precision. Ned hit with him, but not so much at points. All head-work. At last Sam planted his left well on Neale’s mug as he was on the move, and dropped him prettily on his nether end, amidst loud shouts of applause, thus winning the first knock-down. Neale, on coming up showed a flushed phiz, and Sam exhibited trifling marks of additional hitting on the face.

3.—Again both cautious. Neale stopped Sam’s left with neatness, but had it in a second effort. He returned with his right. Neale popped in his left cleverly on Sam’s mouth. Good counter-hitting followed, left and right. Sam had it on the left ear, and Neale on the left eye, which increased in swelling. A spirited and determined rally, in which Sam swung round on his leg, and then renewed the attack. Neale rushed to the charge. Sam endeavoured to get from his grasp, and fibbed at his nob. Neale, however, seized him round the waist, lifted him from the ground, and threw him heavily. The exertion on both sides was great. Neale, though most punished, was loudly cheered by his friends, and was now the favourite from his superior strength; he however, showed first blood, giving Sam the second point.

4.—Sam on coming up began to blow a little and was clearly on the pipe, from the exertion in the last round; he was steady, however, and both kept on the defensive. Neale tried his left, but was short, catching Sam under the right eye. Sam, ready returned with his left, but Neale jumped away. Each tried to plant his left, but without success. The stopping was excellent. Long sparring. Sam popped in his left, and Neale countered. A rally, in which Sam shook the pepper-box in good style. Both were rather wild, and in the end fell from their own exertions on their hands and knees. Ned in this round tried his right-handed chopper, but hitting round it went over Sam’s shoulder.

5.—Sam having caught it on the nose in the last round, came up with his eye watering and blinking. Neale tried to pop in his right but was beautifully stopped. Ned put in a left-handed nobber, but had it in return on the neck. Ned stopped the left of Sam with the effect of a brick wall, and caught him on the shoulder with his left. Both awake, and the slaps and returns excellent. A pause. Sam put in his left on Ned’s body and made him curtsey. The blow was rather short. Ned stopped right and left and made a chopping return with his right, which caught Sam on the right side of his mouth. Had he been an inch nearer, the effect would have been severe, and as it was it made Sam look serious. Both again on their guard, and each waiting for the attack. Ned again stopped the left and tried his return, but his blow shot over Sam’s shoulder, and his arm caught him on the neck. Sam put in his right, and a spirited rally followed. Neale bored him to the ropes, but Sam hit as he retreated, and broke away. Ned, after him, closed, and tried for the fall. He could not succeed in getting the lock. Sam kept his pins wide apart, and each grasped the other’s neck. Holt cried to Sam to go down, and Sam at last fell on his knees, Neale falling over him.

6.—Neale again on the waiting system stopped Sam’s left-handed lunge with great precision. Ned hit out with his left, and in a rally heavy blows were exchanged. Neale again missed his right-handed lugger, which went over Sam’s shoulder. He then rushed to the close, but Sam began to fib. Neale pinioned his arms, and at last, finding he was wasting his strength, went down himself, Sam upon him. On getting up Neale exclaimed, “You may punch me as much as you like, but don’t put your finger in my eye;” alluding to Sam’s touching his eye when on the ground.

7.—Neale again kept his hands well up, and waited for the attack. He stopped a slashing hit from Sam’s left. Sam tried his left again, but did not get home. Neale dashed in right and left, and a terrific rally followed. Severe counter-hitting took place, Sam catching it on the nose, from which blood was drawn, and the side of the head and neck, and Neale on the nose, mouth, and both eyes. Sam retreated to the ropes, but still hit with vigour, and ultimately shifted his ground and got away. Neale rushed after him, and the flush-hitting was repeated. Both men strained every nerve. At last Neale jumped in to catch Sam for the fall; Sam received him in his arms and fibbed. Neale pinioned him, and finding he could not gain the throw, fell. On getting up both showed additional marks of punishment as well as distress. The fighting had been extremely fast, and the wind of both was touched. Sam, especially, piped; but was still steady and collected. Neale’s left eye was nearly closed, a slight glimmer only being open.

8.—Ned pursued his system of waiting, and again stopped Sam’s left-handed lunge beautifully, and almost immediately caught Sam a left-handed chop on the mouth, which he repeated. Sam looked serious, but shortly after put in his left on Ned’s body. A severe rally followed. The hitting on both sides was quick and effective. Sam caught a desperate hit on the neck from Ned’s arm, which almost put it awry. Nevertheless, he fought fearlessly, gave Ned a smasher on the mouth, and closed. After a struggle, both went down, and Sam, being raised on his second’s knee, was faint and sick; his colour changed, and he was clearly in a ticklish state. Ned’s friends called out he was going, and urged Ned, in the next round, to go in and finish. Ned was himself, however, piping, and distressed from punishment.

9.—On being brought to the scratch, Sam was weak and groggy on his legs. “Go in,” cried Ned’s friends, but he did not obey the call. He was himself in such a state as to be incapable of making this effort with safety. At last Ned rushed in, hitting with his right, which went over Sam’s shoulder, and caught him on the back of the head. Sam retreated to the ropes, Ned after him, but here Sam showed his quickness, even in distress. He hit away with precision, right and left, catching Ned flush in the mug. At last both got from the ropes, and after a sharp rally and close, Neale went down.

10.—Ned made himself up for mischief, and after stopping Sam’s left, got into a desperate rally. The hitting was severe on both sides, but Sam’s muzzlers told most. The men got on the ropes, where a hard struggle took place, Ned leaning heavily on Sam, and Sam hitting away, while Neale was not idle. At last both went down, Ned uppermost. Sam was now more distressed than ever, and all hands were very busy in fanning him with their hats.

11.—Sam came up evidently weak. Ned pushed in and hit right and left. Sam was bored to the ropes, and Ned kept hitting away, but wild. Sam, though distressed, jobbed with vigour, left and right. Ned got away, and Sam was after him. A spirited rally, and both fought boldly, but Sam had the best of the hitting. In the close, Sam fibbed, and Ned, finding he could do no good, got down, heavily punished, his left eye quite gone, and his right fast closing, while the claret trickled from a tap on the top of his head.

12.—Ned came up steady, but cautious; and Sam, though somewhat groggy, was well on his guard. Ned put in his right on Sam’s body, and succeeded in jobbing him twice on the mouth with his left. A rally, in which both caught nobbers, but Ned the worst of it, from Sam’s strength. At last Ned caught a flush hit on the mouth and, falling on the ground, rolled over, weak.

13.—Sam came up more collected, and commenced the attack with his left, which Ned stopped. Sam, after trying a feint to bring Ned out, gave him a tremendous hit on the swollen eye, drawing more of the ruby, and the light was again partially restored. After a slight rally, Ned closed for the fall, but could not get his lock. He at last pulled Sam down, and fell himself.

14, and last.—Both weak, but steady. Ned tried his right, but his hand opened, and no damage was done. Sam countered beautifully with his left, and put in his right at the body. Good fighting on both sides. Ned again put in his right at the body. A pause; both on their guard. Neale distilling claret from many points. Another short rally, and both away; Sam getting more steady and collected, but still disinclined to throw a chance away by trying too much. He hit short at the body to see whether Ned could return, and Ned returned weak with his right, and his hand open. Another pause, in which neither seemed capable of doing much. Ned kept his hands well up for some time, but appeared too cautious for a rush. At last Sam hit out left and right, catching Ned on the phiz. This was the finisher. Ned dropped, and, on being again picked up, his head fell, and he slipped from his second’s knee. He was stupefied by the repeated hits on his head, and could not be again brought to the scratch. Sam was now well on his legs, and the welcome sound of victory restored all his vigour. The shouts of his friends were deafening. He was borne off in triumph, after shaking hands with his vanquished but gallant antagonist, whose tie-up was quicker than had been anticipated, but it was clear that he had received enough to satisfy an ordinary glutton, even before the last round, and he had not strength enough to make a turn in his favour. The ring was instantly broken and it was some minutes before Ned could be brought to his carriage. The fight concluded at 24 minutes after 4 o’clock, thus making its duration 52 minutes.

Remarks.—This was decidedly one of the best styles of fights for science and good generalship. It was admitted that Neale never fought so well before, but the superior length and tact of Sam gave him every advantage. It was remarked in counter-hitting, that Sam always caught Neale first, so that the force of Neale’s blows was diminished; added to this, all Neale’s heavy lunging hits at Sam’s ear passed over his shoulder, and this saved him from certain destruction. Had the return in the fifth round been an inch nearer, it was thought Sam’s jaw would have been broken. In the 9th round, too, could Neale have summoned strength to make an impression, his chances would have been certain, but what Sam had lost by exertions, Neale wanted in hitting. The precision and straightness of Sam’s blows told with unerring certainty; even when piping, and in distress, his presence of mind never left him. He was always ready for opportunities, and invariably seized them with success. Throughout, the battle was fair and honourable. There was no wrangling or dispute, with the exception of Holt once having thrown himself in the way of Sam to prevent his falling; and even those who lost their blunt could not but confess that Neale did all that his natural powers permitted. Neale was himself dreadfully mortified by the result of this battle. Sam fully confirmed his claim to the title of the Young Phenomenon, and, of his weight, was considered without a rival.

Two years now elapsed, during which Sam was chiefly heard of as a “man about town,” and the boon companion of a clique of young swells noted for their exploits in the night-houses of the Haymarket and the saloons of Piccadilly, then in all their rank, riot, and disorder. He was then pitted against Harry Preston, but owing to magisterial interference, was apprehended and bound over to keep the peace for six months, and Preston’s friends being unwilling to wait so long, a draw took place.

In the interim, Ned Neale, his last opponent, had been defeated by Tom Gaynor (See life of Neale, ante, p. 325), and that boxer, immediately on the expiry of Sam’s recognisances, challenged him for £100 a-side. This Sam’s friends declared insufficient, but proposed that Sam should fight the Bond Street carpenter for £300 to £200. The offer was closed with, and the mill came off, after several attempts made by the authorities to put a stop to it, on the 24th of June, 1834, near Andover, Wilts. It appeared that a warrant was obtained from Sir John Gibbon, to apprehend both men. This came to their ears, and they each had to make several moves, the persevering constable who held the warrant contriving on several occasions to find them out, and get his warrant backed by the magistrates in the neighbourhood of their places of retirement. The men, however, on the day before fighting, cautiously approached the trysting-place (Hurstbourne Green, near Andover). Here they were pursued by the constable with his warrant, which he again got backed; but by some “unfortunate accident” (?) he fell into bad company, got drunk, and lost his warrant, a fact he did not discover until he became sober the following morning, when he went off to obtain a fresh warrant. This he succeeded in doing, but owing to the secrecy which had been observed as to the place of fighting, he did not discover it until the men had been fighting some time; and then, after making a vain effort to interfere, he judged discretion the better part of valour, and having done his duty so far as he was able, he retired from the ring-side, and did not again endeavour to spoil sport.

The men and their friends set off from Andover at an early hour for the scene of action, but owing to the caution it was found necessary to exert to keep things dark, the heroes of the day did not reach their tilting ground till 12 o’clock, when Sam entered the ring attended by Dick Curtis and Frank Redmond, Gaynor being seconded by Jem Ward and Deaf Burke. The ring was preserved admirably throughout the day, and nothing was left to be desired by the men or their friends.

On stripping, Sam looked uncommonly well, although his friends said he might have been better had not his presence in town for a few days when at his best, become necessary, in consequence of an action-at-law in which he was engaged. To the casual observer this was not visible, and his fine muscular and symmetrical form never appeared to better advantage, while his countenance displayed the utmost self-possession and personal confidence. His weight was about 11st. Gaynor also appeared in admirable trim, and was not less confident than Sam, although there was more solidity in his manner. His round shoulders offered a striking contrast to the elegant proportions of Sam, and gave him the appearance of a natural stoop, but in all other respects his shape was faultless, and his condition of the first character. He did not seem to have a superfluous ounce of flesh on his body, and weighed as nearly as possible 12st. In length of arm, Sam had the advantage, and the discrepancy in years (Gaynor having the disadvantage of ten years) was sufficiently obvious. So “nutty” were Sam’s friends on their man at this moment, that the odds rose from two to one to five to two, and at this price much business was done.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Precisely at 7 minutes to 1 the men commenced business. Both put up their hands in a defensive position, and eyed each other with scrutinising looks. Each was ready, and appeared to wait for his antagonist to commence. Sam made two or three slight dodges, and Gaynor drew back. Each moved to the right and to the left, but still no opening was offered. The movements on a chess-board could not have been more scientific. At last Gaynor hit out at the body with his left, and got away. Sam stopped the compliment, and smiled. After a long pause, they both made themselves up for mischief, and at last ended suspense by slashing out their counter-hits with the left, Gaynor planting on Sam’s jaw, and Sam on Gaynor’s mouth, which showed a prominent mark. The blows were heavy, and while first blood was drawn from Gaynor, Sam licked his lips, but certainly not with the goût of a cat over a pat of butter. Another pause, when counter-hits with the right were exchanged. Sam stopped Gaynor’s left with great neatness, but in a second effort with the same hands, in the counter-hitting, Sam caught it over the mouth, while Gaynor had it on the left cheek. “How do you like that?” cried Gaynor, laughing. Sam looked serious. Gaynor dodged, but found Sam ready for a fly, and drew back. Gaynor stopped Sam’s left, and tried his right at the body, but was short. Sam hit out with his left, but was short. A long spar, in which each seemed determined not to throw a chance away. Gaynor hit short with his right, open-handed. Sam smiled. Tom again stopped a nasty one from the left, and popped in his right slightly at the body. Sam played a steady game, and drew on his man. Gaynor on the look-out, retired to the side of the ring. Both extremely cautious. At last Sam saw his opportunity, and with great quickness sent in his left, with plenty of elbow grease, on Gaynor’s nob, and dropped him as if shot, thus giving first knock-down, amidst the shouts of his friends. This round, which was admirable, from the exquisite science of the men, lasted ten minutes.

2.—On being called to the scratch, Gaynor came up bleeding at the mouth, and Sam showing symptoms of receiving on his lips and cheek. After long and cautious sparring, neither giving a chance, Gaynor suddenly planted his right on the side of Sam’s head. Cheers for Gaynor, who thus stole a successful march. Sam was not behind in returning the compliment, and after a short time for reflection, popped in a tremendous slap on Gaynor’s mouth with his left. Gaynor’s blow, in countering, passed over Sam’s shoulder. Another cautious spar, when Gaynor hit short with his left. Heavy counter-hits, Sam on the mouth, Gaynor on the left eye. Sam dropped his left on Gaynor’s ribs, and got away. Sam in left and right, but rather out of distance. Gaynor stopped his left in another shy, as well as a hit at his body. Another pause, each on the look-out, when terrific counter-hits with the left were exchanged. Gaynor pointed at Sam’s mouth, which had tasted his knuckles, but he had it heavily himself on the cheek. Excellent stops on both sides, Gaynor planted a round blow on the side of Sam’s head, but it was with the front of his knuckles, and seemed to make no impression. Counter-hitting with the left, Sam’s blow falling heaviest. A pretty rally, in which some wicked blows were exchanged. Both broke away, and sparred for a fresh opening, Gaynor showing most punishment. Sam planted his left three times in succession, hitting first, and Gaynor’s counters non-effective. Gaynor hit short with his left, and fought on the retreat. Counter-hits with the left. Gaynor had now got in the corner, and was so covered by Sam that he could not escape. He waited for the assault, when Sam jumped in with his left, and caught him on the eye. Gaynor returned, and in the close, after some in-fighting, Sam got the fall, and fell heavily on Gaynor, who fell out of the ropes. This round lasted twelve minutes and a half, and it was admitted that Sam had not the easy customer that his admirers anticipated.

3.—Gaynor looking the worse for wear, but strong as a horse, and gay as a lark. Sparring for an opening, when Gaynor caught Sam slightly with his left on the mouth. Sam tried a lunge with his left, but was beautifully stopped. In a second attempt he was more successful, for he planted left and right, cutting Gaynor’s left cheek with the latter. Gaynor countered, and the men closed for the fall, which Gaynor obtained, giving Sam a cross-buttock, and falling heavily upon him. Sam’s right shoulder came heavily against the ground. Cheers for Gaynor. The round lasted four minutes.

4.—Both cautious, and sparring for an opening. Gaynor hit short with his left. Another pause. Counter-hits with the left. Sam caught his man first and hit him heavily. Gaynor’s blow was not so effective. Sam popped in a tremendous muzzler with his left, and Gaynor bled profusely; his old wounds were opened, and his mouth became much swollen. Gaynor again planted his right on Sam’s head heavily. Shouts for Gaynor, and Sam seemed puzzled, but preserved his steadiness. A pause, during which Sam recovered himself. Counter-hits with the left, and a brisk rally, in which heavy hits were exchanged. The men broke away. Long sparring; both ready, and no opening offered. Good stopping on both sides, and the game played with matchless skill. Mutual dodging, but no chance. Sam tried his feint, but it would not do. At last Sam crept well in, and delivered a heavy left-handed jobber. Gaynor countered, and in the close, after a severe struggle, Sam threw Gaynor a beautiful cross-buttock. Cheers for Sam; his friends up in the stirrups. The fight had now lasted forty-five minutes.

5.—Gaynor, on coming up, showed a little distress, and heavy marks of punishment on the mouth and left eye. Sam dodged, but Gaynor was well on his guard. Both stopped by consent, put their hands down, and looked at each other. At it again. Gaynor hit short with his left, and got away. Sam again dropped his left on Gaynor’s eye, and followed this up by a hit with the same hand on the body. Gaynor went in with his one two, catching Sam with his left on the cheek, and his right on the side of the head. Sam returned with his left, and after a short rally, the men closed, and went down. Sam had the best of the round.

6.—Gaynor’s left eye shutting up shop, and he was otherwise much damaged in the frontispiece. “Sam will win it without a black eye,” cried Curtis. Sam made himself up for mischief, and kept stealing on his man, but Gaynor got away. A rally, and exchange of hits. Gaynor’s leg tripped Sam, and he fell upon him. Fifty minutes had now elapsed.

7.—Curtis chaffed on time, and said, as the hour was nearly up, on which he had been betting, Sam might go in to finish. Gaynor, distressed, tried his left, but was out of distance. Sam rushed in to hit with his left, but was cleverly stopped. Gaynor rushed to in-fighting; Sam hit up cleverly with his left, but in the close was thrown a cross-buttock, which gave him a serious shake.

8.—The men had now fought fifty-four minutes, and both were distressed, while it did not seem so safe to Sam as had been booked. Both steady on their guard, and waiting for an opening. Sam’s left well stopped. Gaynor away. Heavy counter-hits with the left; both received stingers, but Sam hit hardest. In the close, both down.

9.—Gaynor’s left eye quite closed, but he was still strong on his legs, and resolute. He again stole a march on Sam, popped in his left, and got away. Both fatigued, but a fine breeze blew over the common, and gave them fresh vigour. Gaynor’s left stopped, and he napped it severely on the nose in return. Gaynor made some admirable stops, and popped his right heavily on Sam’s ear. Gaynor on the defensive, and retreating to the ropes. Sam thought he had him, but Gaynor broke away. Sam followed him, dodged, and popped in with his left. Gaynor closed, caught him round the neck with his left, and hit up with his right. In the scuffle, both fell.

10.—“Not so safe as if it was over,” cried Gaynor’s friends; and it was clear Sam had yet his work to do, as Gaynor got up strong and confident. On going to the scratch, after a short spar, both again put their hands down for a short time. Beautiful fighting followed, and the stopping on both sides was first-rate. The fight had now lasted one hour and five minutes. “Tom can fight another hour,” cried Ward. Mutual dodging. Gaynor planted his left slightly, but there was not sufficient pepper in his blows. A rally, close to the ropes, with hard hitting, when Sam in getting away fell. Shouts for Gaynor.

11.—Both came up steady and serious. Gaynor gave Sam a heavy slap on the mug with his left. Sam was full of self-possession, and looked out for an opening. Gaynor was steady on his guard. Sam popped in a left-handed teaser, and hit at the body with his right. Gaynor made his one two on Sam’s face. Counter-hitting with the left. A body hit with the right from Gaynor. Hard counter-hits with the left; heaviest from Sam. Sam now delivered his right on Gaynor’s ribs; the latter hit short with the left. Some excellent generalship on both sides. Sam dropped his arms as if fatigued. Sam now popped in a slight left-hander, but had it heavily in return on the phiz. Gaynor, whose conk was bleeding, now put both hands down, and beckoned Sam to come to him. Sam approached him, and, after a sharp spar, received a touch on the bread-basket. Gaynor stopped a tremendous left-hander, intended for his good eye. Sam also stopped, and got away. Gaynor tried at the body with his right, but was stopped. Sam got away from a heavy lunge from Gaynor’s left. Sam in with the left; Gaynor returned. Sam dodging, and Gaynor, in getting away, fell.

12.—Gaynor came up steady. Sam waited for him. Gaynor tried his left, but was stopped, and got away. Sam then, throwing his head back, saved himself from a heavy delivery from Tom’s right. Gaynor stopped a left-hander, and popped in his right at the back of Sam’s head, but was heavily hit with the left in return. Both covering themselves well. Sam in with his left on the body. Tom got back, and put his hands down. Counter-hits with the left, and Gaynor short at the body with his right. Both men with their hands down. On again getting into position, Gaynor seized one of Sam’s hands with his left, intending to give him a swinger with his right, but Sam pulled his mauly away, and smiled. Gaynor stopped a left-handed job with the utmost precision. Heavy counter-hits with the left; Sam first in. Gaynor hit out with his left, but his hand was open; he, however, planted a right-hander on Sam’s nob. Sam gave him a tremendous smasher on the gob. Gaynor looked a painful spectacle, though still full of pluck. Some heavy exchanges with the left. In the close, Sam, at in-fighting, gave his antagonist some severe punishment on the ropes, and Gaynor, in pulling himself away, fell over Sam.

13.—Gaynor showed weakness, and Sam seemed now to think he had got him safe. Gaynor hit short with his left. Sam tried his left, but was stopped. A close, and severe struggle for the fall, at the ropes. Sam gave an upper-cut with great force, while Gaynor was not idle. Both down.

14.—Gaynor made play, but was short with his left. Sam steady, and jumping in, delivered his left heavily on Tom’s altered mazzard. A close, and some good in-fighting. A tough struggle for the fall; both down. This effort was exhausting to both. In the close, Sam hit up well.

15.—Gaynor piping, and Sam not fresh. Gaynor in with his left; tried his right, but was stopped. Heavy counter-hits. Both again paused by mutual consent, and put their hands down. Again to work. Good exchanges; Sam at the head, Gaynor at the body. Both cautious. Gaynor on the retreat. Sam got close to him, and hit out viciously, but Gaynor ducked his head, got away, and fell.

16.—Gaynor’s friends were still very confident, as he seemed strong, and Sam appeared fatigued. Counter-hitting with the left, but Sam hitting out first, got home the heaviest. He put in a tremendous left-hander on Tom’s left ogle. Again did both take breath, and drop their arms. Sam steady, and both well on their guard. Mutual stopping. Gaynor short at the body with his right. Counter-hits with the left, terrific from Sam. Two hours were now completed, and the men walked about for wind. Gaynor hit out of distance with his left, but Sam measured him with more precision, and dropped in one of his left-handed chops with full force. Gaynor, after a short pause, seized Sam’s right, while Sam seized his left, each holding the other down. Sam looked at his man for a moment, and then dashed his head into his face with great force. (This, as our readers are aware, is now foul.) Gaynor staggered back, while Sam rushed after him, and jobbed him severely on the nose with the left, and, repeating the dose in the same spot, hit him down as clean as a whistle, being the second knock-down blow in the fight.

17, and last.—Gaynor came up groggy, when Sam popped in his terrific left, and downed him. This was the finisher. The butt, followed by such polishing hits, reduced poor Gaynor to a state of insensibility, and on being raised on his second’s knee it was at once seen that it was all U. P. “Time” was called, and Sam was proclaimed the conqueror with triumphant shouts. The fight lasted two hours and five minutes. Sam was immediately taken to his carriage, much exhausted, but soon became himself again. Gaynor was in a complete state of stupor, and was carried away in a helpless condition.

Remarks.—This was decidedly one of the finest displays of courage and science combined which had been witnessed for many years, and was acknowledged to be so by the oldest patrons of the Ring who were present. The courage exhibited by both men was unquestionable, and considering the disadvantages under which Gaynor fought, he earned for himself a reputation that placed him in the first class of game men. There is no doubt that the butt in the last round but one proved his coup de grace, or he would have prolonged the contest for many more rounds—with what chance of success we cannot say. The reader should be informed that this manœuvre, though seldom practised, was not at this time against the rules of the Ring, and the position, Gaynor holding both Sam’s hands with an iron grip, was peculiar. The “chapter of accidents” might have produced alterations, and as it was Sam, during the fight, showed great weakness, which was not surprising, as it was afterwards ascertained that in the cross-buttock in the third round his right shoulder was so much injured as to deprive him of the use of his right hand, so far as hitting was concerned, for the remainder of the battle. During the fight, many expressed surprise that he should have kept that hand so idle, and that Gaynor was so repeatedly enabled to job him with his left. Sam could not, in truth, lift it above his head, and but for throwing his head back when the blows were coming in, his punishment would have been much more severe. Although Gaynor had clearly the gift of hitting with equal force, it is considered that but for this accident Sam’s labours would have been considerably curtailed. At one time it was thought to be anybody’s fight, and Sam’s friends were by no means jolly as to the result. His fine generalship, however, enabled him to overcome every difficulty, and the quickness with which he took advantage of Gaynor’s ill-judged seizure of his hand, in the last round but one, while it showed his self-possession, proved him to be a thorough master of the art as then practised. The account of the rounds will show that in point of science Gaynor was little behind Sam, but it must be confessed his powers of punishment were very inferior, while the force of his blows was greatly diminished by Sam’s generally hitting first in the counters. From first to last the combat was conducted with the utmost fairness and good humour; and while all sympathised in the fall of a brave man, they could not but admit that he had honourably sunk before the superior power of his younger and more expert opponent. Such was the impression made in Gaynor’s favour that £17 7s. was collected round the ring, and other sums afterwards contributed. This was the last appearance of either Sam or Gaynor in the P.R.

Sam’s last match in the Ring was with Reuben Martin, for £100, subsequently made into £180 a-side; it was fixed to come off in June, 1838, but an unfortunate occurrence occasioned a forfeit of £80 on the part of Sam. He had volunteered to second his friend Owen Swift in his battle with Phelps (Brighton Bill), and officiated in that capacity on the fatal 13th of March, 1838, at Royston. The details of this unlucky encounter will be found in our memoir of Owen Swift, in Vol. III.

The coroner’s jury having found a verdict of manslaughter against Owen Swift, as principal, and Samuel Evans, Richard Curtis, Frank Redmond, and Edward Brown, as seconds aiding and abetting the same, Sam, Curtis, and Swift at once gave “leg-bail” to the law and departed for the Continent, where they remained until the time for surrendering to take their trial at the Hertford Assizes. Frank Redmond,[^[52]] whose business as a licensed victualler at the “George and Dragon,” in Greek Street, Soho, was suffering ruinously from his enforced absence, alone surrendered. He was defended by Mr. Dowling (who was also a barrister), and acquitted on the 10th July, at the summer assizes. Thereupon Curtis and Brown, who were awaiting the result, surrendered themselves and took their trial. They were not so fortunate as their predecessor in trouble, for the jury convicted them of manslaughter in the second degree, as “present, aiding, and abetting,” when the judge passed the lenient sentence of three months’ imprisonment.

Young Sam and Swift, alarmed at this result, did not return at once. Besides, they found their stay in the French capital, where some of Sam’s aristocratic patrons were also residing, both pleasant and profitable, of which further details will be found in our Life of Owen Swift. Some violent newspaper attacks upon the Ring, and denunciations of prize-fighters and their backers, in the now defunct Morning Herald (a renegade sporting paper) and other publications, made it advisable to await the blowing over of the storm.

Sam’s residence in France, however, found in its result the adage of “out of the frying-pan into the fire.”

Jack Adams was in Paris teaching the art of boxing. Adams, a ten stone man, was twice matched with Swift, and on the second occasion the French law, which deals so leniently with murderous duels and homicide in general, was scandalised and outraged by a duel with fists; so Young Sam and Swift were tried (in their absence), convicted, par contumace, and sentenced to thirteen months of imprisonment and a fine!

Soon after his return to England Sam was arrested and conveyed to Hertford Gaol, and on February 28th, 1839, at the spring assizes, Swift took his place beside his friend Sam, and the trial proceeded. From a failure of evidence a verdict of “Not Guilty” was recorded, and the friends quitted the dock amid the congratulations of the crowd.

Owen Swift arrived in London the same night, but not so his companion in misfortune; Sam’s exit was stopped by a detainer from London, for a forfeiture of bail, incurred in this wise.

A short time previous to the battle of Swift and Phelps, Sam, in company with a “noble earl” and some aristocratic friends, had been engaged in a fracas at a public-house in Piccadilly. This was the disgraceful period when, fired by a vulgar emulation of the worst characteristics of Pierce Egan’s vulgar, vicious, and silly caricatures of two town and country sporting gentlemen, whom he named “Tom and Jerry;” and whom he made the heroes of his wretched, grammarless galimatia called “Life in London,” clerks, apprentices, prigs, pugilists, and peers played the blackguard and ruffian on the stage of real life. The great and beneficial changes which have taken place in our police and street Acts, as well as in the hours and regulations of refreshment rooms and all licensed houses in the Metropolis, make it almost impossible for the present generation to realise the scenes of disorder, profligacy, and ruffianism with which “the West or worst End of the city” nightly abounded. From Temple Bar westward, through Drury Lane, Covent Garden, St. Martin’s Lane, Leicester Square, and its surroundings, to the Haymarket and Piccadilly, “night-houses” admitted the drunkard (when not too drunk), the night prowler, the debauchee, the gambler, the thief, and the prostitute of every grade—the only distinction being the higher or lower tariff. From the swell supper-room, saloon, elysium, or “finish,” of “Goody Levy,” “Goodered,” “Rowbotham,” “Mother H.,” or the “Brunswick,” through the musical and more respectable chop-and-kidney-grilling “Evans’s,” the “Garrick,” the “Cider Cellars,” “Coal Hole,” or “Shades,” down to the common dramshop kept open on the plea of the neighbouring cabstand or theatre until the small hours of the morning grew large, all appealed to those who sought “recreation and refreshment after the theatres.”

In one of these houses, the “Royal Standard,” in Piccadilly, on the morning of the 17th of February, 1838, there appear to have been assembled after a night’s debauch a number of loose characters. Among them were the Earl of Waldegrave and several “Corinthians.” According to the evidence of Mr. Mackenzie, the prosecutor, he, after leaving duty, entered the house in question, where “he saw the prisoner (Young Dutch Sam) and several gentlemen, some of whom he certainly had interfered with in their nocturnal sprees; indeed, he had been instrumental in introducing them to the magistrate at Marlborough Street.” We think nowadays this policeman’s conduct would be strictly canvassed. “Whilst he was standing before the bar,” we copy the report, “the prisoner whispered to Lord Waldegrave, and immediately afterwards, addressing the company, he said, ‘Gentlemen, do you care to see a policeman laid on his back?’ He then seized him (the prosecutor) and threw him on his back, falling upon him with all his weight. He was so much injured as to be under the doctor’s hands for some time, and unfit for duty. The prisoner was held to bail by the magistrates at Marlborough Street, and had forfeited his recognisances.”

Mr. Ballantine addressed the Court on the part of the prisoner in mitigation of punishment. The prisoner had been made the tool of certain parties with whom he had been drinking on the night before the assault was committed, and although they had urged him to the commission of the offence which led to his present position, not one of them had been to visit him, or render him the least assistance during his incarceration.—Mr. Doane, having addressed the Court for the prosecution, described the defendant as a pugilist, but added “that he did not say this to create a prejudice against him on that account, for he felt convinced that the unmanly and terrible crime of stabbing was increasing in this country, in consequence of the absurd and mischievous interference of the county magistracy with the sports of the Ring. Those sports (the learned gentleman observed) had some disadvantages, but they were amply counterbalanced by the habit they engendered of fighting in a fair and manly manner, and by the universal indignation with which anything unfair was regarded in a pugilistic contest.” The Court sentenced the prisoner to three months’ imprisonment.

A motion was subsequently made that the estreat on the recognisances might be taken off, but was refused, on the ground that the Court had no power to interfere.

We have been the more particular in the narration of this case as the facts were known to the writer, and as a most false and exaggerated report of the affair was subsequently published in the Morning Herald, in an attack upon the Prize Ring, penned by an Irish sporting reporter who had been discharged by the editor of Bell’s Life. The conduct of the policeman, to our thinking, more resembled that of a French agent provocateur than a guardian of the peace; and, without defending the assailant, we may remark that the fact that Young Sam so carefully avoided using his unquestionable pugilistic skill, although under the excitement of champagne and provocation, is a sufficient answer to the charge of “ruffianism” and “ferocity” cast upon him for this foolish escapade.

Shortly after this fracas a new police Act, and increased vigilance in the stipendiary magistrates, checked effectually these disgraceful excesses, by substituting imprisonment for fine, at the discretion of the justices, whereupon we find, in a contemporary “daily,” the ironical “Lament” of which the subjoined are a few of the leading stanzas:—

LAMENT OF THE “DISORDERLY GENTLEMEN.”

A plague on the new law! bad luck to the beaks,

Opposed as they are to “disorderly” freaks;

Ye pinks of high rank, let your sorrows have vent,

And join with your pals in a doleful lament.

No longer at midnight, when coming it strong,

Ripe for riot and row, shall we stagger along;

No more of brave acts shall we “gentlemen” chaff,

Nor floor a raw lobster and fracture his staff.

Till lately, when liquor got up in the nob,

A fine of five shillings would settle the job;

And none will deny who has starr’d on the town,

A frolic or spree wasn’t cheap at a crown.

But now we’re informed by the beak, Mr. Grove

(Whoever could seat on the Bench such a cove?),

That if with strong liquors our tempers get hot,

He’ll send us at once on the treadmill to trot—

That the pastime of wrenching off knockers and bells

Must no longer be practis’d by high-minded swells;

Or he’ll send us, to settle each paltry dispute,

For a month to the treadmill our health to recruit.

O haste, brother pinks, such disgrace to prevent,

Before this vile Bill has the Royal Assent;

For herself it is certain Her Majesty thinks,

And I’m sure she’ll attend to a prayer from the “pinks.”

What, never again be permitted at dark

To insult modest females by way of a lark!

Gone for ever our joys, and our gay occupation?

Must we now like vile felons be marched to the station?

Forbid, ye proud nobs, any steps so degrading—

The swells’ charter’d rights they are basely invading;

Let us stand up for sprees and our leisure amuse,

And still act as blackguards whenever we choose.

Young Sam, though occasionally exhibiting his skill with the gloves at the sets-to of the “Pugilistic Association” established about this period at the Westminster (now the Lambeth) Swimming Baths, by Tom Spring, Cribb, Crawley, the editor of Bell’s Life, and other leading friends of the P.R., was not popular with his brethren of the Ring, and did not care to associate with them. He became a publican first in Castle Street, Leicester Square, and then at the “Coach and Horses,” St. Martin’s Lane; but in both he was unsuccessful—it was said from inattention to business, which we can well believe. At length, in 1840, Sam wedded the daughter of a respected publican, and with her as a helpmeet he became landlord of the “Black Lion,” in Vinegar Yard, Drury Lane. From this house he migrated to the Old Drury Tavern, in Brydges Street, Covent Garden, and here his wife’s experience and management, together with her influence over his erratic disposition, seemed to be fast maturing the “Young ’Un” into a respectable and steady Boniface. For some time, however, the effects of early dissipation were visible in recurrences of inflammation of the lungs at the approach of winter or exposure to cold. In 1842 a severe relapse, accompanied by spitting of blood, reduced him almost to a shadow, and on the 4th of November, 1843, he died of decline, at the early age of thirty-six. The following appeared in an obituary notice in the leading sporting journal of the day:—

“In the sparring schools Sam was a master of his art to an extent but seldom seen and rarely equalled by professors. He often showed, and remarkably so when in conversation with his ‘betters (?),’ that his acquaintance with ‘letters’ was not merely of a mechanical description. He spoke well, and when he chose could ‘do the agreeable’ with a suavity highly creditable to his class, securing to himself throughout his career the patronage of many noblemen and gentlemen of the highest distinction. His temper was cheerful, and he possessed a flow of natural humour which rendered him an agreeable companion in social circles. A reckless disregard to his own interests, and an unhappy disposition to mix in those scenes which constitute what is called ‘Life in London,’ and in which he was often the companion of sprigs of nobility, to whose wild vagaries he was but too much inclined to pander, led him into scrapes from which he had some difficulty in escaping. It is not our wish, however, to speak ill of the dead; and knowing as we do that there are those of a higher grade whose example he was but too prone to follow, equally deserving of censure, we shall throw a veil over the past, and let the recollection of his faults lie hidden in the grave. As a pugilist he was always successful, for he never lost a fight, and as a skilful sparrer he has left no equal of his years. It was not till he married a woman who was his faithful and attached companion till the moment of his death that the foundation of prosperity was laid. She, luckily, was a woman of good sense, and considerable experience in the public line, which enabled her to ‘carry on the war’ with success. Throughout his last illness he was attended with exemplary kindness by his wife, who spared neither pains nor expense to alleviate his disease. He died calm and collected, surrounded by several of his friends, who while they pitied could not but condemn the headlong folly which had distinguished his passage through his short but eventful existence. Many of his faults and follies may be fairly ascribed to the nature of the associations into which the deceased, from his earliest outset in life, was accidently thrown. He was ‘a spoilt child’ of the Fancy, and like all spoilt children was wayward.”

Sam lies buried in the vault of his wife’s family in Kensal Green Cemetery.

MONODY ON THE DEATH OF YOUNG DUTCH SAM.

Scarce the illustrious Pet[^[53]] his eyes had clos’d,

When in Death’s cold embrace Dutch Sam repos’d;

As brave a fellow from life’s scenes dismiss’d

As ever faced a foe or clench’d a fist;

Brave without bounce, and resolute as bold,

And ever first fair fighting to uphold;

Dauntless as honest, with unequalled game

He dar’d defeat, and fought his way to fame;

And burning still with pugilistic fire,

Prov’d Young Dutch Sam was worthy of his sire,

Made of the same unyielding sort of stuff,

Ready at all times for the scratch and rough,

Delighting in the Ring at contest tough,

And proudly scorning to sing out, “Enough!”

Ah! what avails it that in many a mill,

With pluck unflinching he was conqueror still;

With first-rate science dealt the unerring blow

Which from the sneezer made the claret flow;

Perplex’d the box of knowledge with a crack,

And cloth’d the ogles with a suit of black;

Forward his foeman fiercely to assail,

And shower his body blows as thick as hail?

Ah! what avails it? Dire disease at length

Blighted his laurels and subdued his strength,

Marking his features pale with Death’s cold stamp,

While faint and feeble burnt life’s flickering lamp,

’Till wasted, wan, and worn the pulses stopp’d.

The last sad scene was o’er, the curtain dropp’d.

But thou hast mark’d a course correct as clear,

By which the aspiring pugilist may steer.

Though fate decreed thou first shouldst breathe the air

Within the classic precincts of Rag Fair—

That region fam’d, as chronicles unfold,

Sacred to Sheenies and to garments old,

Owld coats, owld vests, to tempt the gazer’s view,

And tiles dresht up to look as goot as new;

But though in scenes like these Young Sam was nurs’d,

The bonds that cramp’d his youth he proudly burst,

And with ambition fired, and milling glow,

From rolls retreated, and discarded dough;

Cut Rosemary Lane, its sorrows and its joys,

And left dead men to other bakers’ boys!

What though awhile he ran a printing-race

At Charley Baldwin’s crib in Chatham Place?

For though to duty never disinclined,

’Twas Caleb Baldwin’s deeds engrossed his mind;

The star of Westminster as tough, as bold,

Who cried peccavi to Dutch Sam the old.

What though awhile, the public to amuse,

Through London streets he circulated news,

Doom’d for a time from East to West to trip,

And barter broadsheets for the ready tip?

“By heaven!” he cried, “to fighting fame I’ll soar,

And sporting journals I will vend no more,

Of adverse fate I’ll overleap the bar,

And follow to the Ring some milling star;

Consign all braggart pugilists to shame,

And show the Fancy Sam is thorough game!”

Thy spirit warmed by the exciting theme,

Nobly Dutch Sam thy pledge thou didst redeem,

And soon beneath Dick Curtis’ fostering wing,

Blaz’d like a meteor in the battle-ring.

Fortune upon thy hardy efforts smil’d,

And Victory hail’d thee as her favourite child.

Beneath thy prowess prime, which nought could quell,

The liveliest of the kids, Ned Stockman, fell;

Then ’twas thy luck, scarce injur’d, to destroy

The shine of Harry Jones, the Sailor Boy;

’Twas thine from Carroll Pat to strip the bays,

And serve out Cooper Tom in style at Grays,

Floor the swart Gipsy in time double-quick,

And settle the proud hash of Davis Dick;

The veteran Martin soon his colours struck,

And twice Ned Neale was down upon his luck;

And all his senses sent upon a cruise,

It was the luck of Gaynor Tom to lose!

But vain are science, gluttony, and strength,

And Young Dutch Sam has met his match at length—

One whose sharp hits can ne’er be put aside,

And at the scratch will never be denied.

Brave man! we only mourn that thou art gone,

Well worthy to be dubb’d “Phenomenon.”

Sound be thy slumber in thy narrow cell,

While with a heavy heart we sigh farewell!

M.

CHAPTER IX.
TOM GAYNOR (“THE BATH CARPENTER”)—1824–1834.

It was said of Marshal Clairfait that, like a drum, he was only heard of when he was beaten. Tom Gaynor, in somewhat like fashion, takes his place among the celebrities of the Ring from the high fame of the men against whom he had the ill luck to be opposed. Beginning rather late in the London Ring, Gaynor’s first antagonist was Ned Neale (who had just polished off in succession Deaf Davis, Bill Cribb, Miller, Hall, and David Hudson), while his last (and too late) appearance in the Ring was in combat with the Phenomenon, Young Dutch Sam, before whom he stood for two hours and five minutes, at Andover, in the year 1834. This was proof sufficient that Gaynor’s heart was in the right place, and that his fistic skill was far above the mere “give and take” of second-rate boxers.

The sobriquet of Gaynor assigns Bath for his birthplace, and there, on the 22nd of April, 1799, the young Tom opened his eyes, as the son of a respectable carpenter in that fashionable city. Tom used to tell his friends, over a pipe at the “Red Horse,” Bond Street, of a wonderful uncle of his, hight Tom Marshall, who was champion boxer of “Zummerzetzhire,” and was never defeated. This uncle, who stood six feet one and a half in his stockings, seems to have been the idol of his nephew’s hero-worship, as another Tom [Carlyle] would phrase it. With this uncle young Gaynor was placed at Taunton, and there, at thirteen years old, was apprenticed. Here Tom’s skill with his “fives” was acknowledged, and at about seventeen years of age he was what modern times would call a “certificated pupil-teacher” in an “academy” of which a local boxer was the chief professor of “the noble art.” One Turle, a fiddler, had the reputation of being a dangerous opponent, but in a turn-up with the young Carpenter he received such a taste of his quality that he declined any further favours, and tacitly resigned his assumed title of “champion of Taunton” to the “’prentice han’” of Gaynor.

TOM GAYNOR (“The Bath Carpenter”).

These were the times of election saturnalia, and though (testè Sir Henry James) Taunton, in these days of ballot and household suffrage, is no purer than it ought to be, in the times of borough-mongering it was much worse. A little episode in young Tom’s history may illustrate this. During a contested election for that riotous, thirsty, and by no means immaculate borough, the true blue champion, whose colours young Tom wore, had set abroach a hogshead of “raal Zummerzet soyder,” and to ensure the just distribution of the same had entrusted it to the care of a big rural rough, who churlishly denied young Gaynor a drop of the cheering home-made. This unfair treatment considerably riled our hero; but when the big bully threatened to add “a good hoidin’” to his refusal, “unless young Chips made hisself skeerce,” the joke was carried too far. The stripling stripped, and the countryman, consigning his charge to a friend, desired him to “zee to the zwill, whoiles oi polish off this yoong jackandapes.” But the battle was not to the strong, and in three sharp rounds, occupying about fifteen minutes, the “rush” of the yokel was so completely taken out of him by the cutting “props” and the straight “nobbers” of the young ’un that the countryman cried, “Enoo!” and went back to his tap, from which Tom and his friends drank success to themselves and their candidate without further hindrance or molestation.

Soon after Tom returned to his native city of Bath. Here he fought a pitched battle with a recruiting sergeant of some boxing fame in military circles. The soldier’s tactics, however, were of no avail against the superior strategics of young Gaynor.

Gaynor’s eyes, although he followed his calling industriously, were always cast towards the Metropolis with a longing gaze, and at the age of twenty-four he made his way to town, and having already met that professor in the provinces, he took up his quarters at the house of his “brother chip,” the scientific Harry Holt, the “Cicero of the Ring,” who then kept the “Golden Cross,” in Cross Lane, Long Acre. Here an accident brought him into notice.

Josh Hudson being at Holt’s at a jollification, the conversation, of course, was of “battles lost and won,” and in the course of “chaff” Tom Gaynor was introduced with an eulogistic flourish from his Ciceronian friend and brother-craftsman. This led to Josh, who was certainly not in his “coolest state of collectedness,” expressing his willingness to put on the mittens with the “young man from the country.” The result was unfortunate. Josh lost his temper, and for some twenty-five minutes it was very like a little glove-fight, in which “Tom was as good as his master.” Of course, Holt’s friends put a stop to this; but it raised Gaynor’s reputation.

Soon after, in a set-to with Ben Burn, Gaynor displayed such science and resolution that he was highly applauded by the amateurs at the Fives Court, and was hailed a clever “newcomer.”

Friends now came forward, and Tom was matched with Ned Neale, at whose hands he experienced an honourable defeat, on the 25th May, 1824, in one hour and six minutes. (See Neale, Chapter V., ante.)

Gaynor, about this time, frequently appeared at public sparring benefits, and was much esteemed, notwithstanding his defeat by so practised and resolute a boxer as the Streatham Youth. At Epsom Races, on the 20th of May, 1825, Gaynor was in attendance, with many of the Fancy, when a subscription purse of fifty guineas was offered by the amateurs. For this Gaynor presented himself as a candidate, and was met by Jonathan Bissell (Young Gas). Gaynor was admitted to be sadly out of condition, while Young Gas was in first-rate fettle. Gaynor was compelled to give in, after a game battle of one hour and twenty-five minutes.

In the early months of 1825 Gaynor advertised for a customer, offering to fight any man of his weight—eleven stone and a half—in three months, for £100 a-side. Nearly one year passed away in sparring, when Gaynor, anxious for a job, challenged Reuben Martin for £50 a-side, in January, 1826. This, however, ended without an engagement.

Tom was at length matched for £50 a-side with Alec Reid (the Chelsea Snob), and the men met on Tuesday, May 16th, 1826, at No Man’s Land, three miles and a half to the right of St. Albans.

The Eton Montem, Greenwich, and Wandsworth Fairs, and other places of attraction near the Metropolis, rendered the road to the scene of action remarkably thin; indeed, so scarce were drags of every description that the turnpike men declared it a holiday for their apron pockets, while the roadside houses looked out in vain for a four-horse drag, or even a Hampton van. Yet such a scientific display, with manliness united, as the battle between Gaynor and Alec Reid, on the beautiful bit of turf belonging to the ladies, on that Tuesday in May, has seldom rewarded a journey of a hundred miles.

White-headed Bob was Gaynor’s principal patron, and like a good judge sent out his boy to a prime training walk. Baldwin also backed Gaynor to the amount of a £50 note—so high an opinion did the White-nobbed One entertain of his quality. The Chelsea Champion was under the protection of a Corinthian, and Richmond also looked after him. Both men did their duty while training, and their appearance, on stripping, satisfied the amateurs that they entered the ring in good condition. At one o’clock Gaynor threw his hat into the ropes, attended by Jem Ward and White-headed Bob, and a few minutes afterwards Reid repeated the token of defiance, followed by Cannon and Richmond. Gaynor was the favourite, at six and five to four; but the odds had previously been laid both ways. In fact, Reid was viewed as decidedly the best fighter, and in most instances was taken for choice. The colours, yellow for Gaynor, were tied to the stakes by Bob, and crimson for Reid were fastened by Richmond.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Gaynor was the bigger man on appearing at the scratch, and having length and weight on his side were no trifling advantages in his favour. Reid looked well; he was up to the mark, and confident in the extreme. Some little caution was observed on both sides, both of them ready to let fly upon the first opening. Gaynor endeavoured to feel for the nob of his opponent, but the arms of Reid rendered repeated attempts of no avail. Reid at length got a turn, and quick as lightning he tapped the sensitive plant of Gaynor so roughly that both his ogles were winking. (The Reidites gave a rare chevy, thinking it a good omen.) The science of Reid was much admired; he stopped two left-handed hits with the utmost ease; but in counter-hitting he received a tremendous blow on his mouth, which not only produced the claret, but almost displaced his ivories. (“First blood!” cried Curtis and Josh Hudson.) Reid, with much good nature, said to Gaynor, “That was a good hit.” The left hand of Gaynor again told; nevertheless, Reid was busy, and in turn felt for the upper works of Gaynor. The left peeper of the latter was damaged. Some excellent stops on both sides, until a rally ensued, when Gaynor fought resolutely until they were entangled—both down, Gaynor undermost. (It was clearly seen that the length of Gaynor made him a dangerous opponent, and he was decidedly the favourite at six to four.)

2.—Reid, like an experienced boxer, now stopped Gaynor well, but the latter would not be denied. He planted a heavy blow in Reid’s face, and in closing sent him out of the ropes. (“You are sure to win it, Gaynor,” observed his friends; and two to one was offered and taken.)

3.—Reid found out that he had a much more troublesome customer than he had anticipated. Gaynor got away from a heavy blow; a pause, and both on the look-out for squalls. Some sharp blows exchanged. The left hand of Gaynor told twice severely on Reid’s mug. A rally ensued, and Tom went down rather weak.

4.—This was a capital round; and the mode of fighting adopted by Reid delighted his backers. He went to work with much determination, and Gaynor napped considerable punishment. In closing, Reid fibbed his opponent severely, until a severe struggle put an end to the round, and both down. (“What a capital fight—both good ones; it is worth coming 100 miles to see! We have not had such a fight for these two years past!” were the general observations all round the ring.)

5.—The face of Gaynor was materially altered, and his right ogle in “Queer Street.” The mug of Reid was likewise damaged—his nose had increased in size; he had also received some heavy body blows. Good stopping on both sides; and Reid, in the estimation of his backers, put in some beautiful facers. In closing, Reid went down.

6.—A small change had taken place in favour of the “man of wax;” and he had now made his opponent a piper. The seconds of Reid and all his friends called to him to go to work; but Gaynor was not to be beaten off his guard—he sparred for wind till he recovered from his distress. Reid, however, got the lead, and milled away, till in closing at the ropes he was thrown, and had a bad fall. Reid was now backed as favourite.

7.—Gaynor was much distressed; and Reid, like a skilful general, never lost sight of the advantage. In closing at the ropes, Gaynor went down exhausted. (“Reid for £100!” and uproarious shouts of applause.)

8.—Reid, most certainly, at this period of the fight, was the hero of the tale; he tipped it to Gaynor at every turn, till the latter boxer went down. (Rounds of applause for Reid.)

9.—A more manly round was never witnessed in any battle whatever—it was hit for hit, the claret following almost every blow. Both men stood up to each other like bricks, and appeared regardless of the punishment they received. Both down. (“Here’s a fight—this battle will bring the Ring round! Reid’s a fine fellow, but he is overmatched.”)

10.—This was also a capital round; but whenever Reid made a hit Gaynor returned upon him. The length of the latter boxer enabled him to do this; and also in several instances his left hand did much execution, without being stopped by the Snob. Both down, and summat the matter on each side.

11.—Reid had the worst of it in this round; he received three jobbers, which made his nob dance again; but his courage never forsook him. In closing, the head of the Snob, in going down, went against the stakes, enough to have taken the fight out of most men, but he was too game to notice it.

12.—The changes were frequent, and at times it was anybody’s battle. Reid was never at a loss, and he fought at every point to obtain victory. In struggling Reid was thrown, and Gaynor fell on him.

13.—The left hand of Gaynor committed desperate havoc on Reid’s face; nevertheless, the former napped sharp ones in turn. In struggling, Reid went down.

14.—The appearance of Gaynor was now against him; and strangers to the Ring might fairly have entertained an opinion that he could not have stood up for a couple more rounds. Reid took the lead for a short time, but the round was finished by Reid being thrown.

15.—Nothing of consequence. Short, and both on the turf.

16.—This round was a fine display of science in favour of Reid. He punished Gaynor all over the ground, and floored him by a heavy facer. The Reidites were now uproarious, and applauded their man to the echo.

17.—Both men exhibited symptoms of distress. After an exchange of hits they staggered against each other, and went down. (“What a brave fight! Jack is as good as his master!”)

18.—Gaynor, although in distress, made some good hits; he also nobbed Reid, and fell heavily upon his opponent.

19.—This was a short round. Reid was exceedingly weak, and went down—Gaynor quite as bad, staggering over his man.

20.—Reid came to the scratch full of pluck, but he received two jobbers. Both down, Reid undermost.

21.—The falls were decidedly against Reid; and in this round he received shaking enough to have put an end to the battle, Reid went down, and Gaynor fell on his head.

22.—The oldest and best judges of the Ring still stuck to Reid, and made him the favourite. He commenced the rounds well, but in general, as in this instance, he was thrown.

23.—Gaynor now appeared getting rather better; but his mouth was open, and so were his hands. (The friends of Reid advised Gaynor to leave off, as he was a married man, and had a family; “It don’t suit me,” said Gaynor. “Hold your tongue,” said Ward; “it is six to one—sixty to one, I meant, in your favour—ain’t it, Bob?” “Yes,” replied the White-headed One; “it is a horse to a hen.”) Reid fell weak.

24.—Reid, like a good one, showed fight, and put in a nobber, but his strength could not second his science, and he was heavily thrown. Still Reid was offered as the favourite for five pounds, but no taker.

25.—It really was astonishing to view the high courage displayed on both sides, and the firmness and spirit with which they opposed each other’s efforts. In finishing this round, Reid went down, and Gaynor fell on him.

26.—This was a very good round, and the determined spirit displayed by Reid astonished every spectator. Counter-hits. Gaynor tried to escape punishment, and in retreating fell down. (“He’s going; you have won it, Reid.”)

27.—Gaynor’s face was badly battered, and the index of Reid was little better; but no complaints were made, and when time was called both appeared at the scratch with alacrity. Reid was busy and troublesome, till he was thrown. Another bad fall against him—worse than ten hits.

28.—Reid down; but he contended every inch of ground like a Wellington—a better little man is not to be met with, and the courage and good fighting he displayed this day delighted his backers.

29.—Gaynor was evidently the stronger man, although “bad was the best.” Reid was getting very weak, missed his blows, and went down on his knees.

30.—The change was now decidedly in favour of Gaynor; and in closing he gave Reid a severe cross-buttock. (“It’s all up,” was the cry. “I’ll give you,” said Josh, “a chest of tools if you win it.” “I have promised him,” said Tom Oliver, “Somerset House—but he can’t lose it.”)

31.—Reid got away from a heavy nobber, with much more activity than could have been expected by a man in his truly distressed state. Reid down.

32.—Gaynor pursued Reid to the ropes, where the latter fought with fine spirit and resolution, till he was sent out of them by Gaynor.

33.—Several persons were yet of opinion that Reid would win; in truth, the battle was never safe to either until it was over. Reid went down distressed.

34, and last.—Reid still showed fight, and an exchange of blows took place; but in closing, Gaynor in obtaining the throw fell heavily upon him. Reid’s head came violently against the ground, and when picked up by his second he was insensible. Gaynor was declared the conqueror. The battle occupied one hour and ten minutes.

Remarks.—It was a near thing after all; and Reid, although in defeat, raised himself in the estimation of the Fancy. He fought up-hill against weight and length, and was likewise opposed to a man of science and a game boxer. Reid, it is said, weighed ten stone four pounds, and Gaynor eleven stone six pounds—but Gaynor declared, at the Tennis Court, on the Wednesday following, that he was under eleven stone. A better fight, in every point of view, has not been seen for many years. Gaynor received most punishment; but his conduct throughout the whole of the battle was cool and praiseworthy.

Gaynor was matched for a second battle with Young Gas, for £100 a side, to take place on the 5th of September. The stakes were made good, but owing to a misunderstanding the match went off.

In consequence of Gaynor having proved the conqueror with Reid, he was considered an excellent opponent for Bishop Sharpe, and his friends backed him against Sharpe for £50 a-side. This battle was decided also at No Man’s Land, on Tuesday, December 5th, 1826. Sharpe won the fight, after a very hard battle of one hour and ten minutes, Gaynor showing fight to the last. (See Bishop Sharpe, Chapter XI., post.)

Gaynor’s defeat by the Bold Smuggler did not diminish the number of friends made by his general good conduct and excellent demeanour to his patrons and backers. But despite his readiness for a match, it was more than a year before one could be satisfactorily arranged. His challenge was then accepted by Charles Gybletts, whose reputation as a slashing hitter and well-scienced boxer was established by his defeats of Rasher, Phil Sampson (see post, Chapter XIII.), Robin Rough, and Harry Jones, and who had lately fought a draw with Reuben Martin.

Gybletts was the favourite, at six to four, and the stakes (£100) being made good, the men met on the 18th of May, 1828, at Shere Mere, Bedfordshire, on the borders of Herts. At this fight, Tom Oliver, who had received the true blue ropes and stakes of the Pugilistic Club, by order of Mr. John Jackson, its president, first appeared as Commissary-General of the P.R., and displayed that tact in the formation of an inner square and an outer circle which we so well remember, and so oft commended in long after years. Gaynor, who trained at Shirley’s, at Staines, came over on Monday to the “Blue Boar,” at St. Albans, Gybletts at the same time reaching the “Cross Keys,” Oldaker’s, at Harpenden. Both men were in the highest spirits, and in first-rate condition. Gaynor, joined by some Corinthian patrons, came on the ground in a well-appointed four-in-hand, decorated with his colours, a bright orange, and accompanied by a Kent bugle player, to the enlivenment of the road and scene. Gybletts was driven to the ring in a less ostentatious conveyance, a high, red-wheeled, yellow, one-horse “shay,” of the then “commercial” pattern, but was none the less heartily greeted by his admirers.

The day was brilliantly fine, and the attendance of the right sort, who are always orderly. Gybletts, waited on by Dick Curtis and Josh Hudson, first threw his castor into the ring. Gaynor, esquired by Harry Holt and Tom Oliver, quickly answered the challenge, and Oliver won for him the choice of corners. Gaynor’s weight was stated at twelve stone, Gybletts’s at eleven stone seven pounds. The odds were, however, still on Gybletts, and no takers.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On throwing themselves into attitude, each man showed his judgment in keeping the vulnerable points well covered. Gaynor manœuvred with his hands well up, and Gybletts played in and out, seeking an opening for a left-hand delivery. After some cautious movements, Gaynor broke ground, trying his right at Gybletts’s body, but he was cleverly stopped, and Gybletts jumped away nimbly. His left at the nob was also stopped, but in a second trial with the right Gaynor got home on his adversary’s cheek. Gybletts now went in to fight, and caught Gaynor a smack on the mouth with the right, Gaynor striking the centre stake with his heel in retreating. He recovered himself, however, and rushed to a rally, delivering right and left on his opponent’s frontispiece. Gybletts fought with him until they closed, when, after a sharp struggle, Gaynor threw him a heavy back fall, and tumbled on him. On getting up a tinge of blood was visible on the face of each, and the first event was undecided.

2.—Gaynor, first to fight, delivered his right on Gybletts’s body, who got away actively, and propped Gaynor as he came in. Gaynor again tried his right at Gybletts’s ribs, but was stopped. He got on, however, one, two, on Gybletts’s head, cutting his left cheek. In the close Gybletts struggled hard for the fall, but Gaynor, dexterously shifting his leg, got the inner lock, and threw Gybletts head over heels, amidst the cheers of his friends. Odds still six to four on Gybletts.

3.—A good scientific round; hitting, stopping getting away, in pretty stand-up style. Each got it on the body and pimple in turn, but the out-fighting was certainly in favour of Gaynor, who had the reach of his opponent. In the close, Gybletts got the fall, and the cheering of the last round was returned.

4.—Good stopping by both. Charley missed his right at the body, and received a heavy smack on the left cheek from Gaynor’s right, which sounded all over the ring, and imprinted a blood-mark on the spot. Charley was puzzled, but good counter-hits were exchanged. Gybletts stepped back, wiped his hands, and did not seem to know how to get at his long-armed, round-shouldered opponent. Caution the order of the day, and some excellent stops on both sides. Gybletts swung in his right on the body, but got it on the jaw. The men closed, Gybletts pegging away at Gaynor’s ribs, Gaynor at Gybletts’s head-piece; Gaynor threw his man heavily. (Even on Gaynor.)

5.—Charley got in his left on Gaynor’s neck, and followed it by a body blow. Exchanges, in which Gaynor’s length of arm told, Gaynor getting home on Gybletts’s forehead and mouth, Gybletts on his opponent’s ribs and ear. A close for the fall. After a short struggle Gaynor threw his man cleverly.

6.—Gaynor again caught a blow on the neck from Charley’s left, but the latter missed his body blow. Stopping in good style; at length Gybletts went in, delivering his right heavily. Gaynor turned round, and in getting away fell on his hands and knees by a slip. Loud cheers for Gybletts, and two to one offered by his friends, though both out and in fighting were in Gaynor’s favour.

7.—Gybletts got another sharp one on his wounded cheek. He retreated, but Gaynor followed, forced the fighting, and threw him.

8.—On coming to the scratch Gybletts’s shoe was down at heel. Dick Curtis came forward and busied himself in getting it up, Gaynor quietly looking at him. Tom Oliver made an appeal of “Foul,” but the umpires said they had nothing to remark, except that Gaynor was at liberty to get to work, as “time” had been called. During the discussion the heel was put to rights, and the men stood up. Gaynor got his right on to Gybletts’s body, Gybletts returned short, when Gaynor jobbed him twice on the head, and in the close both were down.

9.—Gaynor, first to fight, put in one, two, and closed; both down at the ropes.

10.—Good counter-hitting; both men stood bravely to the scratch. In the close, after a struggle, both fell, Gybletts on his head.

11.—Both men rushed to a close, and after a violent effort for the fall Gaynor grassed his man, falling on him.

12.—Good science on both sides. Alternate hits and stops. Gybletts had discovered that closing was not to his advantage, and kept out. In the exchanges he caught a heavy foreheader from Gaynor’s left, and was finally thrown.

13.—Gybletts cautious, but Gaynor would not wait his convenience; he went in right and left, and Gybletts dropped.

14.—Mutual exchanges and good stops. Gybletts again visited on his olfactory organ. Both down harmlessly in a scramble.

15.—Gaynor delivered a right-handed chop, and Charley, in return, caught him in the ribs with the right. A close at the ropes, and both down.

16.—A slashing round; hit away on both sides until Gybletts was floored.

17.—Gybletts came up remarkably cheerful, considering the last bout. He got a good hit in on Gaynor’s mouth, which bled freely. Gaynor returned, and went down in the exchanges.

18.—Both cautious. Gybletts sent in a teaser with his left on Gaynor’s mouth. Gaynor, a little surprised, rushed to a close. Charley got Gaynor cleverly in his arms, lifted him from the ground, and backheeled him, falling on him heavily. (Shouts of “That’s the way, Charley!”)

19.—Wild fighting on both sides. Gaynor rattled away, hit or miss. Gybletts returned at random; in the exchanges Gybletts slipped, and was on his knees, when Gaynor knocked him over.

20.—Forty-five minutes had now elapsed. The knuckles of Gybletts’s right hand were much puffed by repeated contact with the point of Gaynor’s elbow, which he dropped to protect his ribs from the unpleasant visitations of his adversary. Yet Charley was still the favourite, from his known gameness, and his friends maintained he must wear Gaynor out. Gybletts delivered his right at the body, and Gaynor closed for in-fighting. In the close, Gybletts got Gaynor down.

21.—Gybletts crept in, got in a blow on Gaynor’s proboscis, and was uppermost in the close.

22.—A good weaving round. Gybletts had it left and right, and was thrown unmistakably.

23.—Gaynor made a right-handed job, closed, and threw his man.

24.—Gybletts applied to the brandy bottle. He went up, sparred a little, tried at the body, missed, and was thrown.

25, 26, 27.—Gybletts fighting an up-hill game, but contending manfully, hit for hit. In the 26th round Gaynor caught his man on the nose, cutting the cartilage, the wound bleeding profusely. In the last round both were down.

28, 29.—Gaynor first to fight. Gybletts down.

30.—Gybletts got home sharply with his left in Gaynor’s left eye. Gaynor cautious. At length he let fly, but Gybletts ducked his head, thus saving it from a smasher. He then caught Gaynor heavily on the mouth, and drew the claret from that organ as well as the nose. Gaynor returned, but slipped down on his knees.

31.—One hour and five minutes had passed. Charley succeeded in planting a “snorter,” but Gaynor gave him a quid pro quo. Gybletts once again visited his adversary’s masticators, when Gaynor went in hand over hand, drove him to the ropes, hit up, and threw him.

32.—Gaynor took the lead in fighting. Charley drew back, putting in slightly on the nose. He got it in return on the mouth, and went down, Gaynor also falling back on the ropes, but quickly recovering his perpendicular.

33.—Gybletts came up cheerful, and after a few feints and parries went in for close quarters. After a stiff struggle Gybletts was thrown completely over the ropes out of the ring; Gaynor went over the ropes with him, with his heels in the air and his head on his man’s body.

34.—Gybletts, though piping, seemed strong on his legs. He stood well to his man, and it was hit for hit with no decided advantage, till, in the close, both were on the grass.

35.—Gaynor went in, and Charley jobbed him on the nose. Tom shook his head, and went at Gybletts with the right. Exchanges, a rally, and a heavy cross-counter; both men were on the ropes. Gaynor in an awkward position, when he got down. (Cheering for Gybletts.)

36.—One hour and a quarter had elapsed, and the odds were still on Gybletts, notwithstanding Gaynor’s out-fighting and wrestling were superior. Tom, first to fight, got in a mugger, and received a rib-roaster in return. Merry milling for a turn. In the close Gaynor got the fall.

37.—Gybletts stopped Gaynor’s left neatly, and got away; Gaynor followed. Both missed in the exchanges, closed, and Gybletts gained the throw.

38.—Gybletts, amazingly active on his pins, missed a right-hander; exchanges with the left, and a cross-counter. Gybletts went in wildly, but was heavily thrown.

39.—From this to the 45th round the men fought spiritedly; Gaynor, getting better, generally had Gybletts down at the ropes. In the 46th round Gybletts’s right hand was seen to have given way, and he had his left only to depend on as a weapon of offence. In the 48th and 49th Gaynor fought Gybletts down, and in the 50th threw him heavily.

51, and last.—When Gybletts showed at the scratch, Harry Holt called upon Gaynor to “finish the fight,” but Tom was so “bothered” he could do nothing with precision. He missed with the right, got hold of his man and turned him round, when both fell together, Gybletts pegging away at Gaynor’s back. Time, one hour and fifty-three minutes. An attempt was made to bring Gybletts to “time,” but in vain. The game fellow had swooned, and Gaynor was hailed the victor. Gybletts was bled by a medical man on the ground, and quickly came to. Gaynor, after a few minutes, walked to his carriage, saluted by “See, the Conquering Hero Comes,” from the keyed bugle.

Remarks.—Gybletts’s friends had no reason to complain of their reliance on the gameness of their man, although their underestimate of his adversary’s powers led to his defeat. Gaynor’s superior length, and his wrestling capabilities, in which he has few superiors in the Ring, turned the scale in his favour—added to which, his endurance in receiving punishment, and skill in hitting and stopping, proved also to be superior to those of his brave adversary. The battle, as a whole, did honour to both victor and vanquished.

Gaynor took a benefit at the Tennis Court on the ensuing Thursday, when Tom Oliver and Ben Burn, Young Dutch Sam and Ned Brown (Sprig of Myrtle), were the leading couples. Gaynor returned thanks to his friends, and in reply to an expressed wish of Gybletts for another trial, said he hoped to be shortly in a position to retire from the Ring altogether; if not his friend Charley should be accommodated. The stakes were given up to Gaynor on the same evening, after a dinner at Harry Holt’s, when his backers presented him not only with the stakes he had won, but the sums they had put down for him.

So high did this victory place Gaynor in his own and his admirers’ estimation that it was considered a new trial with his old opponent of six years previously might lead to a reversal of the verdict then given. Accordingly Ned Neale was sounded; but that now eminent boxer having his hands full, the matter was perforce postponed, and it was only in the latter part of 1830 that a match could be made with Neale and Gaynor, to come off after the former boxer’s contest with Young Dutch Sam, as already narrated in this volume.

The terms were that Neale should fight Gaynor, £300 to £200, on the 15th of March, 1831, eight weeks subsequent to Neale’s fight with Sam.

Notwithstanding Neale’s defeat by “the Young Phenomenon,” he was the favourite at five to four, and these odds increased when information from Neale’s training quarters in the Isle of Wight asserted that the Streatham man was “never better in his life.” Gaynor was declared “stale.” He had for more than two years led the life of a publican, and was said to be “gone by.” His more intimate acquaintance did not share this opinion, as Tom was always steady, regular, and never a hard drinker.

Gaynor took his exercise at his old friend Shirley’s, at Staines, as on former occasions, and having won the toss for choice of place, Warfield, in Berkshire, was named by his party as the field of arms.

Soon after twelve on the appointed day Neale, who had arrived at Ripley the day before, came on the ground in a barouche and four, with numerous equestrian and pedestrian followers. Gaynor, in a similar turn-out, soon after put in an appearance. He had for his seconds Harry Holt and Ned Stockman—Neale, Tom Spring and his late opponent, Young Dutch Sam. The men shook hands good-humouredly, and commenced “peeling,” six to four being eagerly offered on Neale. Both men looked serious, and Gaynor’s skin was sallow. As for Neale, he looked bright and clear, and was generally fancied by the spectators. Gaynor’s weight was declared to be 11st. 2lb., while Neale’s was 12st. 3lb., Gaynor’s age being thirty-two and Neale’s twenty-seven. The advantage, therefore, seemed greatly on the side of Tom’s former conqueror, and so thought most persons, except Gaynor himself. All preliminaries having been adjusted the men were delivered at the scratch, the seconds retired to their corners, and at twelve minutes after one began

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Each man held up his hands as if waiting the other’s attack, and this determination being mutual they stood eyeing each other steadily for two or three minutes, doing nothing. Gaynor at length made a little dodge with his left, but Neale was wary, shifted a little, and would not be drawn out. More waiting, more dodging, when, at the expiry of nine minutes, Gaynor sent out his right at Ned’s body, who contented himself by stopping it with his elbow. Gaynor stepped back and wiped his hands on his drawers. Mutual feints, both cautious—the spectators becoming impatient. (“Wake him up,” said Stockman, “he’s taking a nap.”) After twenty minutes of manœuvring Gaynor planted his right on Neale’s mazzard. (Cheers, and cries of, “Now go to work.”) Neale would not break ground, and Gaynor could not get at him. More tedious manœuvring. Forty minutes had now elapsed (the same time as in Neale’s first round with Nicholls), when Neale went in, Gaynor retreating to the corner of the ring. (“Now’s your time,” cried Young Sam.) Ned went in with the right, Gaynor countered, and a scrambling rally followed. A few ill-directed blows were exchanged, a close, and some fibbing; then a struggle at the ropes, when Gaynor was uppermost. The round lasted forty-five minutes.

2.—On coming to the scratch Neale showed a small swelling over the left eye, and his face was somewhat flushed. (“Now,” cried Stockman, “you have broken the ice; cut away.”) Neale crept in on his man, who retreated, and shifted with a good defence. Neale let go his right at Gaynor’s listener, but missed, and at it the men went in a rattling rally. Gaynor hit up with his right, catching Neale on the jaw; while Ned gave Gaynor a heavy one on the cheek-bone, raising a very visible “mouse.” In the close fibbing was again the order of the day; at length Gaynor got his man down.

3.—Great shouting. The “Queen’s Head” for choice. Neale’s face was flushed, and he panted a little. Gaynor was as pale as a parsnip, barring the black mouse on his cheek. Gaynor made pretty play with the right, but was neatly stopped, and Neale did the same for his opponent. Gaynor tried his left, but Neale merely threw up his guard, and Gaynor desisted. Neale let fly and got home on Gaynor’s ivories, but had a sharp return on his left eye. Gaynor planted his right on Ned’s ribs, and got away. Caution on both sides. Neale crept nearer to his work, and Gaynor retreated to his corner; at last Neale went in, and a slight bungling rally followed. A sharp struggle for the throw, which Gaynor got, and rolled over his man. (Loud cheers for Gaynor. On the men getting to their seconds’ knees, Spring claimed “first blood” for Neale, from Gaynor’s mouth, which was allowed.)

4.—A new dodge was here discernible. Stockman, to prevent Neale holding his man, had greased Gaynor’s neck, the grease being very visible at the roots of his hair. Neale broke ground and began the fighting; Gaynor was ready, and fought with him. Neale was hit in the body and on the nose and brow, Gaynor on the jaw and cheek. In a loose rally Ned went down in the hitting. (Cannon claimed this as “first knock-down” for Gaynor. It was allowed; but there was not a clear knock-down in the fight.)

5.—On rising Neale showed marks of hitting on the left eye and nose. After a little cautious sparring Ned rushed in wild, and the men wrestled together. Both down, Gaynor uppermost.

6.—Neale steady. No great harm done on either side. Gaynor hit short with his left, then threw in his right with the rapidity of lightning. Both attempts were beautifully stopped. Gaynor laughed, but Neale put a stop to his hilarity by a sharp lunging right-hander on the mouth, which Gaynor returned with a smart smack on Ned’s proboscis. Another wrestling match, and Neale thrown. (On rising Neale showed blood over the right eye, and Holt renewed the disputed point by claiming it for Gaynor.)

7.—Neale stole a march, and popped in his left cleverly on Gaynor’s nose. Gaynor returned with the right; Ned rattled in, caught Gaynor so tightly round the waist that he could not extricate himself, then, with the back-heel, threw him on his back on the ground, adding his weight to the force of the fall. This was a smasher, and Gaynor’s nose sent forth a crimson stream.

8.—Gaynor on the piping order, and cautious. Ned again visited his snuff-box with his left. Neale fought into a close, and again threw Gaynor a burster. (Ned was now a strong favourite, at six and seven to four.)

9.—Gaynor was cheerful, and there was some good counter-hitting with the right. Neale napped it on his already swollen eye, which began to bleed, as did an old wound on Gaynor’s cheek-bone. In the close, Gaynor was thrown for the third time. He got up slowly, and seemed the worse for wear.

10.—Neale, still cautious, stopped a right-hander, but missed his return. Gaynor went in for the throw, and after a sharp struggle got his man down.

11.—Gaynor much distressed and groggy. Nevertheless, he planted his right on Neale’s damaged eye, which was fast putting up the shutter. Ned missed a vicious lunge at Gaynor’s ear, and Gaynor returned nastily on Ned’s nose, who rushed in, and seizing Tom, lifted him from terra firma, flung him heavily on his shoulder, and fell on him.

12.—Gaynor came up astonishingly steady, though bleeding from mouth, nose, and cheek. He hit short at the body with his right, then tried his left at the nob, but Ned frustrated his intentions. Gaynor swung out his right viciously, but Neale jumped back and escaped. Neale then went in for the throw, and a severe struggle followed, Ned chopping and fibbing; but at last Gaynor got the lock, and over went poor Ned, with Gaynor on top of him, a most audible thud.

13.—Gaynor piping. Ned planted his right hand on the body; he then closed. A long struggle for the throw, and both down.

14.—Gaynor, game as a pebble, went in to fight, but Ned got away, and Gaynor went down in the attempt to close.

15.—Ned made play, but was open-handed. Gaynor retreated to the ropes, where a struggle took place. Gaynor got Ned under, and hung on him on the ropes, until Ned fell outside them, Gaynor inside.

16.—The fight had now lasted one hour and thirteen minutes. A wild and scrambling round. Both down.

17–20.—Gaynor, game and ready, always came to the scratch; though much distressed, he never shirked his work. In the 20th round he seemed “abroad,” and fell, Neale falling over him on his head.

21.—Gaynor on the totter. Ned ran in at him, bored him to the ropes, caught him in his arms, and sent him a “Catherine wheel” in the air. (Ned’s friends all alive. Three to one on Ned, and no takers.)

22 and 23.—In both these rounds Gaynor was down, and Neale supposed to be winning in a canter—any odds.

24.—Ned the fresher and stronger man, apparently. Exchanges, when Gaynor rushed in and threw him. (“Not safe yet,” cried the knowing ones.)

25.—Gaynor went to in-fighting, closed, and threw Neale.

26.—Neale went in first, but Gaynor fought for a few seconds on the defensive, then closed, put on the crook, and threw Neale. (“Pro-di-gi-ous!” exclaimed Frosty-faced Fogo, after the manner of Liston’s Dominie Sampson.)

27.—Gaynor, though sorely punished, smiled confidently. Neale tried his left; Gaynor missed his right over Ned’s shoulder. Ned closed for the fall, but Gaynor again got it. (The odds at a stand-still. “Neale has to win it yet.”)

28.—Ned made another effort and won the fall, throwing Gaynor heavily.

29–31.—Neale cautious. Half-arm hitting and scrambling rallies. Both men tired, and little execution done.

32.—A wild round in the corner; Neale fell outside the ropes, and Gaynor inside.

33.—Neale walked firmly to the scratch; Gaynor was led up by his seconds. Neale fought in to a close, and heavy hits were exchanged. Gaynor fell on his knees, but was up in a second. Ned caught hold of the ropes, Gaynor closed, and Neale canted him completely over his head.

34.—Neale forced a rally. Gaynor waited for him and hit up. Neale closed, but seeing he was likely to get the worst of it, slipped down, amid cries of disapprobation, and “Take him away!”

35.—Curtis called out to Young Sam, “Six to four on Gaynor. Ned has cut it!” Neale in reply walked to the scratch. Gaynor ran in, seized Neale, and threw him with a swing. Shouts for Gaynor.

36.—Gaynor seemed getting second wind, and became steadier on his pins. Hits exchanged. Neale got the throw.

37.—Gaynor short at the body with his right. Neale nailed him with the left on the ribs. A rally in the corner, when Neale slipped to avoid. (Disapprobation.)

38–43.—Nothing remarkable except the men’s perseverance. Each round began with some mutual stops and misses, resolved itself into a rally, and ended by one or both down alternately.

44.—Gaynor seemed to rally all his energies, and forced the fighting; hits were exchanged, and Gaynor tried for the close, but Neale went down. Gaynor pointed at him as he lay on the ground. (Cheers from Gaynor’s friends. “We’ll illuminate the ‘Queen’s Head’ to-night!”)

45, and last.—Gaynor seemed to begin with new vigour. His spirits were roused by the cheers of his friends, and he went manfully to the scratch. Neale faced him with apparent alacrity, but was clearly down on his luck, and showed heavy marks of punishment. Gaynor went at him with the right, and planted a blow. Neale fought with him to a close, when Gaynor threw him and fell across him. There was nothing to indicate that all was over, but when “time” was called, Neale’s head fell back, and though Young Sam shook it and shouted, Ned was “deaf” to the call. Gaynor was accordingly proclaimed the victor amidst vociferous acclamations. The supporters of Neale were amazed and dumbfounded. Gaynor threw up his arms and cut a very feeble caper before walking off to his carriage, which displayed the orange flag of victory, and where he quickly dressed himself. Neale was some time before he recovered, and was then conveyed to Staines, and put to bed.

Remarks.—It is difficult to account for Neale’s falling-off, as ten rounds before the close he was evidently the stronger and fresher man. We can only attribute it to the repetition of prolonged exertion and of punishment at an interval too short for the entire recuperation of his bodily and mental powers after such a defeat as that he experienced at the hands of Young Sam only eight weeks before. Indeed, we cannot but think the match was ill advised and imprudent, and the odds of £300 to £200 in the battle-money presumptuous. It was, however, brave and honourable in Neale to try the “wager of battle,” in which his too partial backers had engaged him. As to Gaynor, but one opinion can be formed of his courage, game, endurance, and fortitude, all of which were conspicuous in this contest with his superior in weight, youth, and the character of the boxers he had met and conquered.

On the following Thursday Gaynor took a benefit at the Hanover Assembly Rooms, Long Acre.[^[54]] Here he was greeted with all the honours that wait upon success, and the best men of the Ring—Tom Spring, Oliver, Young Sam, Reuben Martin, Stockman, Reidie, &c.—put on the mittens. On Friday the stakes were given up at Tom’s own crib, the “Queen’s Head,” Duke’s Court, Bow Street, after a sporting “spread.”

Tom’s defeat of the redoubtable Streatham Youth led to a challenge from Young Dutch Sam. The circumstances of this defeat may be read in Chapter VIII., in the Life of that skilful boxer.

This was the last appearance in the twenty-four foot of either Sam or Gaynor. The latter, who was a civil, unassuming, and obliging man, attended to his calling, and died in the month of November, 1834, in Grosvenor Street, Bond Street, at the early age of thirty-five, of a chronic complaint of several years’ standing.

CHAPTER X.
ALEC REID (“THE CHELSEA SNOB”)—1821–1830.

The pedigree of Alec Reid showed that he came of a “fighting family.” His father was a Chelsea veteran, for many years in a snug berth on Nell Gwynne’s glorious foundation, and in receipt, as we have seen in the books of that institution, of a “good service allowance of two shillings and fivepence-halfpenny a day.” Let not the reader smile superciliously. Alec, the son of a humble but heroic Alexander, once demonstrated the facts to the writer with honest filial pride, and moreover laid stress upon the fact that while his papa was in garrison at Guernsey, awaiting orders to sail with his regiment for the West Indies, his mamma, on the 30th of October, 1802, presented him with a thumping boy, the seventh pledge of her affection, who was in due time baptized Alexander, and was the subject of this memoir. At the age of fourteen, Alec’s father being then invalided, and “the big wars over,” the young ’un was apprenticed to his father’s trade, that of a shoemaker, and hence his pugilistic patronymic of “the Chelsea Snob.”

His first recorded display was with one Finch, a local celebrity who, to the advantages of height and a stone in weight, added three or four years in age. Mr. Finch, in two rounds, occupying ten minutes, was so satisfied of the young Snob’s superiority that he “caved in,” and quitted the “Five Fields” (now covered by the mansions of Belgravia), never again to show in combat with the “Young Soldier,” as Alec was then nicknamed by his companions.

ALEC REID.

Reid now purchased two pairs of gloves, expensive articles in those days, and started a series of sparring soirées at the “Turk’s Head,” in Jews’ Row, near the Military Hospital. His fame spread, and finding himself on Wimbledon Common, attracted thereto by a mill between Fleming and Curwen, two London boxers, and a purse being subscribed for a second battle, young Alec boldly threw his nob-cover within the ropes. His challenge was answered by Sam Abbott, a cousin of the once-renowned Bill, who beat Phil Sampson, and made a draw with Jem Ward. Young Abbott proved himself game and resolute, but notwithstanding the advice and nursing of his clever namesake, Alec punished his nob so severely that in twenty-five minutes his cousin threw up the hat, Abbott being quite blind. Alec raised himself immensely by this victory; and when, after the battle between Ward and Abbott, on Moulsey Hurst, October 22nd, 1822, a big fellow named Hearn claimed a purse of twenty-five guineas subscribed for a second fight, Alec disputed his claim. Hearn was disposed of in fifteen minutes, the big ’un being so out-fought that he put on his coat, declaring “it wasn’t worth a fellow’s while to go on without getting a crack in now and then.”

Alec now frequently showed at the Tennis Court, in the Haymarket, and Bob Yandell, a clever sparrer, who had defeated Crayfer and Dudley Downs, having expressed a disparaging opinion of Alec’s talents, a challenge resulted, and the men met on the 14th of January, 1823, in Battersea Fields. After a battle of one hour and a half Yandell was carried from the ground thoroughly beaten, while Alec showed in Chelsea the same evening but slightly the worse for wear.

On the 20th of March, 1823, after the fight between Gipsy Cooper and Cabbage, the Gardener, Alec joined fists with Paddy O’Rafferty, an Irish candidate for fistic honours, but in thirty-one rounds, occupying sixty-three minutes, the Chelsea hero polished off Misther O’Rafferty so completely that he made no further appearance in the Ring.

Dick Defoe having declared himself anxious to meet any eleven stone man, a gentleman who had a high opinion of Alec’s abilities offered to match Reid against him. Alec consented, and the men met on Tuesday, June 17th, 1823, in Epping Forest. After thirteen rounds, Reid’s backer, considering him to be overmatched, humanely interposed, and ordered Reid to be taken away. Many were of opinion that Reid would have pulled through had he been allowed to continue. Reid lost no reputation by this defeat.

Reid’s next opponent was Harris, the Waterman, who had beaten Bill Gould, Youna de Costa, and with the exception of this defeat at the hands of Alec, never lost a fight. They met at Moulsey Hurst, on the 12th of August, 1823, entering the ring after Peace Inglis had defeated George Curtis. On the ropes being cleared Alec, in high spirits and fine condition, threw in his castor, a white one, and waited on by his late opponent Dick Defoe and Tom Callas, proceeded to make his toilet; Harris, from the opposite side, answered his token of defiance, and esquired by Josh Hudson and Harry Holt, advanced to make friendly greeting. The ceremony over, the men stood up, Harris the favourite, at five and six to four.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Reid, with the advantage of youth, looked fresh and full of activity, Harris, though a few pounds the heavier man, looking leaner and more angular. Reid, after a few feints, bustled in to work, and planted a sharp right-hander on Harris’s ribs. The Waterman found he must lose no time, so he rattled in for exchanges, and Reid went on his knees from a slip. (“Bravo! here will be another good battle!”) Even betting.

2.—Reid came up gay as a lark, and made play like a good one. The claret was now visible on both sides, and hit for hit till Reid was again down.

3.—Harris met Reid well on his going in; but the Translator would not be kept out, and poor Harris went against the stake from a severe blow. Nothing else but fighting, till both were down. Reid for choice.

4.—Sparring was out of the question, yet good science was witnessed on both sides. Harris napped pepper, but not without returning the compliment. Both down.

5.—Reid took the lead so decisively in this round that he became the favourite, two to one. Harris went down piping.

6.—Reid got punished severely. Harris held him with his right hand, and whopped him with the other all over the ring. The Chelsea man at length rescued himself from his perilous situation, and by way of changing the scene fibbed the Waterman down. Anybody’s battle.

7.—Harris commenced this round with some fine fighting, and had the best of it for a short period, till Reid put in a straight nobber, when Harris found himself on his latter end, looking about with surprise, as much as to say, “How came I here?”

8.—Nothing else but milling. Harris repeatedly nobbed his opponent, but he would not be denied. A heavy rally occurred, and Harris, being near the stakes, struck his hand against the post. Harris down like a shot.

9.—Youth must be served. Harris fought like a brave man, but the punishment he received was too heavy for him. Down in this round.

10.—Harris could not reduce the strength of Reid. The Waterman possessed the best science, but the blows of Reid were most effective. It was a manly fight. Both down.

11–12.—Equally good as the former rounds. Two to one on Reid.

13.—Harris jobbed his opponent frequently, but Reid always finished the round to his own advantage. In the last round he fell on Harris in the close. (“Take him away; he’s a good old ’un, but too stale for the Snob!”) Any odds.

14, and last.—Reid went up to his man and hit him one, two; Harris did not return. He seemed all abroad. Reid bustled him down, and Josh threw up the sponge in token of defeat. The fight lasted only fifteen minutes.

Remarks.—A better fight, while it lasted, has not been lately seen. Harris was not only stale, but was stated to be a little “off” in condition and health. Harris was not disgraced, though defeated by youth, backed by resolution and strength.

Only two months after this victory Alec was at Chatham, teaching “the art of self-defence,” when a rough and ready fisherman named Joe Underhill found local friends to subscribe a purse of £25, and £5 for the loser. For this, then, “the Chatham champion” proposed to meet the “London professor.” Underhill’s friends had miscalculated both their man’s skill and Alec’s science, for in the short space of nineteen minutes the fisherman’s chance was more than “fishy,” and at the end of the eighth and last round the Snob had so completely sewn him up and welted him that he cried, “Enough!” and refused to face his man. This battle took place on Chatham Lines, October 21st, 1823.

At the farewell benefit of the game Bob Purcell, at the Fives Court, February 15th, 1824, Reid set to with Gipsy Cooper, and gave the rushing Bohemian such a glove-punishing as led to a match. Cooper, however, forfeited a small deposit. A second match was made on Tuesday, April 13th, 1824; this, however, was prevented by magisterial interference, and the stakes were drawn.

An opportunity, however, soon offered itself, proving the truth of the adage that “where there’s a will there’s a way.” On the very next Tuesday, April 20th, 1824, both men found themselves (of course by accident) at Colnbrook, when and where Peace Inglis defeated Ned Turner. Twenty pounds were quickly subscribed for a second battle, and Alec having tossed his beaver into the ropes was answered by the Gipsy. Both men were in first-rate condition, and both equally confident. Josh Hudson and Dick Curtis, two of the ablest of seconds, looked after Cooper; the accomplished Harry Holt and the veteran Tom Jones, of Paddington, seconded Reid.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Cooper commenced the mill furiously, and his blows told heavily. Flattered with success, he went to work hand over head, throwing aside a number of blows. Reid could scarcely be quick enough for his opponent; but he stopped and shifted cleverly. A short pause, when the Gipsy again plunged in and drew first blood. In closing, both down. No harm done.

2.—The lip of the Gipsy was bleeding when he appeared at the scratch. He lashed out, neck or nothing. Reid put in two nobbing hits and threw Cooper.

3.—The Gipsy was furious indeed; he did not look at his man, to take any sort of aim, yet Reid was bustled about, and received a random shot or two on the body. In a rally he clinched the Gipsy and gave him a cross-buttock.

4.—This was a fine fighting round; the Gipsy appeared as if he meant to win and nothing else. The hitting was sharp on both sides. Reid was floored. (“The Gipsy will win!” and several now took him for choice.)

5.—The Gipsy was so desperate that he bored Reid down. Nothing.

6.—Cooper was amazingly active; he hit in all directions; nevertheless he retreated from Reid when the latter stepped in to exchange. In closing the Gipsy put in a heavy blow as they were both going down.

7.—The Gipsy had it his own way this round. Reid napped terribly, and was also milled down. (“Cooper will win in a canter. If he had fought like this with Bishop Sharpe we must have won our money,” from several losers on that mill.)

8.—The hitting of the Gipsy was tremendous; and if he had not thrown so many blows away, he might have been able to have given a better account of the battle. Reid went down heavily hit. (The cry was, “The Gipsy is sure to win it!”)

9.—Reid nobbed his adversary twice neatly, and kept him out, but the Gipsy bored in and both were down.

10.—The Gipsy had been so very busy that Reid had had scarcely time for a moment’s tactics. He, however, now showed the Gipsy that a dangerous customer stood before him—a boxer that would make him fight, and not let him get out of his reach at pleasure. The Gipsy napped two nobbers that made him reel; he returned and tripped up Reid.

11.—Severe counter-hitting, and Reid received such a swingeing hit that he reeled about and went down. (“Come, no tumbledown tricks,” cried Josh.)

12.—This was the best round in the fight. The men fought into a rally, and broke away. A pause necessary on both sides. The Gipsy slashing out hand over head, both were down, Cooper undermost. The Gipsy, quite frantic, struck Holt, who, he said, had acted “foul” towards him; but Harry very prudently did not return it, or the fight must have been spoilt.

13.—Reid was positively run down, without harm done.

14.—The Gipsy was so fast that the spectators had scarcely an opportunity of appreciating the clever defence displayed by Reid. Cooper violent as before, and Reid down smiling.

15.—Reid got hold of Cooper; fibbing at the ropes till both down.

16.—Reid would make the Gipsy fight, although the latter retreated from him. Reid was thrown in the close.

17.—In this round Cooper was not quite so fast, and Reid put in a stopper or two on his nob, that produced the claret. Reid also put in a clean back-handed hit on the Gipsy’s proboscis. Both down; Reid fell out of the ropes.

18.—Reid reminded the amateurs of Randall’s neatness of style. The Gipsy could not get away from his returns. The latter, however, fought desperately, and Reid went down.

19, and last.—The spectators did not apprehend the fight was so nearly over. Reid took the lead in great style, and by a heavy blow hit the Gipsy clean through the ropes. Cooper’s head rebounded as he rolled over, and when time was called the Gipsy had not awoke from his trance. Reid of course was declared the winner. Twenty-nine minutes.

Remarks.—Reid to all appearance was little the worse for his battle, except a swelled cheek. The Gipsy is always dangerous from his lunging hits; but he trusts so much to chance that he is almost a “gift” to a steady and bold boxer. He does not look his man full in the face. Reid fought like a winning man, and showed excellent points.

What is the use of going out for a spree without making “a day of it?” say the jolly ones. Here is a case in point. It occurred, somehow or other, no matter, that a turn-up took place between Maurice Delay and Alec Reid, on the road home from the fight, after Stockman had defeated the Sailor Boy, on Tuesday, September 21st, 1824, near the “Coach and Horses,” at Ilford. Notwithstanding the disparity between the men as to size and weight, it was stated in the papers of the day that Reid had none the worst of it with his ponderous antagonist during two rounds, after which they were parted. Half-an-hour after Bill Savage offered himself to Reid’s notice for a £5 note which an amateur had offered for “a wind-up” to the day. A ring was formed near the Temple Mills, Essex, Harry Holt and Jem Burn waiting on Reid, and Savage seconded by his brother and George Weston. Darkness coming on a “draw” was declared after thirty-seven minutes, and the money divided. Reid, although out of condition, was said to have had the best of it.

Alec was now matched for £50 a-side against the renowned Bishop Sharpe, and a gallant fight was anticipated. Bishop Sharpe was well known as nothing else but a good man; he had beaten all his opponents, the tremendous Gipsy Cooper three times. Nevertheless, in the opinion of the judges of boxing, the Bishop did not rank as a scientific fighter; he, however, was the favourite, five and six to four. Reid stood well in the sporting world; nay, so much so that it was expected that Alec would prove a second Jack Randall.

On Thursday, December 11th, 1824, a long procession of London travellers crossed the ferry at Hampton, and the ring was formed on the classic Hurst of Moulsey. The Commissary-General, with the ropes and stakes, made a pretty twenty-four feet inner square, and a spacious circular enclosure marked the outer ring. The combatants peeled, the colours were tied to the stakes, a bird’s eye on a red ground for Reid, a yellowman for Sharpe. Oliver and Ben Burn attended upon Reid, Josh Hudson and Dick Curtis on Sharpe. The men shook hands, and then came

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Reid was in fine condition, and Sharpe looked hardy and well. Scarcely, however, had the men held up their hands, than surprise was expressed at the careless style of Reid. He stood so slovenly and with so open a guard that Sharpe at once went in and hit him slightly, when Reid stepped back and went down suspiciously. Opinions that “Mr. Barney” was not far off were freely expressed, Reid’s style was so unlike his former displays.

2.—Oliver said to his man as he went up, “If you don’t mean to fight, say so, and I’ll leave the ring.” Reid laughed and manœuvred about. Sharpe again forced the fighting. A few exchanges took place, to the advantage of Sharpe, and Reid was again on the grass. While sitting on his second’s knee Reid complained of sickness. “He’s coming it,” said Curtis. “No,” said Reid, “no such thing.” Ben Burn angrily said “he would not be second in a cross,” and left the ring.

3.—“Why don’t you fight?” asked Oliver. Reid could not or would not. He received a flush hit in the mouth, and first blood was claimed. Reid down, and the ring broken in. Oliver left the roped enclosure.

4, and last.—Reid came up at the call of “time,” amidst great confusion. There were a few exchanges, and again Reid went down in his own corner. “You have won,” cried Sharpe’s backers. “Don’t leave the ring yet,” said Josh Hudson to Sharpe.

Remarks.—A curious conclusion was come to. Reid declared he was ready to go on, but his seconds had deserted him. At Hampton he maintained that he had no idea of fighting “a cross,” and that no one had even dared to propose such a thing to him. Our opinion is, in the absence of all direct evidence, that Reid was “hocussed,” by whom was never ascertained (he himself always asserted this to be the case), and that his temporary stupefaction went off before his arrival at Hampton. The referee not having been appealed to on the ground there was no decision. Accordingly, Tom Cribb, who was stakeholder, returned the money to the backers of each man, and all bets were drawn. Pierce Egan has half-a-dozen pages of incoherent persiflage upon this mysterious affair, cut from his own paper, from which little definite can be gathered.

Reid was now certainly under a cloud of dark suspicion. Yet a few friends were found who matched him for £100 against Jubb (the Cheltenham Champion), a boxer who had recently beaten Price (the Oxford Champion) in off-hand style, and whose friends were anxious to measure him with a London pugilist. The men met accordingly in Worcestershire, near Stow-on-the-Wold, on the 4th of June, 1825.

Benford, in Oxfordshire, seventy-one miles from London, was the place named, but on the morning bills were posted in the town signed by the magistrates of three counties, Oxford, Berks, and Gloucester, warning all persons against attending any fight within those counties, and ordering all constables, &c., to take the principals and seconds into custody as contemplating a breach of the peace. Worcestershire now seemed the only open point, and off went all hands to Icombe, a village on the borders, two miles from Stow-on-the-Wold, and ten or so from Benford. At half-past two in the afternoon Reid skied his beaver, Jack Randall and the Laureate Fogo acting as his esquires. Jubb soon followed, attended by Bill Eales, the scientific, and a provincial friend named Collier. On stripping both men looked well. Jubb had the advantage in weight, length of reach, and height, yet the London division laid odds on Reid at five to four when the countrymen would not take evens.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Jubb stood somewhat over Reid, with his hands well out, but somewhat awkward in position. He made play at Reid’s head, but was stopped neatly. Reid smiled and nodded, and broke ground actively. Jubb tried it again, but was again parried, and the Chelsea cobbler popped in such a cutting right-hander in return just over the left eye that Jubb’s optic flashed fire and he seemed all abroad, winking like an owl in the sunshine. The London division delighted. Reid bustled Jubb down.

2.—Reid treated Jubb’s attempts lightly. He followed him all over the ring, and after a heavy hit on his left eye, closed and threw him, amidst general cheering.

3.—Jubb, who somewhat fancied himself as a wrestler, seemed all abroad; he tried to catch Reid in his arms, but Alec hit up, caught him under the chin a rattler, and fell on his knees from the force of his own blow. Reid complained that he had no nails in his shoes.

4.—All the hitting came from Reid’s side. Jubb could only stop with his ribs or head. Reid down, the Cheltenham lads grumbling, “He dropped without a blow.” It was not so; many blows were exchanged.

5–7.—Similar in character. Jubb wild, Reid steady, and always ready as his man came in.

8.—In a rally Jubb caught Reid a swinging hit in the throat, which almost turned him round. The Jubbites cheered, but Reid returned to the rally, and the Cheltenham champion was floored.

Ten more rounds, in which Jubb was, with unimportant exceptions, receiver-general.

18, and last.—Jubb came up in the doldrums. He was hit in all directions, but was too game to go down. His backers humanely interfered, and desired his seconds to take him away. It was all over in twenty-three minutes and a half, and when Reid put on his clothes there was scarcely a mark perceptible on his face.

Remarks.—Jubb did not avail himself of his height. On the contrary, he stooped to a level with the eye of Reid. Jubb is a game man, and would beat any countryman who merely relied on strength and going in. Reid fought with him whenever he attempted to force the fighting, and got on to him almost how and where he pleased, stopping his attack and turning it to his own advantage. Reid won first blood, first knock-down blow, and the battle, his backers drawing upon all three events.

Reid, on his return to town, addressed letters to the sporting papers challenging Bishop Sharpe, West Country Dick, or Aaron, for £100, and undertaking to weigh no more than 10st. 4lbs. on the day of fighting.

As there were difficulties in the way with Bishop Sharpe Reid’s friends matched him against Tom Gaynor, a man certainly his overmatch by a stone in weight and three inches in height. The fight, which took place May 16th, 1826, and in which Alec suffered defeat after a game contest of one hour and ten minutes, will be found in Chapter IX., ante, page 403 of this volume.

At length preliminaries were settled between Alec and his former opponent Bishop Sharpe, for £50 a-side. The battle took place on the 6th of September, 1826, at No Man’s Land, in Hertfordshire. It was anybody’s fight for the first twenty-five minutes, when Alec received what might be termed a chance blow in the pit of the stomach, from which he never recovered, and victory was declared for the Bold Smuggler.

Shortly after this (October 27th, 1826) Reid got into trouble for having acted in the capacity of second to a man of the name of Crow, in a pugilistic contest at Old Oak Common, with one Samuel Beard. The jury found Beard, Reid, and Michael Curtis guilty, and sentenced them, Beard to seven days’ imprisonment in Newgate, and the seconds to fourteen days, and to be held in recognisances “to keep the peace for twelve months towards all His Majesty’s subjects.”

Poor Alec, having done his term in “the donjon’s dreary keep,” and lived out his recognisances to keep the peace, was once again matched with his old opponent Bishop Sharpe for £100. Little preface is necessary to the detail of the battle between these men, which was one of the best that had been witnessed for many years, even when downright milling and upstanding rallies were far more common than they became in the succeeding years, which marked the decline and fall of the P.R. They had fought twice before, in both of which instances Reid was unsuccessful.

As soon as the match was made they went into training, and thus all gradually ripened for sport. On Sunday Sharpe took his departure for St. Albans, and took up his quarters at the “Blue Boar,” and on the next evening, after a benefit at the Tennis Court, Reid followed his example, pitching his tent at the “Red Lion.” Tuesday morning (July 15th, 1828) was unfavourable, nevertheless the roads were thronged at an early hour. Both men were visited in the town; both spoke well of their condition, and with modest confidence of success; Reid saying “he had everything at stake, for if he lost he was bowled out for ever, whereas if he won he was made a man of.” Sharpe soberly said he was “to win to-day,” and his shoemaker had already booked the event as certain by inscribing on the soles of his high-lows, “These are the shoes that are to win;” a prophecy which was unfortunately trodden under foot in more ways than one, for he was for the first time in his life forced to confess he was fairly conquered, after a long career previously unchequered by defeat. The odds during the morning were five and six to four on Sharpe.

As the hour for business approached the crowd increased, till the word was given to march, and all toddled to the scene of action, where Tom Oliver had previously pitched the ropes and stakes, and collected an outer ring of wagons.

Shortly before one o’clock the Smuggler bore down for the ring attended by Josh Hudson and Dick Curtis, and having thrown in his castor, entered himself. The Snob was soon with him, under the auspices of Tom Spring and the Lively Kid (Ned Stockman). After shaking hands, the Snob said he had four sovereigns, to which he was desirous of taking odds of six to four. This was at once laid him by Dick Curtis, and staked, and the operation of peeling commenced. On stripping, weight and muscle were evidently in favour of the Bishop. He looked fresher in the mug, too, although it was said he had been imprudently attending as the host of a canvas tavern at Woolwich Races and Fairlop Fair, where he dispensed the “real thing” in large quantities. Reid looked light and thin, but was in good spirits, and seemed confident.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Sharpe, as usual, came forward right foot foremost, measuring his man with a keen and searching eye. Alec was on the alert, both hands well up, and his right ready for a drop to save his bread-basket from the Smuggler’s favourite lunge. At last Sharpe broke ground, and planted his left slightly on Reid’s ribs. Reid instantly hit with him, right and left, at the nob, and Sharpe returned with his left in similar style. Both were rather wild, but, in the close, the Bishop was thrown. On rising to his second’s knee, there was a cry of “first blood” from Sharpe’s mouth, but at the same moment a similar tinge was seen from the Snob’s muzzle, so that on this point there was no advantage, and a tie was acknowledged.

2.—Alec ready, and the Smuggler looking for a run upon his starboard quarter. At last Alec planted his right in Sharpe’s mouth a second time. The Bishop instantly fought to a rally, and jobbing hits were exchanged with great rapidity, Sharpe again napping it in the mouth, and the Snob on the dexter ogle. Both showed more claret. In the close, the Snob was thrown, the Smuggler upon him.

3.—Sharpe now popped in his favourite left, but not in the right place, being on the ribs instead of the mark. Alec hit with him, right and left, in pretty style, and floored him with a right-hand muzzler. First knock-down blow for Reid.

4.—The Bishop’s mouth showed two incisions, which bled profusely. He, however, came up smiling, and delivered with his left on Alec’s jaw. Alec returned in good style. The Bishop then bored in wildly, and, in the close, both went down, Alec fibbing as he resisted Sharpe’s effort for the fall.

5.—Sharpe’s nose now began to show the weight of Alec’s fibbing, and claret streamed profusely. He, however, rushed in wildly, trying for the Snob’s body. The Snob got away, and, in a second trial of the same sort, he met the Bishop with a flush hit on the forehead, and, on repeating the dose, the Bishop bored in. The Snob again met him right and left, and floored him, hitting him severely as he was falling.

6.—Sharpe again hit short at the body with his left, and Alec, always ready, met him right and left, and, repeating the experiment, hit him down with a flush smack on the ivories.

7.—Alec waited with great judgment, and, as the Bishop came in, stopped his left, and returned heavily with his right. The Bishop would not be denied, but caught Alec a nasty one on the temple. Both broke away, but on Sharpe again rushing in, Alec met him right and left on the head, and then hit him heavily with the right on the ribs, and dropped him. (Shouts of “It’s all your own, Reid!”)

8.—The Bishop’s head the worse for bad usage, his left eye puffed, and a cut on each cheek. He, however, went in as game as a pebble to hit with his left. Alec was again away. Sharpe followed him up, but Alec, stepping back, met him twice on the frontispiece. He had then reached the ropes, and the Bishop became desperate. Alec went down to avoid, showing the tact of a good general.

9.—The Bishop rattled in and planted his left on Alec’s eye, but received severely right and left in return, and in the end went down.

10.—The Bishop bored in open-handed. Alec retreated a little before him, but then jumped in and met him with two flush hits, right and left, on the head. The Bishop closed for a rally, and desperate hits were exchanged. In the close, both down.

11.—The Bishop capsized with a straight visitation on the smeller from Alec’s left.

12.—2 to 1 on Reid. Sharpe bored in wildly, and Alec went down.

13.—The Bishop again bored in. Alec retreated, and tried his right and left, but missed. The Bishop, in returning, fell on his knees.

14.—Sharpe came in manfully, but Alec was ready, stopped his left, returned right and left on his canister, and then hit him down beautifully with a right-handed smack on his ribs.

15.—Counter-hits. The Bishop planted his left well on the Snob’s conk, and again had him on the body. Alec stepped back, and on the Bishop again coming in to make play, met him with a snorter with his right, and dropped him.

16.—Counter-hits with the left, and Sharpe hit away left and right with great spirit. Alec was not idle, but returned the compliments with quickness. Bishop closed for the fall, when Alec fibbed actively, though not effectively. Both down, Bishop under.

17.—The Bishop came up as bold as brass. Alec ready, waited for him and, on rushing in, he met him right and left on the face. Bishop retreated, but, on again rushing in, Alec dropped him with another touch on the nob.

18.—Bishop, first to fight, planted his left. Alec was with him, but Sharpe would not be denied, and closing, he threw the Snob a heavy fall, and dropped on him.

19.—Bishop rushed in open-handed, in wild style. Alec drew back, poising himself on his hind leg. Sharpe followed, and as usual, napped it left and right, and was floored.

20.—Bishop again pressed in (he saw he had no chance at out-fighting), when he was met as before, with great precision, right and left. A spirited rally followed. Good hits were exchanged, and in the close, Bishop was thrown heavily.

21.—The Bishop, in rushing in, was hit down by a right-handed job.

22.—A good manly rally, with equal advantage, hit for hit. Alec down.

23.—Counter-hitting with the left. Sharpe dropped his right on Alec’s smeller, and drew his cork. Alec at him again, and, after a severe rally, hit him down.

24.—Bishop bored in. Alec withdrew for the jobbing hit, but the Bishop fell on his face.

25.—On Sharpe coming in, Alec again met him with a facer, and followed this up with a tremendous body hit with his right, and dropped him.

26.—Bishop bored in wildly. Alec, as before, on the retreating system, met him with a facer, as he came in. Sharpe closed, and had the fall. Not much harm done on either side.

27.—A severe punishing round for Bishop. Alec jobbed right and left several times, and, in the close, floored him with great force, rolling him over from the impetus of the fall.

28.—Alec on the waiting system. Bishop rushed in with unshaken game, but, on delivering his left on Alec’s nob, he received a terrific hit on the ribs from the Snob’s right, close under his left arm, which again dropped him.

29.—Bishop again bored in, and was met, with great judgment, by another delivery from Alec’s right. Both away, and some good out-fighting. Alec jobbed well. A close, and both down, the Bishop under.

30.—Alec waiting steadily. Bishop the first to go to work. Alec stepped back, and Bishop fell forward on his hands and knees.

31.—Alec popped in his favourite hit on the side, but received in return on the head. Alec then retired, Sharpe after him, hitting wildly and short. Alec watched his points, and, after stopping with his right, hit Bishop down with a blow on the throat with his left.

32.—Good out-fighting. Bishop still strong; at last he rushed in, according to his old system, when Reid had him in the side with his right. Bishop rushed to a close, and pulled Alec down.

33.—Alec delivered his right and left as Sharpe came in, and got away. The Bishop, after him, would not flinch, and was again floored with a stupefying hit on the temple.

34.—Bishop again at work, delivered with his left, but in return was hit down by a straight facer.

35.—Bishop rushed in wildly, but Alec was on his guard. Good counter-hitting, and a manly rally. In the close, Alec was thrown. Shouts for Bishop, and his friends still in spirits.

36.—Sharpe came in wildly, but Alec was steady and cautious. His right was again familiar with Bishop’s ribs, and his right and left were once more in contact with his phiz. In the end, Sharpe was floored heavily.

37.—Alec had it in the right eye, but returned with interest, catching the Bishop twice on the mug, and Sharpe went down weak.

38.—Bishop on the boring system; Alec away. Sharpe caught him on the body slightly, and received on the head in return. A merry rally, hit for hit. Both down.

39.—The Bishop made his run, Alec met him with a job. Both away, and at it again. Alec pursued the same system of jobbing, but had a nasty one on the right eye, and went down.

40.—Again did Alec meet Bishop right and left. Sharpe caught him on the nozzle, and drew claret in a stream. Alec, merry, at him again, and down went the Smuggler.

41.—Alec met Sharpe right and left on the head, but received a heavy blow on the nob in return. In the close, both down, Bishop under.

42.—Alec met Bishop with a flush hit on the throat, and floored him.

43.—Sharpe caught Alec a terrific blow on the side of the knowledge-box, but had three for one in return, and Alec fell.

44.—Alec ready, but his physog. strangely out of shape, and as tender as a chicken; he could scarcely bear to wash his mouth. Bishop rushed in, but was hit down by a right-hander.

45.—Sharpe’s left ogle closed for the day; still he came up game, but Alec, ready, met him in the face. Bishop missed his left-handed lunge at the body and fell.

46.—Sharpe wild, was jobbed on the head, and fell.

47.—Bishop, still staunch, the first to mill. Alec waited, jobbed, and got away. Bishop followed him up, hit with his left at the body, closed, and threw Alec a burster, falling heavily on him.

48.—Alec, still awake, met Bishop right and left, and dropped him.

49.—Bishop again hit down with a heavy blow on the left ribs.

50.—Sharpe hit down from a left-hander on the nob.

51.—Again was Bishop hit down.

52.—Bishop charged. Alec retreated, but meeting Sharpe, dropped a heavy one on the body with his right. In closing, Alec hit the Bishop up terrifically with his right, on the smeller, and grassed him.

53.—Bishop hit down right and left.

54 to 60.—All in favour of Alec, who hit his man down every round, either from blows on the head or body.

61.—The Bishop went down without a blow. Cries of “foul,” but no decision.

62.—Bishop gathered all his strength, and came up in good force. He hit Alec with the left, but was jobbed down right and left.

63.—Bishop again hit down.

64.—Counter-hits. Sharpe went boldly to his man, but was dropped.

65.—Curtis now began to use all his tact to encourage his man, chaffed the Snob, and doffed his own shirt to be more at ease. Alec hit Bishop right and left, and he went down.

66.—Alec drank out of the bottle himself, and winked to his friends, as much as to say, “It’s all right.” Alec stopped his man with his left, and hit him down as he came in.

67 to 71.—All in favour of Alec, and Bishop went down every round.

72.—Bishop gathered himself for mischief, and tried his favourite left-handed body hit, but it fell short, and he caught it right and left and went down.

73.—Bishop attempted to hit, but went down without a blow.

74.—Alec jobbed with his left, and caught Bishop on the dexter ogle, which began to swell, and he went down.

75.—Sharpe hit down.

76.—The Bishop hit with his left at Alec’s mark, but it was without effect. Alec rushed at him to hit, but Bishop dropped, on the saving system.

77.—Again did Bishop try his left, and his friends still hoped he would pop it in the right place, but no go, he was jobbed down.

78.—The Bishop, in going in, went down without a blow. (Hisses, and cries of “foul.”)

79.—The Bishop went in wild, and fell. Cries of “Take him away.”

80.—Bishop again bored in, neck or nothing. Alec got away, and Sharpe fell.

81.—Similar to the last. Alec missed a tremendous up-hit, or all would have been over.

82.—Bishop jobbed down with the left, but both distressed, and severely punished in the head.

83.—Bishop hit down.

84 to 87.—The Bishop, dreadfully jobbed and hit in the body with the right, down every round. The crisis was now approaching. Alec had it all his own way, and nothing but a lucky lunge could change the aspect of affairs, and for this Bishop’s friends still anxiously sought.

88.—Sharpe came up wild, and was hit down.

89.—Bishop hit down again with a body blow.

90.—Alec saw the sore point. The Bishop winced, and he gave him another appalling body blow, which resounded through the ring, and felled him.

91, and last.—Poor Bishop got up to receive the finisher, and was floored by a tremendous hit with the left. All was now over; Sharpe was insensible, and, on time being called, his seconds gave in. The hat of victory was instantly thrown up, and the shouts of the crimson heroes proclaimed the success of their favourite, in one hour and twenty-seven minutes. Alec made a slight bound, and, after a short pause, was conducted to his carriage. He was so exhausted that some time elapsed before he could be dressed, after which he was borne off to St. Albans, with flying colours. Poor Sharpe remained for some time insensible to his fate.

Remarks.—This was decidedly as game and determined a battle as was ever witnessed. Each man seemed deeply to feel the stake at issue. Fame and fortune were alike involved, and the contest was proportionally severe. The scientific style in which Reid fought was the admiration of the ring. His attack and defence were alike judicious. Aware of the dangerous left-handed lunge of the Bishop, by which he had before been robbed of victory when within his grasp, he took especial care not only to cover his vulnerable point, but to counteract Sharpe’s plan by a move of the same sort himself. Thus we find him constantly pinking Bishop’s body with his right, and so simultaneous were these efforts on both sides, that Alec’s right hand often met Bishop’s half-way. Alec’s caution, his waiting for Bishop’s rush, his judicious retreat, and rapid execution, right and left, when Bishop left his body unguarded, were beautiful; and our only surprise was, that, after such apparent mischief, Bishop was enabled to come up so steady and strong. Sharpe fought as brave as a lion, but his judgment was inferior when compared with Reid’s. He fought wildly, and without discretion, although in the end, when he found the chances were against him, he had recourse to every manœuvre to regain strength, and plant his favourite hit. His deliveries on Alec’s nose with his left were very heavy, as was sufficiently visible, and Alec no doubt felt their weight, for his head presented a dreadful spectacle on that side where the blows told, and his mouth and eye were much swollen; indeed, so distressed did he appear towards the end of the fight, that Sharpe’s friends to the last considered he had a chance, and the odds of three to one were offered with singular caution. It was not till Nature had deserted Bishop altogether that he struck, and his backers, though mortified, candidly confessed he could not have done more.

The conquest of the gallant but stale Dick Curtis by Perkins, the Oxford Pet, had rankled long in the minds of the London Fancy, although poor King Dick had fallen, not ingloriously, before superior weight, length, strength, and youth. It was thought that Alec would be a better match for him, and accordingly articles were signed for £100 a-side, and the day fixed for the 25th May, 1830.

As a short notice of Perkins, and a detailed report of his victory over Curtis, will appear in the appendix of this Period, we shall not further dwell on his Ring career. Perkins had trained at Chipping Norton, and Reid paid every attention to getting himself fit at Burford, in Surrey; and so favourable were the accounts of his condition that he was freely backed at six to four by his old friends.

On the Monday before the battle the ’Varsity city was full of bustle and activity. The “Red Lion” and the “Anchor” were crowded by visitors anxious to get the “tip” as to the whereabouts. This was found to be the “Four-shire Stone,” seven miles from Chipping Norton, at a point where the counties of Oxford, Warwick, Worcester, and Berks are conterminous. We may here note that on this occasion Reid fought under the alias of “Jack O’Brien,” owing to his being held to bail for a period then unexpired, for being present at a mill in the neighbourhood of London. The battle is reported in Bell’s Life as between “Perkins and Jack O’Brien.”

By eleven o’clock Commissary Oliver and his lieutenant, “Fogo of the Frosty Face,” had pitched the ring at the appointed rendezvous—it being surrounded by numerous undergrads, who had given the slip to “bulldogs” and “proctors” to attend the demonstration of craniology and the practical essay on “bumps” which Messrs. Reid and Perkins had prepared for their edification. At a little before twelve the Chelsea hero showed, waited on by Young Dutch Sam and Dick Curtis, the Oxonian quickly following, esquired by Harry Jones and Ned Stockman. Each man was heartily cheered. The colours, green with a crimson spot for Reid, and a fancy pink silk fogle for the Oxford Pet, were tied to the stakes. The whip-bearers of the “Fair Play Club” preserved an unbroken ring, and everything was arranged with regularity and order. The toss for choice of position was won for Perkins. The men shook hands, the seconds and bottle-holders retired to their respective corners, and the men, toeing the scratch, threw up their daddies and began

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Both appeared in excellent condition, but Reid had the advantage in weight, being 10st. 7lb., while Perkins was 10st. 3lb. This difference was not so obvious as they stood opposed to each other, although it might tell in the end; indeed, a more equal match as to size could scarce be imagined. A manly firmness sat on the brow of each, and everything like personal animosity seemed banished from their minds. No sooner had the seconds and bottle-holders retired than the Snob showed his determination to lose not a moment in bringing the enemy to action. Covering his points well, he advanced, and made slight play left and right; the Pet, awake, stopped these efforts with great neatness. The Snob tried the same manœuvre a second time; but the Pet again stopped and got away. He had not much time to deliberate, however, before Reid popped in his left on the “mark;” he tried his right at the nob at the same time, but it was “no go.” A bustling, active rally followed, good stopping was observable on both sides, and slight exchanges took place. In the end the Snob caught the Pet on the jowl with his left, and dropped him, although the blow was not delivered with decisive force; still, this was booked as the first knock-down, and Reid was loudly cheered.

2.—The Chelsea hero again all activity, the Pet cautious. The Snob’s first one two stopped, but his left was once more at the victualling office. In return, the Pet caught his opponent a nasty one on the muzzle, swelling his lips, and leading to a cry of “first blood;” but it was so slight, if at all to be seen, that he contrived to hide it from observation. A slashing rally followed, and the left-handed counters were beautiful—both “napping it” with considerable force. Reid had rather the advantage in the onslaught, but in following up his man the Pet went down, amidst cheers from his friends.

3.—The Snob first to fight, and all bustle in his operations; the Pet, cautious, stopped his one two. Perkins received a clinker on the left ear, and first blood was visible beneath, while the ear was puffed; this was declared as unequivocal of the second event for the Snob. The Oxonian, all alive, met the Snob’s attack, stopping his right, but catching his left slap in the muzzle, the Snob had it in return with equal force. The Snob put in a left-hand body hit, and got away. Returning again to the charge, he found the Pet armed at all points. The Pet retreated, stopping Reid’s right and left with admirable precision, and ultimately going down without a blow, upon the cautious system.

4.—Reid, first to fight, popped in a left-handed job on the potato trap, ditto on the ogle. The Pet saw the defensive would not do, and fought a spirited rally; the exchanges were quick and effectual—hit followed hit with electric rapidity, and each dropped claret—the Pet from the mouth, Reid from the conk. The scientific stopping on both sides during this rally was first-rate. The Snob tried his body hit with the left, but was short; the Pet smiled and got away. Reid would not be denied, but went merrily to his man; there was no getting away, and to it they went “ding-dong.” The counter-hits were numerous, and the stops equally so. The Pet put in a body hit with his right—but with both men most punishment was given with the left, and neither spared his opponent. In the end Perkins went down hitting, Reid smiling defiance.

5.—Good stopping right and left by both; the Snob stuck to his work, and countering was the order of the day. Perkins retreated, followed closely by Reid, who kept hitting away, when Perkins dropped on one knee, and put up his hand; Reid withheld a falling blow, though entitled to hit, and retired amidst the cheers of his friends.

6.—The Chelsea champion put in his left on the Oxford man’s nozzle, which was uncorked. He then went in boldly to punish, but the Pet dropped and smiled. (Cries of “Stand up!” and “Foul!”)

7.—The Snob; all alive, went to work, and put in a left-handed muzzler. The Pet returned the compliment. Heavy hits exchanged, but the Pet had the worst of it, and again went down amidst the grumbling of the Snob’s friends. (Ten pounds to five on Reid.)

8.—The Snob made play right and left—the first stopped, the second successful. Perkins returned heavily with his left; good counter-hitting, the science of both exciting general admiration. Perkins rather cautious, but Reid would be at work, and rattled in; more fine counter-hitting, and a spirited rally—the hitting was slashing. The Pet was hit down with a slinging hit over the right eye, which exhibited a gaping wound, but the Snob had it almost as heavily on the smeller, and fell on his hands and knees; both bleeding.

9.—Good fighting on both sides, but Reid had the advantage of strength. The Pet retreated before him, stopping, but caught it again on the right eye and on the cheek beneath, where an old wound was opened. Reid put in his favourite left-handed bodier, but caught a nose-ender in return. Perkins retreated, but was all alive, and popped in a jobbing hit with his left, and threw in his right on the Snob’s neck. The Chelsea man returned fiercely, hitting right and left, when the Pet fell on his hands and knees.

10.—Reid, all alive, planted his left on the body; counter-hits on the mazzard, and neat stopping. Perkins went down on his knees. (More grumbling from Reid’s friends.)

11.—Both showed strong marks of punishment. The Snob went to work, and cut away in good style; Perkins popped in his right at the body, but had it in return on the nob. Spirited rally. Reid again tapped at the victualling office of the Pet, and after good counter-hitting Perkins, on the retreat, went down.

12.—Perkins put in a right-hander on the throat of Reid, and stopped a counter-hit with his left; left-hand exchanges; the Pet went down. (Cries of “Shame!” from the friends of Reid.)

13.—The Pet cautious, and on the defensive; Reid went to him; good scientific stops right and left; excellent counter-hitting; the Londoner had it heavy on the grinders. (Shouts for Oxford.) A pretty active rally, hits pro and con., and Perkins slipped down.

14.—Perkins made play; Reid, ready at all points, tried to bring his man to a rally, but the Pet, after stopping some severe hits, went down on one hand and knee.

15.—Sharp jobbing right and left on both sides; heavy deliveries right and left from the Snob; claret in abundance; hit and hit; Perkins down; but the Snob, though vexed at his man dropping, stepped away, and smiled.

16.—A fine, manly rally; blows followed blows in quick succession, and both received pepper. In the end Perkins down, Reid, for the first time, upon him.

17.—The Pet still strong and confident. Reid delivered his left at the carcass, and got away. A rally; Perkins went down stopping.

18.—Fine fighting; Perkins on the retreat, Alec with him in good style. Severe exchanges, Perkins down—both distilling the purple fluid.

19.—Severe deliveries from Reid, and some neat returns. The Snob had the best of the fighting; the Pet down.

20.—Stopping at starting, but Reid would not be denied—fought with quickness. The Pet, retreating, was down, after some pretty returns, but he had the worst of the game, and was somewhat on the piping order.

21.—The Chelsea hero hit his man down with the left in good style, and became more jolly.

22.—Reid, all activity, planted his left on the body and broke away. Perkins went to work, and the fighting was beautiful while it lasted; but Perkins went down on both knees. His opponent withheld his falling blow, and looked mortified at this cautious system.

23.—Heavy jobbing; both received and returned, and were the worse for their work; Perkins floored.

24.—Merry milling, good countering; Perkins retreated. Reid bored him to the ropes, hit away, and fell upon him.

25.—The Pet’s left cheek cut with a slashing hit—claret in a stream. Perkins did not flinch, fought to a rally, but was dropped.

26.—Reid showed symptoms of fatigue, but still merry. Hit left and right, the Pet down.

27, 28, 29.—Good fighting rounds, heavy exchanges, but Perkins down in every round.

30.—Reid planted his left and right with great force; Perkins made a neat return with his left on Alec’s muzzle, but was hit down with a left-handed teazer. Reid smiled, and clapped him on the back as he was on his knees.

31.—Perkins was again hit down. (A heavy shower of rain now came on, during which there was a little confusion from a supposition that certain constables were breaking into the ring to save the Pet from defeat, but this proved to be a false alarm. The men in the interim fought with great spirit, and the hitting and stopping was kept up with great vigour, with pretty equal advantage. The Pet, however, was always down.)

37.—Tremendous rally. The deliveries on both sides perfect shakers, and the Pet rather the best of the hitting. (Shouts from the Gownsmen, and betting rather in favour among Perkins’s friends, but little done.)

38.—Reid again took the lead, but was courageously met. After a sharp rally, the Pet was hit down with a left-handed smack in the throttle. (Loud applause from the Londoners, and the odds again firm in Reid’s favour.)

39.—Both distressed, but game as lions. Hit away right and left, no mistake as to intention. Perkins floored with a left-handed job.

40.—Reid all life and confidence, the Pet “nothing loth.” Hit for hit left and right at the nobs. Perkins rushed to in-fighting, napped it as he came in, but gave the upper-cut. Reid down. (Renewed cheers from the “Gownsmen,” and Perkins’s friends still confident.)

41.—Science well exhibited by both. The stopping excellent. Counter-hitting. The Pet down. (The referee cautioned Perkins to make “a stand-up fight,” when he exclaimed “the grass was so slippery he could not help going down.” At this time, from the heavy rain, which had now subsided, there was some cause for the excuse.)

42.—Reid was again busy with the Pet’s bread-basket with his left. A slashing rally; good exchanges. In a close Perkins down, Reid on top of him.

43.—Reid, all gaiety, though woefully disfigured in the mug, went to his man, popped in left and right, and in the end Perkins, after a few exchanges, went down.

44.—No time wasted—good stand-up fighting, but the Pet getting weak. (“Take him away!” said the “Gownsmen.” “No,” said Sam, “he does not often dine at an ordinary; let him have a skinful.”) The Pet down.

45 and 46.—The mischief pretty equal, and the fighting excellent. Perkins down in both rounds.

47.—A desperate rally; both did their best; the Pet hit down, but Reid also fell on his hands and knees, rather weak.

48.—Perkins’s right eye was now completely closed, and his left looked queer. Reid went in to finish, but was manfully met; still Perkins had the worst of the fighting, and was hit down.

49.—Reid all gaiety, and again fresh; the Pet steady, but dreadfully punished in the phiz. The Londoner made play, and hit away right and left, the latter on the body. Perkins met him on the nose with his left, but in the return was hit down with a left-handed job.

50.—Reid was now the favourite at long odds, but the Pet’s game did not desert him; his heart was still in the right place, and he made a desperate effort to redeem his falling fortune. Reid, however, was too strong, and dropped him with a left-handed touch in the physog. The Pet fell forward on his face weak.

51, 52, and 53.—All in favour of Reid, though Perkins did wonders, and fought with unshrinking courage. In the last round he fell on his knees, resting on his adversary’s shoulder. Reid smiled, patted him on the shoulder, and walked away. (Cries of “Take him away!”)

54, and last.—The Oxford man came up to make a last effort, but it was evidently all over. Still he did his best—made some weak returns to slashing hits, and at last received the coup de grace; he fell, but gloriously, and his seconds, thinking he had had enough, gave in for him, the fight having lasted exactly an hour. Both men were heavily punished. Reid walked to his carriage amidst the cheers of his “pals,” and Perkins, having recovered from his temporary doze, rose soon after and followed his example, terribly mortified in spirit as well as altered in frontispiece.

Remarks.—This was one of the best and fairest mills on record, and 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.

Remarks.—Hall, not the “John,” but the “mad,” bull fighter, to the great surprise and satisfaction of his friends, appeared at the Castle Tavern as early as eight o’clock on the same evening, thus contradicting the alarming rumours of his death. It appears that his recollection did not return to him till after he had been twice bled, and twenty-five minutes had elapsed, and even then his ideas were in a very confused state, so tremendous were the effects of the blow. Hall informed the company he did not feel himself any the worse, except from the sore state of his arm, rendered so by the instruments of the surgeon. The latter thought Hall in fine condition. It was now evident to the amateurs that Sampson was an improved man; and this little slice of fortune increased his confidence so much that he returned to Birmingham with all the honours of war.

In January, 1823, we find Sampson inditing insulting letters on Israelites in general, and Belasco in particular, in the Weekly Dispatch, which were responded to in more parliamentary language in the columns of Bell’s Life, and “these paper pellets of the brain,” after five months of popping, assumed the form of “Articles of Agreement,” dated June 19th, 1823, whereby Philip Sampson and Abraham Belasco mutually bound themselves to fight in a twenty-four foot ring, half-minute time, for £100 a-side, on Tuesday, the 25th of August, 1823, Mr. Jackson to name the place. “On signing the articles,” says the reporter, “Sampson poured out a couple of glasses of port, and, handing one of them to his opponent, gave the toast, ‘May the best man win.’ ‘I hope he will,’ said Belasco, tossing off his glass.”

Crawley Downs, in Sussex, was the fixture, and such of the Fancy as respected their nags too much to give the animals some sixty-six miles in a day were to be seen on the Monday trotting through Riddlesdown, Reigate, and East Grinstead, stopping to bait, “blow a cloud,” and enjoy a chaff with Boniface, whose jocund countenance bespoke his pleasure at sight of such good customers.

In the morning Crawley Downs were alive with arrivals from all quarters of the compass. Sampson came on the ground in a barouche and four, enveloped in a large blue military cloak; while Belasco trotted over the turf behind eighty guineas’ worth of horseflesh, driven by a well-known East-end sportsman. At a few minutes past one Sampson threw his white nob-cover into the ring, and taking his bright crimson kerchief from his throat handed it to Josh Hudson, who, with Ben Burn, were his chosen seconds. Belasco quickly followed suit, dropping his beaver quietly within the ropes, and his colours, “a yellowman,” were also fixed to the centre stake. Peter Crawley, in a bright green Newmarket and Belcher tie, with Bill Richmond, in West End Corinthian costume, acted as “esquires of the body” to Aby, who said to Josh across the ring, “Now, let’s have a quiet fight, let it go which way it will.” The seconds concurred, and we must say we never saw a mill better conducted, as a whole, by all parties concerned. The betting opened at five to four on Belasco.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Sampson never looked better. The appellation hitherto borne by him of the Birmingham Youth seemed a thing of the past; the gristle had become bone, and the smoothness of limb laced and knotted with hard and well-marked muscle. In fact, he looked a model athlete. Belasco was also a picture of a man in fine health; his bust, a perfect anatomical study, together with his black nob, penetrating eye, and Mosaic countenance, rendered the Jew an interesting object in this ballet of action. Confidence sat on his brow; he was cool, collected, and evidently anticipated victory. Upon shaking hands it was the general opinion that Sampson would have attempted to slaughter Belasco, in order to win off-hand, as a long fight might prove dangerous to him. Not so; Sampson was cautious in the extreme. Belasco placed his hands very high, convinced the spectators he was an adept in science, and appeared armed at all points against the slashing onset of his adversary. Considerable dodging occurred, and several slight offers were made on both sides, but neither of them was to be deceived by the feints of the other. Belasco’s left hand told slightly on Sampson’s body without a return; it was soon after repeated. Both eyeing each other for a short period, when Sampson put down his hands and rubbed them on his drawers. Sampson still cautious. The left hand of Belasco again told slightly on his antagonist’s body. A pause. Each combatant attempted to hit, but their blows fell short. (Four minutes had elapsed.) Sampson at length made himself up for mischief, and let fly at the Jew’s nob with tremendous force, but Belasco stopped it in the most skilful style. (“Beautiful! bravo!”) Sampson again tried it on, when an exchange of blows occurred, and Belasco’s right eye received a little damage. The Jew got away cleverly from another well-aimed nobber; and, in closing at the ropes, Belasco had the best of the fibbing, till Sampson went down on his back, and his opponent upon him. (Applause on both sides. The Sheenies said “it was all right,” and the Brums observed “nothing was the matter.”)

2.—Sampson hit the Jew in the body, but Belasco soon afterwards put in a sharp facer, and followed his opponent to do mischief. Counter-hitters and nobbers were the result. A short rally followed, the left eye of Sampson received a touch. In closing, both down, Sampson undermost. (“First blood,” exclaimed Josh; “look at the side of Belasco’s nose.” The claret was just peeping, as it were, between his ogles.)

3.—The fine science displayed by Belasco, in stopping the heavy hits of his opponent, was the admiration of the spectators. The Jew went sharply towards his antagonist, when, after an exchange of blows, Sampson got down.

4.—This was a pretty round, and fine fighting on both sides was conspicuous. In struggling at the ropes, Sampson went down rather awkwardly, and Belasco, being in the act of hitting, struck his opponent on the nob. “Foul, foul!” by the Sampsonites; “Fair, fair!” by the Sheenies. The referee said “nothing wrong had occurred; but he felt afraid that he had consented to take upon himself a very difficult situation, as the opposite parties did not appear to agree on the true principles of prize-fighting. However, he had not one farthing upon the fight, and he should do his duty if called on to decide.”

5.—This round was decidedly in favour of Belasco. He not only got away from a nobber that might have proved a settler, but in turn gave Sampson so heavy a hit on his head that the latter turned round from the force of it, and went a yard or two away; but he soon returned to fight. In closing at the ropes, pepper was used between them till both were down, Belasco undermost. (The latter was much applauded, and, up to this period of the fight, continued the favourite.)

6.—The Jew was also the hero in this round. Sampson appeared rather distressed. Belasco proved himself a more troublesome customer than his opponent had anticipated; he was indeed very difficult to be got at. Some blows were exchanged, when they closed at the ropes, and ultimately the Jew had the best of it, planting a blow on Sampson’s nob as he was going down.

7.—Sampson was on the look-out to put in a slogger on the nob of the Jew, but the science of the latter prevented him. In fact, Sampson, although rather evil-disposed towards his opponent, which he let escape now and then in words, was nevertheless cool in his conduct. The cunning of the Jew, and the firmness of his guard, pointed out clearly to Sampson that he must be careful to avoid committing mistakes when opposed to so accomplished a boxer as Belasco, which accounts, in a great measure, for the Birmingham hero altering his hitherto smashing mode of fighting. The Jew stopped well; and, after an exchange of blows, Belasco dexterously planted a heavy body hit about an inch and a half below the mark, which sent Sampson down on his latter end. (A great burst of applause from the partisans of Belasco, who now, without hesitation, offered £10 to £5—100 to 50—two to one, all over the ring. “It’s ash right ash the tay, Aby; feel for his vind next time.”)

8.—Sampson, however, did not appear a great deal the worse for his floorer, for he came to the scratch instantly at the call of time. This was a well-fought round on both sides; but the science displayed by Belasco extorted applause from all parts of the ring. He planted a body blow with his left hand, and protected his head so finely with his right as to stop a well-meant heavy hit. Counter-hitting, but Sampson’s blows were most severe, from his length; still in closing at the ropes the Jew fibbed Sampson down and fell upon him.

9.—Sampson went in quickly to do mischief, but Belasco made as usual some excellent stops. The Jew, in making a body blow, hit rather low. “What do you call that?” said Sampson. In closing, Sampson went down.

10.—This round was against Belasco. The Jew stopped delightfully at the commencement, but in counter-hitting Belasco received a terrific blow in the middle of his head, which almost knocked him backwards; but he returned to the attack as game as a pebble, and in closing at the ropes had the best of it while hanging upon them, until Sampson, by a desperate effort, extricated himself, and, strange to say, placed the Jew in his own former situation, fibbing Belasco till he went down, bleeding profusely. (The faces of the Brums, which had hitherto been very grave, now assumed a smile, and “Sampson for ever!” was the cry.)

11.—The face of Belasco exhibited punishment. Sampson had also the lead in this round, but he determined not to give a chance away, and in closing he went down. (Murmuring from the Sheenies.)

12.—Belasco endeavoured to plant a hit, but Sampson got away. In closing, Sampson again went down.

13.—The Jew put in a heavy body blow, but one of Sampson’s hard hits met Belasco in the middle of his head. The battle was now alive, all parties highly interested, and doubts and fears expressed on both sides. The Jew, full of game, tried to get the lead, obtained it, and Sampson went down.

14.—The length and height of Sampson enabled him to stand over his opponent, and this, added to his excellent knowledge of boxing and increased strength, rendered him no easy opponent for Belasco. (The Jew was irritated in this round from the expressions of Sampson, while they were sparring together, who observed, “I have got you now, Belasco, and I’ll not only lick you, but drive your Jew brother out of Birmingham.” “Be quiet,” said Josh; “fight, and don’t talk so.” “You can do neither,” replied Belasco, “but you are an illiberal fellow.” “Keep your temper,” urged Crawley.) Belasco ran in and planted two hits; and, in closing, Sampson went down in the best way he could, and received a hit in consequence, which occasioned cries of “Foul!” and “Fair!”

15.—Belasco displayed superior skill in stopping two blows, but in counter-hitting he received such a tremendous blow near his temple that he fell out of the ropes on his head quite stunned. (“It is all up,” was the cry; and “Ten to one he does not fight again!”) The Sheenies were alarmed, and none but the gamest of the game would ever have come again. Belasco might have left off with honour.

16.—No sailor “three sheets in the wind” appeared more groggy at the scratch when time was called. In fact, Belasco did not know where he was—his eyes had lost their wonted fire, and it really was a pity to see him standing up to a fine, strong young man like Sampson. The latter, very cautious, did not make play, and the Jew had none the worst of the round. Both down, but Sampson undermost. Six to four on Sampson.

17.—Belasco, recovered a little, fought like a brave man till he was hit down.

18.—The Jew seemed better—he exchanged hits, and was again sent down. Two to one on Sampson.

19.—Against Belasco; but he held up his arms well, and, after stopping a hit or two, got down.

20.—The Jew had recovered considerably; and, although he had the worst of it, Sampson thought it prudent to fight cautiously. Belasco made play with great spirit; but, in counter-hitting, received another severe blow on his head, which sent him out of the ropes. If he had not been a truly game man when time was called he would not have paid attention to it. Three to one.

21.—The Jew resolved that “his people” should have no reason to complain. He commenced fighting, although sorely distressed. The result of the round was that Sampson received a hit, and went down on his knees. (“Bravo, Belasco, you are a game fellow,” from Tom Owen, “but you are overmatched.”)

22.—The finish of this round was in favour of Belasco, and he fibbed Sampson down. (“It is anybody’s battle, now,” cried an old sportsman; “a good hit would decide it either way.” “I’ll lay forty to ten,” said Tom Oliver, “Sampson wins!” “Stake,” said a gentleman from Houndsditch, “and I will take it.” Oliver didn’t.)

23.—The face of Belasco was piteous, and his right eye swelled prodigiously; but he came to the scratch determined to dispute every inch of ground while a chance remained. “A little one for Mother Melsom,” said Josh, “and the battle is at an end.” Sampson saw that conquest was within his grasp, and he was determined to win it without risk. He accordingly let Belasco commence fighting before he offered to return. The Jew went down from a straight blow, quite exhausted. (“Take the brave fellow away; he ought not to be suffered to come again.” “I am not licked yet,” said Belasco.)

24, and last.—It was evident the battle must be soon over, but Belasco answered the call of time like a man. The Jew was too distressed to protect himself with his usual skill, and he received a hit in the middle of his face that floored him slap on his back. He was picked up by his seconds, but in a state of stupor. When the half-minute had elapsed Belasco remained insensible, and Sampson was declared the winner. It was over in forty-two minutes.

Remarks.—Sampson retired from the contest with very trifling marks upon his face. He is altogether an improved man; his frame is set, and his fighting eminently superior to the style he exhibited in his battles with Martin, Gybletts, and Abbott. We think that he ought to have won the last-named fight. Nevertheless, it confers honour upon his milling talents to conquer so accomplished a boxer as Belasco proved himself to be. To speak of the Jew as he deserves, or of one brave man that has surrendered to another, it is thus: It is true Belasco has been defeated, but he stands higher in the estimation of his friends than ever; let no more slurs be thrown upon him as to “a white feather”! He had to contend against height, length, weight, and youth, added to which Sampson was also a good fighter and a high-couraged man. He has not disgraced “his people.” The Jew was brought into the ring in spirited style, but we applaud most the feeling manner in which he was supported out of it. Every attention that humanity could suggest was paid to Belasco. A medical gentleman, of his own persuasion, brought down from London solely for that purpose, had the care of him. We could, if necessary, mention a list of Israelites who were most assiduous on this occasion, but we feel assured the sporting world will appreciate such feeling, generosity, and gentlemanly conduct. The weight of Sampson was said to be twelve stone three pounds; his height, five feet ten-and-a-half inches—Belasco, in his clothes, eleven stone six pounds; his height, five feet seven inches. To the credit of both men it may be stated that they now shook hands and became friends; Belasco, as we shall see, becoming a zealous second to Sampson on several important occasions.

Phil now flew at high game. He challenged Jem Ward, then the most promising of the candidates for the Championship. Jem, nothing loth, accommodated him for £100 a-side, and on Monday, June 21st, 1824, gave Mr. Sampson an indisputable thrashing in fifty minutes, as chronicled in the memoir of Ward (ante, p. 206).

One of the peculiarities of Sampson, which he shared with the renowned Blucher, was that of “not knowing when he was beaten.” He had further the remarkable faculty of talking and writing other people over to his own opinion. Thus, in December of the same year, 1824, he got himself backed a second time against Jem Ward, and on this occasion it took “the Black Diamond” only thirty-seven minutes and a half to finally floor “the strong man,” all the circumstances of which will be found fully written in the book of “Pugilistica,” in the Life of Ward (ante, p. 207), to which we beg to refer the reader.

Phil’s “vaulting ambition, which o’erleaps the lists and falls on the other side,” had now a temporary check, and “My Uncle Ben,” who was looking out for a job for his “Nevvy,” Jem Burn, proposed a battle with Sampson for £50 a-side. After much ink-spilling the articles were formulated, and Tuesday, June 22nd, 1825, fixed. Mr. Jackson named Harpenden Common, near St. Albans, and thither, on the day appointed, the Fancy repaired. Unfortunately on the previous evening a whisper had gone forth that it was to be a squared fight, in consequence of which unfounded rumour lots of gents made up their minds to turn their backs upon the thing altogether. Burn, of course, as he was to win, and nothing else, according to “the man in the street,” was backed at six to four, seven to four, and sooner than go without a bet those wiseacres (a wonderfully numerous class at all times) who thought they were in possession of the secret laid two to one. A meddlesome man in office, “dressed in a little brief authority,” also turned up, and forbade the mill taking place on the old spot at No Man’s Land. The Fancy, always ready to obey the mandates of the authorities, accordingly toddled on a few miles farther, and the ring was formed at Shere Mere, in Bedfordshire. Sampson declared he had been ill-treated by these sinister reports, and hoped his conduct would soon give the lie to his enemies. Jem Burn, at one o’clock, attended by Randall and Uncle Ben, threw his hat into the Ring, and was received with loud cheers. Sampson soon followed, and planted his topper within the ropes, waited upon by Josh Hudson and Rough Robin.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Young Jem looked well; he was highly fancied, and the general opinion seemed to be that the Young One would win it. The canvas of Sampson appeared to be the tougher, and with the utmost coolness he himself went and tied his colours to the stakes, over his opponent’s, confidently observing, “These belong to me.” The caution displayed by Sampson showed he was anxious to win; and the steadiness of Jem told the fanciers victory was the object he had in view. Two minutes elapsed in eyeing each other, when the Young One let fly, and touched Sampson’s body. Sampson gave a grin. A long pause. (The John Bull Fighter was so tired that he laid himself down in the ring, observing, “We are all right; Phil will win at his leisure.”) Sampson put in a small taste on Jem’s cheek. (“Bravo, Samsy!”) The caution observed on both sides was so tiresome to the spectators that “night caps” were called for. At length Burn went spiritedly to work, but Sampson skilfully stopped him right and left. Sampson planted one on the head of his adversary, which provoked Jem to rush in, when Sampson caught him with an uphanded-hit, and My Nevvy fell on his face. The blow was a stunner, and visible on his forehead; the umpires, however, did not decide this to be a knock-down blow. Thirteen minutes and a half.

2.—Jem appeared to be fighting according to “orders”—he was over cautious. (“Never mind,” said Josh, “let them do as they like; it is the ‘Rising Sun’ against the ‘Half Moon’—the Moon for my money!”) Sampson had decidedly the best of this round, hitting his man right and left. In closing, Burn was hit down. This round decided first blood and the first knock-down blow. Five to four on Sampson.

3.—Jem was not deficient in pluck, and came to the scratch like a good one. Jem planted a nobber, but Sampson countered well. A rally, in which Jem was sent down. Seven to four on Brummagem.

4.—This was a fine round, and good fighting on both sides. Burn was troublesome; but the skill and coolness displayed by Sampson were the admiration of the spectators. Some exchanges that told on both sides, but Jem had the worst of it. The claret made its appearance under Burn’s left ogle, and Sampson, by way of a finish, hit his antagonist down. Two to one on the Brum.

5.—Burn, full of spirit, tried to punish the Brum, but he was stopped, nobbed right and left, and thrown into the bargain.

6.—This was short but sweet to Phil. Sampson stopped capitally, and, in turn, planted two facers—botherers—so much so that Burn staggered, turned round, and fell on his face.

7.—The nob of Jem was changed, but his courage never forsook him. The coolness of Sampson enabled him to plant his blows with effect. Jem lost many hits by being on the blinking system; he rushed in to mill, but Sampson caught him as he came. In a sharp rally, Jem went down.

8.—A tiny bit of a change for Jem—he sent Sampson down at the close of the round. (Loud shouting for Burn. “Do that once more; Phil don’t like it—you’ll soon make his knees tremble.” “Tremble, indeed!” replied the Brum. “Fetch a fiddle, and I’ll bet a pound I dance a hornpipe.”)

9.—Jem was piping, and Sampson a little winded. The latter planted a jobber over the left eye of his opponent, and got away. (Great applause. “Fighting such as this looks like a +, don’t it?” said jolly Josh, rubbing his hands.) Some excellent stops on both sides, and sharp exchanges of blows, till Burn napped an out-and-out one on his nob, which dropped My Nevvy. Three to one on Brummagem.

10.—Forty-eight minutes had elapsed, and Sampson was as fresh as a four-year-old. Burn, notwithstanding the state of his face, was game as a pebble, and stood to his work like a man. Sampson received a note of hand on his conk, without giving the return. Sharp fighting, till Burn went down.

11.—This round was a fine specimen of the art of self-defence; and both combatants displayed great skill. The right eye of Jem was nearly in the dark, and he raised his hand to wipe it. Sampson, quick as lightning, endeavoured to take advantage of the opening, let fly with his left, but to the surprise of the spectators Burn stopped him. This circumstance produced thunders of applause for Jem. Burn again stopped several blows; but at the conclusion of the round he was floored like a shot by a tremendous hit on the mouth. Jem put his hand to his head as he lay on the ground.

12.—This round, by the decided manner in which he took the lead, and also in finishing it by a heavy throw, rendered Sampson the favourite at four to one.

13.—The friends of Jem still stuck to him, and were filled with hopes that, as he had displayed so much real game, he might be able to wear out Sampson; but the latter was cool and collected. Jem was countered, and, in a hard struggle at the ropes, severely fibbed down. (“The ‘Half Moon’ now,” said Josh, “has nearly put the ‘Rising Sun’ into darkness. Very nasty, Mr. Broad Day, eh?”)

14.—Jem went down from a left-handed blow.

15.—Burn was really mischievous, and in close quarters nobbed Sampson heavily. (“Keep off,” said Josh, “don’t give a chance away.”) Sampson measured his distance well, and poor Jem again went down.

16.—It was booked that Jem could not win; but the brave fellow had not the slightest notion of saying “No!” Sampson waited for an opportunity, and by a flush hit nearly took the fight out of Jem by a floorer. (“Take him away!”)

17.—It was now lick or be licked with Jem, and he acted boldly on this determination. Notwithstanding his blinking state, he administered several heavy thumps on Sampson’s nob when in close quarters. In closing, Sampson caught Burn’s nob under his arm, fibbed, and dropped poor Jem with ease.

18.—A little turn in favour of Burn; the latter, by his boldness, planted some heavy hits, one of which made Sampson stagger, and he fell on the ropes. (A tremendous shout from the friends of Burn, who did not give up hopes of victory.)

19.—Jem came to the scratch, but he was nearly blind. He was soon thrown.

20.—It was piteous to see Jem throw his blows away; he could not see his opponent. Burn received a heavy blow on the nose, and fell on his back. Ten to one, but no takers.

21.—It was nearly “all up” with Jem; he appeared like a man groping in the dark. The humanity of Sampson is worthy of record; he scarcely touched him, and only planted a tap to put an end to the battle. Burn was sent down quite exhausted. (“Take him away.”)

22.—Jem, like a drowning man catching at a straw, made a desperate effort, and in a rush at Sampson received another floorer. (“Don’t let the brave fellow fight any more—take him away.”)

23, and last.—It is worse than death to a man of true courage to experience defeat, and Jem had made up his mind not to pronounce the afflicting “No.” Burn had scarcely arrived at the scratch when he was sent down by a trifling touch. (“He shall fight no more,” said Uncle Ben, positively, stepping up to the umpires.) It occupied an hour and ten minutes. Sampson immediately shook hands with his fallen opponent. Burn was severely punished about the head, but scarcely any body blows were given throughout the battle.

Remarks.—Burn fought according to orders. Had he adopted the milling style which characterised the last seven or eight rounds, even if he had not proved victorious, it might have rendered the fight a more even thing. Sampson in all his battles has proved himself a good fighter. Like Jem Burn, he began his career too young. This battle was a most honourable contest, and reflected credit on both the combatants. Jem Burn is a truly game man. Every person returned home well satisfied with the fairness and honesty of the battle.

Hall, of Birmingham, now declared himself anxious to try his luck in a third battle with Sampson; and Phil, with the utmost politeness, agreed to accommodate him without delay for £50 a-side. This mill was decided on Tuesday, November 22nd, 1825. The fight was booked as a certainty; “if,” as the chaff went, “it was not already made right.” Sampson was the favourite at six to four.

Early on Tuesday morning the Fancy were on the alert at Birmingham, Worcester, Coventry, Lichfield, &c., to arrive at Basset’s Pole, between Birmingham and Tamworth. Few of the London Fancy were present, as their “minds were completely made up,” from the capital fight Sampson made with Ward at Stony Stratford, that Phil must win the battle in a canter; therefore “it would not pay” to undertake so long a trot.

The description of the fight between Sampson and Hall lies in a nutshell, one round having put an end to the contest. Sampson was in prime condition, and certain of winning. Hall was upon equally good terms with himself. Sampson was seconded by Ward and Holland, and Hall by two brothers. On setting-to Sampson did not treat his opponent with indifference, but waited for him cool and collected. Three minutes had nearly elapsed in dodging about, when Hall planted a bodier. (“Bravo!” from his friends.) Sampson returned the compliment with great activity; hit for hit soon took place, and a sharp rally was the result. The men separated, and a trifling pause occurred. Sampson made himself up for mischief, and with his left delivered a heavy blow under his opponent’s ear which gave him the doldrums; by way of quietus he then planted with his right so severe a facer that Hall was floored like a shot. When time was called Hall was insensible, and remained in a state of stupor for several minutes. Thus Sampson was pronounced the conqueror in the short space of four minutes and three-quarters. The backers of Hall looked not a little blue on viewing their man so easily disposed of by Sampson, and the spectators in general were much disappointed at so short a contest. The winners, however, held a contrary opinion, and were in high spirits, observing “the fight was long enough for them;” and Sampson, with a smile upon his face, stated that “he should like to be paid for such another job, as £100 for under five minutes was not to be done every day, even in the highest professions.” The “Sage of the East,” in a discourse upon the event, declared Sampson’s right-hander to be “a golden hit”!

Owing to a quarrel with Josh Hudson at the East End, January 31st, 1826, Josh being by no means compos, Sampson beat the “John Bull Fighter” in six rounds, not much to the credit of the former. As a per contra, on June 30th, 1826, his bounce and quarrelsomeness got him a third thrashing from Jem Ward, which was administered by the Champion in ten rounds, at Norwich, while on a sporting tour. Sampson also put out at this time a challenge to Brown, of Bridgnorth, to fight for £50 a-side; but the “big one” replied that the price did not suit him, so Sampson wrote again and again to show that Brown ought to fight for that sum!

Paul Spencer, a native of Ireland, elegantly designated the “Mud Island Devil,” having defeated Manning, of Manchester, felt anxious to obtain a higher situation on the pugilistic roll, and challenged Sampson for £50 a-side. Phil approved of this match, observing at the same time, “No Irishman can lick me.” The articles stated that the fight should take place on Tuesday, November 27th, 1827, between Birmingham and Liverpool; and Newcastle-under-Lyme was named as the rallying point. During the Sunday and Monday previous to the battle the above town was filled with visitors from Liverpool, Birmingham, and Manchester. About two miles from Newcastle-under-Lyme the ring was made in front of the grand stand on the race-course. A few minutes before one o’clock the men arrived on the ground. Sampson threw his hat into the ring, attended by Tom Oliver and Young Gas; and Spencer was waited upon by Donovan and Bob Avery. Both combatants were in excellent condition. Spencer was an object of great interest to his Irish friends. He was a fine strong young fellow, in height five feet eleven inches and a half, weighing thirteen stone one pound. The colours were a crimson fogle for Sampson, and a green with a yellow spot for Spencer. Six to four on Sampson.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The men prepared for action in good style, Spencer adopting Ned Neale’s mode of keeping up his left hand. Sampson was also on the alert. After a short time occupied in manœuvring, Spencer endeavoured to make his right and left tell, but Phil got out of danger. A short pause; both on the look-out for an opening, when the Mud Island Devil planted his right hand on Sampson’s nob; the latter boxer returned left and right, and a brisk rally was the result. In closing Phil fell on his knee, and Spencer, in fibbing, hit Sampson as he was down. (“Foul!” “Fair!”) The friends of Sampson claimed the fight, but the umpires ordered the battle to proceed.

2.—Caution on both sides. Spencer held his left still up, and let fly with his right. Sampson stopped him skilfully, and hit out right and left, delivering well on the nob. A desperate rally followed, in which sharp hits were exchanged. Sampson planted his right on Spencer’s mouth as he was rushing in, when Spencer caught him on top of his canister with his right, and made a slight incision. Sampson then closed, and fibbed at the body with his right, while Spencer peppered away at his upper works, but without much effect. At length Spencer got the lock with his right leg, and threw Sampson a cross-buttock, falling heavily upon him. (The Liverpool blades in an uproar; and, “You are sure to win it, Pat.”)

3.—Sampson showed blood from his nob, and Spencer from his mouth. Spencer looked a little flushed and dropped his left. Sampson saw the opening, rushed in, and hit him down with a straight one, two, right and left. (“Sampson for ever!” and “Phil, it’s all your own!”)

4.—Sampson again planted his right and left from the shoulder, cutting Spencer on the left eye. Spencer was not to be shook off, but instantly went to work, hitting out right and left, but wildly. Sampson met Spencer as he rushed in with a few flush hits—a close followed, and some good in-fighting ensued, Sampson feeling for the bread-basket, and Spencer at the nob. Spencer then tried for another cross-buttock, but Sampson was not to be had, and slipped down in time. (Two to one on Sampson.)

The fight was now stopped by the interference of a magistrate. “You cannot fight any longer,” said he; “I will not permit it.” “It won’t be long,” cried Sampson; “I’ll soon finish him, so let us have it out.” “No,” said his worship, “I must not. I should have no objection myself, but I have been applied to in my magisterial capacity, and I am forced to act. I am sorry for it, but ‘needs must.’” Submission was the order of the day; his worship retired, and the men adjourned back to Newcastle, there to deliberate on further proceedings, Sampson proclaiming to his friends that he was sure to win, and offering three to one on the issue. The men had fought just eight minutes.

On reaching Newcastle Spencer was put to bed, while Sampson remained up with his friends. At length it was agreed, according to the “articles,” that the fight should be fought out, and the word was given for taking up new ground at a village called Woore, in Shropshire, on the borders of Cheshire. The moment the signal was given, “The devil take the hindmost!” was the order of the day, and the rush of the motley group to arrive at the scene of action in time beggared description. It was half-past four, and quite dusk, before the cavalcade reached the “Horse and Jockey,” at Woore, in a meadow behind which the ring was again pitched by Tom Oliver.

The best pedestrians were completely knocked up in the run, and several first-rate roadsters beaten to a stand-still. The entire group, owing to the wretched state of the road, were nothing but mudlarks.

No time was lost, both men appearing “eager for the fray,” and each feeling equal confidence. Sampson showed first in the ring.

SECOND FIGHT.

Round 1.—The eagerness of Spencer to go to work delighted his friends. He cut away right and left, but the superior science of Sampson enabled him to stop the Mud Island Devil’s efforts. Still Spencer would not be denied; he bored in so hard and fast that Sampson was a little bothered, turned round, and retreated to prepare himself for the rude attacks of his opponent. The strength of Spencer was so great that he caught hold of Phil by the neck, and, in going down, pulled Sampson on him.

2.—Phil let fly right and left, and produced the claret from Spencer’s domino-box; nevertheless Spencer peppered away with rapidity; but Sampson’s counters were heaviest, and in the close both were down.

3.—Sampson waited for his opponent and popped in his left with terrific force. Spencer was not to be deterred, but rushed to in-fighting, when Sampson hit him up severely. Spencer then closed and delivered some home thrusts, grappled for the fall, and Sampson slipped down.

4.—Sampson planted his left hand on Spencer’s muzzle. Spencer fought wildly, and in closing Sampson went down to avoid being thrown. (Cries of “Foul!” answered by shouts of “Fair!”)

5.—Spencer took the lead, and hit out right and left, making his blows tell. Sampson went to work, but missed a terrific right-handed blow, which went over Spencer’s shoulder. A good rally followed, and Sampson fell on his knees, receiving a hit as he went down.

6.—Neale called to Spencer to keep his left hand up. Sampson waited, and at length popped in his left on the ear. Counter-hits followed, and Spencer, in closing, pulled Sampson down.

7.—Counter-hitting in a spirited rally. Sampson down.

8.—Sampson was mischievous with his left, Spencer rushed in, when Sampson went down cleverly.

9.—Sampson stopped well, and both fought to a rally; heavy hits were exchanged, when Spencer seized Sampson round the waist and threw him.

10.—This was a capital milling round. Counter-hitting, and no flinching. Spencer planted right and left, but Sampson caught him dreadfully on the jaw with his right. In the close, Sampson would not be thrown, and got down.

11.—Sampson delivered heavily on Spencer’s mug with his left, and broke away. Spencer rushed in, and some good in-fighting followed. In closing Sampson was thrown.

12.—Sampson again put in a dangerous nobber with his left. Spencer countered, but again received right and left, and in the close Sampson went down.

13, and last.—Sampson waited for his man and delivered heavily with his left. Spencer would go in vigorously, but Sampson met him right and left with punishing hits, and jobbed him down. Spencer was hit stupid; he rolled about, and could not stand when “time” was called. Sampson was proclaimed the victor. The second mill lasted fifteen minutes, making the fight, in the whole, twenty-three minutes. Spencer was heavily punished about the head, but Sampson was not much hurt. Both men were reconducted to Newcastle the same night.

Remarks.—Spencer was the right sort of boxer for Sampson. Men that will go and fight with Phil stand a good chance to be polished off-hand. A rushing boxer like Spencer is a sort of gift to him. It is, however, but common justice to observe that Spencer proved himself a game man and a troublesome customer to the Birmingham hero. The amateurs pronounced it a good battle. The right hand of Phil is at all times dangerous, and his experience in the P.R. and his science united render him a fit opponent for any countryman, let him be as strong as Hercules.

After this slice of luck the friends of Sampson rallied round him, and he immediately sent forth all sorts of challenges to all sorts of boxers by means of his editorial amanuensis and his weekly paper. As, however, these epistles, from their bad grammar and attempts at rude wit, do not commend themselves as “elegant extracts,” we pass them by. One, to White-headed Bob (who was under articles to fight Ned Neale), was pure “buncombe;” others, such as those to Jem Ward, proposed ridiculously low stakes, and others were mere “gag.” One to Big Brown, of Bridgnorth, however, had better fortune.

One of Phil’s challenges having taken the form of “Brown giving me (Phil) £20 to make a match for £300 a-side,” the Big ’un thus replied in another weekly journal:—

“To the Editor of ‘Bell’s Life in London.’

“Sir,—I apprehend that addressing Philip Sampson through the medium of your valuable paper will be to little purpose. There seems to have been a little bounce, but I wish I could flatter myself there was any reliance to be placed on what he has sent forth to the public.

“With regard to his proposal of my giving him £20 to fight me for £300, my intention was to propose fighting him £320 to £300; for be it remembered that he once got £20 of my money in a way not very satisfactory to myself; but it is not my intention that he shall have any more of it unless I am fairly beat out of time by him, which, if he should happen to do, he shall be most welcome to.

“I will fight him £320 to £300, half-way between Birmingham and Bridgnorth, and I will attend at the place he appoints—the ‘Woodman,’ Birmingham—on Monday the 24th inst., between the hours of eight and ten p.m., for the purpose of making a deposit and entering into the necessary articles.

“I remain, &c., yours respectfully,

“THOMAS BROWN.

“Bottle-in-Hand Inn, Bridgnorth, December 19th, 1827.”

The hero of Bridgnorth in this instance was mistaken about the bounce of the thing; for Sampson’s friends were at the place at the appointed time, at the “Woodman,” and articles were signed without delay, Mr. Beardsworth, of the Birmingham Repository, being stakeholder.

This big affair was decided at Bishop’s Wood, in Shropshire, one hundred and thirty-four miles from London, on Tuesday, April 8th, 1828; and, since the battle between Spring and Langan, no pugilistic event had excited more interest. It appears that Sampson had some difficulty in making up the battle-money, and had it not been for little Arthur Matthewson—who not only stuck to Phil during his training, but procured him the last £70—a forfeit might have been the result of a rash engagement.

The principal patrons of the Ring left London in considerable numbers, on the Sunday and Monday previous, for Birmingham and Wolverhampton. The latter place was overflowing with company of every description, all the inns crowded to excess, and beds not to be had at any price. The towns and villages contiguous to Wolverhampton came in also for their share of visitors.

Wolverhampton Racecourse was named as the scene of action, in front of the grand stand, an erection capable of accommodating upwards of a thousand spectators, which had been pointed out as a most convenient arena; but a magistrate interposed his authority, and Bishop’s Wood was chosen, a lofty eminence, commanding an extensive and delightful prospect. It is situated in Shropshire, on the borders of Staffordshire, twelve miles from Wolverhampton, and about the same distance from Bridgnorth.

On Tuesday morning vast multitudes were en route for the scene of action. Vehicles of all sorts were in motion; equestrians and pedestrians thronged the way from Birmingham, Walsall, Dudley, Wednesbury, Bridgnorth, and Stafford, Lichfield, Shrewsbury, and other towns. Brown cut a dash on his turn-out to the ground; he was seated, with his friend Spring and several others, in a landau, his own property, decorated on the panels with the sign of his house at Bridgnorth (a hand holding a bottle), and drawn by four fine horses, while a great number of well-mounted gentlemen formed, as it were, a body-guard. Both Sampson and Brown waited at the “Bradford Arms” till the time arrived for entering the ring. Arrangements on the ground had been made with much judgment. A circle of wagons, with a stage on a convenient spot, formed the external barrier; in front of these the spectators on foot were kept at a distance of several yards from the twenty-four feet ring by a strong circle of ropes and stakes. The ring itself was formed with posts of great thickness, deeply fixed in the earth, and three ropes (one more than the usual number) were affixed to them. The number of spectators could not have been less than 25,000—some persons guessed their numbers at 30,000; of these, at least 15,000 were unable to see the twenty-four feet ring, and were consequently continually pressing forward.

A few minutes before one o’clock, Brown, leaning on the arm of Tom Spring, threw his hat into the ring. He was received with a loud welcome. The appearance of the Bridgnorth hero was prepossessing; he was dressed in the then country gentleman’s costume, a blue coat, white cord breeches, and top boots. Sampson appeared soon afterwards, and his friends, in their turn, rent the air with applause. Phil was also well got up. On the entrance of the latter boxer, Brown, who was sitting on the hamper containing the bottles, &c., rose up, and, holding out his hand with a good-natured smile, said, “Well, my boy, how are you?” Sampson gave him his hand, but turned another way with an angry scowl, and merely repeated, “How are you?” Harry Holt and Dick Curtis seconded Sampson, and never was man better attended to. Harry had sported his money on Brown, but he communicated that fact to Sampson’s backers, and they at once decided on trusting to his honour to do the best he could for Phil, promising, at the same time, to make up his losses if Sampson won. Brown was seconded by his friend Tom Spring and by Bill Richmond. The toss for sides was won by Sampson, and at about twenty minutes after one the fight commenced. Colours—crimson for Sampson; and crimson with white stripes for Brown. Betting, two to one, and in some parts of the ring five to two, on the latter.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Brown, when divested of his outer garments, looked extremely well, not to say gigantic, weighing, at the least estimate, fifteen stone. A smile of confidence embellished his mug, and he seemed to say to himself, “I shall lick this Sampson like fun.” Phil was equally slap-up in condition—in truth, we never saw him to more advantage in any of his previous encounters; he weighed nearly thirteen stone. His countenance indicated composure, calculation, and perfect preparation for the job he had undertaken. On setting-to, Brown did not appear exactly “at home;” he put up his arms more like a pupil who had been taught the rudiments of the art of self-defence than as a pugilist acting from his own suggestions. He scarcely seemed to know whether he should commence offensive operations or wait for his active adversary to make the onset. The science displayed by Sampson was judicious, correct, and decisive; he crept in, as it were, to measure his distance, and having ascertained he was right, he let fly with both hands. The mug of Brown felt them; when Sampson, in the style of Curtis, stepped backwards, by which means Brown, in returning, did not reach his opponent. (“Well done, Sampson!”) The Birmingham blade again tried on the manœuvre with increased effect, and planted a heavy blow just under the temple of Brown. The latter now attempted to fight first, but his movements were slow, and his right hand did little more than touch the side of Sampson’s nob. Some sharp exchanges occurred, but the hitting of the “big one” was round, while Sampson planted his straight facers with electrifying effect, and had the best of the rally. Brown, by his superior strength, bored his adversary to the ropes, where he held Sampson, and endeavoured to fib him with his right hand but not à la Randall. The “big one” kept pegging at Phil everywhere until he was down. (Great disapprobation, and loud cries of “Foul,” “Fair,” &c.) It was the general opinion that a foul blow had been given by the hero of Bridgnorth, but perhaps not intentionally; therefore the umpires did not notice the transaction. (“First blood!” said Curtis; “that’s an event worth summut to me.”)

2.—The skill of Sampson again was the admiration of the ring. He, as in the previous round, coolly measured his distance so correctly as to plant two facers, and stepped back out of trouble. Sampson repeated the offence without delay by another left-hander on the mug of the “big one,” when the latter returned a blow on the side of Phil’s head. Sampson kept a good look-out; when, at length, he saw an opening, he planted a precious teaser on the left peeper of Brown, which not only damaged it, but placed it on the winking system. (“Go in,” cried the friends of Brown; “don’t stand out to be punished.”) The Bridgnorth hero rushed to a close, laid hold of Phil at the ropes, and would have made mincemeat of him if Sampson had not got down cleverly.

3.—Of no importance. Sparring for a short period, when Brown endeavoured to plant a right-handed hit on the upper works of Sampson, but Phil got away from mischief, and Brown, with the force of the blow, fell on his knees. The “big one” jumped up, ready to renew the contest; Sampson was also on the alert to hit; but Spring, considering the round at an end, drew Brown back, who immediately seated himself on the knee of his second.

4.—Phil took the lead, like a master of the art; his left hand told twice successively on the mug of his adversary, and he retreated from mischief. Sampson put in a tremendous blow with his right on the left cheek of Brown, the claret following profusely. (“He’s winning it nicely,” said the Brums.) The hero of Bridgnorth, rather wild at such unexpected rough treatment, went to work desperately; but Sampson kept milling on the retreat—jobbing Brown, as he followed, with both his hands, until the “big one” closed, got the fall, and dropped on Sampson.

5.—The nob of Brown was considerably damaged; he was also piping. The “big one” made a good stop, but Sampson, undismayed, went to work, and had the best of a short rally. Phil, with a sneer of derision and ill-nature, observed, “You Champion of England!” then, planting a heavy blow on Brown’s left eye, exclaimed, “There’s a small taste for your Championship!” The hero of Bridgnorth, irritated at the taunts, went in to do mischief, but Sampson met his rush with two heavy blows in the front of his head, which floored the soi-disant Champion. (The applause was deafening. “Sampson for ever!” “Sampson for choice!” “He can’t fight at all!” “Send him back to Bridgnorth!”)

6.—Sampson, quick as lightning, went to work, and Brown fought with him; but the former took the lead and had the best of it. Brown, in his anxiety to punish his opponent, stumbled, and his head went against a stake.

7.—The weight of the “big one,” enabled him to drive Sampson against the ropes. The situation was rather dangerous. Brown held him as if he had been screwed in a vice, and kept milling his ribs with his right hand. (The row was immense—applause by the friends of the “big one,” and the Sampsonites hissing and hooting beyond description.) Phil shifted his arm, and changed his position, but still it was most distressing. (“Don’t hang the man, Brown!”) The struggle was terrible on both sides. Phil at length got down, Holt sticking to him closely, and giving him advice how to get out of the clutches of his powerful adversary.

8.—Sampson came to the scratch much better than could be expected after the severe hugging at the ropes in the last round. Phil put in two facers, but received in return a heavy blow on the side of his head. Brown closed, but, failing in a cross-buttock, he dragged Sampson off his legs and fell by the side of him.

9.—The left ogle of Brown was almost in darkness, and one of his listeners and his nasal organ much swelled and out of shape. Sampson, on the sharp look-out, planted another facer with his left. Brown bored in, and caught Phil at the ropes; here the latter not only got out of danger well, but faced his opponent suddenly, and sent in a couple of blows as he went down. (“Well done, Sampson; you are sure to win.”)

10.—Short. Brown was again met in his rush in the middle of his nob; he nevertheless bored in and got Sampson down.

11.—Sampson commenced fighting, and took great liberties with the pimple of Brown, using it for a drum by repeated hits upon the face of the Bridgnorth hero; the latter rallied in the most decisive manner, until they were both down. (Here the outer ring was broken, and thousands of persons rushed forward to the ropes, which were trodden down, in spite of all the opposition of whips, sticks, blows, &c. It was “dangerous to be safe,” and the combatants were compelled to fight in the midst of a mob. Sticks and whips were at work, even to get for the men the space of a yard. No description can be given of the confusion; the heat was intolerable, and the spectators jammed together almost to suffocation.)

12.—Brown could not protect his face from the repeated visits of Sampson’s fists, and went in to bustle him, until they both went down.

13.—The right hand of the Bridgnorth hero told on Sampson’s pimple, but not until the latter had planted two facers. In closing, Sampson down.

14.—Brown was of little use in this round. Sampson hit his nob as if he had a sack of flour before him. It was first a facer—ditto, ditto, and ditto. The hero of Bridgnorth went down covered with claret. (“Sampson for a thousand!” and rounds of applause.)

15.—Brown was distressed beyond measure when he appeared at the scratch, but he recovered and went to work. Sampson again nobbed him, but the strength of Brown obtained him the fall.

16.—The confusion within the ring was dreadful; in fact, it was a mob of persons pushing and hitting each other to keep out of the way of the combatants. The men were suffering severely under the deprivation of air, violent perspiration streaming down their faces. Sampson took the lead as to blows, but he was fought down by his opponent.

17.—The coolness displayed by Tom Spring in this round was the admiration of the spectators, and showed his desire that the battle should be fought out fairly. In all probability, had he returned a blow for the one given to him by Phil, the battle might have been prematurely ended, or at all events brought to a wrangle. In bringing Brown up to the scratch, Spring got before his man, observing Sampson was on the wrong side of the mark. Phil considered the conduct of Spring wrong, and without hesitation gave him a facer, pushed Spring out of his way, and suddenly floored the Bridgnorth hero like a shot.

18.—The “big one” showed game, and came up like a man. But he was of “no use to himself,” and reduced to a bad lot for his friends. He napped it in every way, and a floorer finished the round.

19.—Sampson lost no time, but went to work as soon as he had got his adversary before him. Brown fought wildly, till the punishment was too much for him, when he drew back, and Sampson, catching him with an upright hit, dropped him on his knees, giving him a facer as he was going down. (“If that ain’t doing him brown, I never saw anything like it before,” said a Brum who had taken the long odds.)

20.—The heat of the weather and pressure of the crowd operated terribly on Sampson; so much so that froth came from his lips, and he seemed nearly exhausted; nevertheless he came to his work like a man determined to conquer. Phil only wanted room for the display of his milling capabilities. The Championship was completely out of the grasp of Brown, and he might now be registered as Receiver-General. He was hit to a stand-still, and then dropped. (“It’s all over!” was the cry.)

21.—The customers from Bridgnorth now began to look all manner of colours; the secret was told—Brown was beaten against his will. Sampson sent his adversary down like winking.

22–23.—The weight of Brown, in close quarters, enabled him, in closing, to roll Sampson down in both of these rounds.

24.—It was now clear to every spectator that Sampson must prove the hero of the tale. Brown, as a last effort, exerted himself to overwhelm his adversary, but he napped it right and left as he went in, and was sent down like a sack of sand.

25–28.—Brown down. Ditto. Repeated by Sampson. Of a similar description.

29.—Brown staggering like a drunken sailor three sheets in the wind until Sampson hit him down. (“Take him home—take him away; he’s of no use!”)

30–31.—It is true Brown answered the call of “Time,” yet his appearance at the scratch was only to receive additional unnecessary punishment. Sampson sent him down almost as soon as placed before him.

32–42, and last.—The calls of “time” were obeyed by the “big one” in the whole of these rounds, but he had not the slightest chance in his favour. Indeed, it was a pity he was permitted to contest them. At the conclusion of the forty-second round, when he was down, he complained of his shoulder, and was not able to come again. The battle was over in forty-nine minutes. The “big one” was reduced to a complete state of distress—his left peeper completely in darkness, his right severely damaged, and his face fearfully cut. His left shoulder was afterwards found to have been dislocated. His feelings, we have no doubt, were equally cut up, for he had flattered himself that the Championship was within his grasp. He displayed game of the first quality, and after a short period walked out of the ring to his carriage, assisted by Spring and Richmond. Sampson had scarcely a mark upon his face, except a touch under his left eye; but the same side of his nob was peppered a little, and several other contusions were visible. Sampson left the ring amidst loud and repeated shouts in honour of his victory.

Remarks.—No person could dispute the bravery and game exhibited by Brown throughout the fight; he was out-fought by the superior skill and tactics of Sampson. The latter entered the ring with a confidence which surprised the oldest ring-goers; his conduct was decisive in every round, and he never lost sight of the idea of conquest during the battle. The broken state of the ring and the very confined space for the men to fight in were certainly great drawbacks to Sampson against so powerful an opponent as Brown. It was evident that Sampson had improved in strength, and he altogether appeared a better man than in any of his former battles; his right-hand blows were tremendous. The hero of Bridgnorth must have suffered severely from the injury to his shoulder, and none but a brave man would have contested the battle after so severe an accident against such precision and straight hitting as met Brown’s repeated efforts to get on to his opponent.

The return was full of bustle and incident. Sampson’s colours were flying in all directions, out of the windows of houses on the road, on the tops of the coaches, and “Sampson for ever!” to the end of the chapter. The roadside houses never experienced such a day for the return of the ready; and “success to milling” was on the tip of the tongue of every landlord in the county.

Sampson left the ground under the patronage of Mr. Beardsworth in style, and during part of his journey on his victorious return to Birmingham the carriage which conveyed Phil and his friend was drawn by eight horses. Through the streets of Birmingham his reception was enthusiastic; Sampson was loudly cheered by crowds, and drawn by six fresh horses, until he reached the house of Arthur Matthewson. Every room in Arthur’s crib was crowded to excess, and the anxiety of the persons in the street to gain admittance, to get a peep at the conqueror of “Big Brown,” defied description.

The Shropshire folks looked upon their champion as invincible, and accordingly dropped their money heavily. In no previous instance of a big fight was there such an unanimity on the side of the “talent” and the “professionals.” Careful betting men laid rash odds and suffered the proper penalty, as the “knowing ones” were thrown out. This battle was followed by an epidemic of letter-writing in the newspapers, provincial and metropolitan. First came our old friend Thomas Winter Spring, who, favoured by the ablest writer who ever devoted his talents to ring reporting (we mean Vincent George Dowling, Esq., Editor of Bell’s Life for upwards of thirty years), gave a graphic account of poor Brown’s dislocated shoulder, which took place in the fourth round, and which fully accounts for Brown’s incapacity to ward off Sampson’s “nobbers.” Spring was justly indignant at Sampson’s blow, and thus, after commenting warmly on the “ruffianism” of Sampson’s friends, he wound up with a formal challenge to Sampson to meet him for £200 a-side, “as it is not my principle to submit to a blow without wishing, like a man, to return it.” Sampson’s reply was characteristic of the man and his wordy amanuensis—full of boasting, bombast, and scurrility. Spring was taunted with “not daring to fight Ward,” beating “stale old men,” Oliver and Painter to wit, &c., &c. Attack, reply, and rejoinder stuffed the columns of the Dispatch, Pierce Egan’s short-lived weekly paper, Life in London, and Bell’s Life. Spring was at last provoked by the repeated threats of Sampson, who boasted in all company how he would serve the “old woman,” to retort with a promise of chastisement. He says:—

“Sampson accuses me of acting wrong in the ring, but he forgets to say in what respect. I defy him or any person to say I did wrong. He also says I wanted to bring it to a wrangle. If that had been my object, I had a very good chance when he struck me—not once nor twice, but thrice; had I returned the blows, it must have put a stop to the fight.

“I think, Mr. Editor, I have answered quite enough of Mr. Sampson’s scurrilous language; but when he speaks of chastising me I pity his weakness, and would have him take care that chastisement does not fall upon himself; for, the first time I meet him, I will put the toe of my boot against his seat—not of honour, Mr. Editor, he has none about him—but where his sense of feeling may be readily reached.

“I hope, Mr. Editor, you will pardon me for taking up so much room in your valuable paper, but unless Mr. Sampson chooses to come forward with his money I shall not condescend to take the least notice of anything he may say after this.

“I am, Sir, your obliged,

“THOMAS WINTER SPRING.

“Hereford, April 24th, 1828.”

All this gasconading, so foreign to Spring’s character, came to a “most lame and impotent conclusion.” Sampson could not get backed, and the affair fell through. Spring, meeting Sampson soon after at Epsom races, in Merryweather’s booth, declared his intention to fulfil his promise, made under sore provocation, to have satisfaction or an apology for the blow received by him at the fight with Brown. Sampson began to argue the matter, but Spring threw off his coat and called upon Sampson to defend himself. Sampson set to with his coat and hat on. “The crowd and confusion,” says Bell’s Life, “were so great that we have not been able to learn who gave the first blow.” The rally was, however, a determined one, and after being separated the belligerents got together again and fought four sharp rounds. Spring, it is well known, required room to show off his fine fighting, and thus Sampson had the best of the tussle, for such it was. The combatants were of course soon parted by their friends, neither having fulfilled his intent of giving the other “the value of a bating.” Spring, it was stated, was struck by other persons besides Sampson. It ought to be mentioned that Spring proposed to Sampson to come out of the booth and meet him on the course in the open, but the latter declined the offer. The next evening, at the Castle Tavern, Holborn, Sampson declared himself ready to fight Spring for £300 a-side, half-way between London and Bridgnorth. Spring accepted the challenge at Tom Cannon’s benefit, at the Tennis Court, the very next day.

A meeting was appointed to take place at Harry Holt’s, where the battle-money in Neale’s fight with Baldwin was to be given up. Here, after some argument, mutual explanations took place. Sampson said that when he “challenged Spring for £300 he was rather fresh; that he would retract it, and declare he had no animosity against Spring.” The latter said he would have an apology for the blows he had received, and Sampson, persuaded by his friends, expressed his regret. Finally Spring offered his hand to Sampson, who accepted it; and over a cheerful glass it was agreed to bury the past in oblivion.

Phil’s next encounter was with Simon Byrne, the Irish champion, for £200 a-side. The battle was fought on a stage at Albrighton, on the 30th June, 1829, when Sampson succumbed after a severe fight of forty-five rounds, occupying one hour forty-three and a half minutes. This, with the disgraceful draw with Big Brown, at Doncaster, in 1831, the details of which will be found in our memoir of Brown (Chapter XII., p. 451), closed the chequered pugilistic career of Phil Sampson, “the Birmingham Youth.”

APPENDIX TO PERIOD VI.

TOM REYNOLDS—1817–1825.

As a connecting link of two generations of pugilists and of the Irish and English P.R., Tom Reynolds deserves a niche in our gallery. He was best known in his latter days as the mentor of Jack Langan and Simon Byrne, as a sound adviser, a professor of the ars pugnandi, a patron of aspiring talent, and a jolly Boniface in the “swate city of Dublin,” where he died on the 15th of May, 1832, much respected.

Tom was born on the 20th of January, 1792, at Middleton, in the county of Armagh, and early in life came to London as salesman to a relative, with whom he some time lived in James Street, Covent Garden, until, being grown to man’s estate, he became a “murphy-dealer” on his own account.

Tom was decidedly, with the single exception of Henry Josiah Holt, the most erudite pugilist of his day. He had received a good education, possessed a strong mind, and could write as good a letter as any of the “scribes” of the time. Of this he was not a little proud, and the cacoethes scribendi with which he was occasionally afflicted often led him into epistolary contentions in the sporting papers, in which he invariably had the best of his competitors. His “Defence of Pugilism” proves him to have been a writer of no mean pretensions, and the view which he takes of his own profession affords the best apology for its adoption as well as for its encouragement.

About the close of the great Napoleonic wars Reynolds fell into difficulties and was arrested. Reverses in trade, combined with a love of company, at length led to his introduction to the once well-known “College” in what is now Farringdon Street, then called “The Fleet.” Here he had time and opportunity for study, and, having long had a predilection for the science of milling, he attended a regular course of lectures, and became a perfect adept at the practice of fives, tennis, and the gloves, and a great favourite with his brother “Collegians.” Being at the top of his class, and rising in fame, it was determined by some envious opponent to take the shine out of him, and for this purpose the celebrated George Head, one of the most scientific sparrers of the day, was introduced as a stranger, and, in a set-to which followed, Head found it necessary to try his best before he could convince Tom that there was a superior to himself. The trial ended in a friendly manner, but both having afterwards partaken rather freely of the “rum puncheon,” some wag insinuated to Reynolds that Head had spoken contemptuously of his fistic talents. This roused Tom’s ire, and he at once challenged Head to combat. Head, nothing loth, accepted the invitation, and a battle commenced on the “College Green” (so called upon the Horatian principle of there being nothing green on or around it), in which the “murphy-dealer” was down in every round. The “janitors,” at length, interfered, and Head was expelled from the “College,” but not till he had received a crack on the listener which considerably confused his senses.

Shortly after his emancipation from the thraldom of “College” duties, Tom commenced business as a professional pugilist, and on the 23rd of July, 1817, entered the lists on Moulsey Hurst with Aby Belasco, the Jew, whom he beat by his determined game in sixty-six rounds and one hour and twenty minutes. In September in the same year (the 9th) he fought and beat Church on the same ground; and on the 11th of November following beat the Broom-Dasher (Johnson), in Lord Cowper’s Park, near Canterbury. Subsequent to these “slices of good fortune,” he became a publican in Drury Lane, but having fallen through a trap-door his health became impaired, and he determined on a sparring tour in the country for the benefit of his health. He was accompanied by Jack Carter and Sutton the Black, and was well received in Manchester, Liverpool, and Dublin. While in the latter city he was matched against John Dunn, a novice, for £50 a-side, and fought him on the 4th of July, 1820, in Donnelly’s Valley, on the Curragh of Kildare. In twelve rounds and fifty-four minutes Dunn was completely done up, being hit to a state of insensibility, while Reynolds had scarcely a scratch.

In his way back to London our hero took Macclesfield in his course, where he was matched against Sammons, who had beaten all the Lancashire pugilists who had been opposed to him. On August 21st, 1820, the match came off within a mile of Macclesfield, and the Lancashire hero was disposed of in seven rounds. Tom now proceeded to London, but shortly after returned to Ireland to fight Cummins, but that fight went off in consequence of a forfeit.

Tom next took Jack Langan under his tuition and care, and was his mentor when he fought Tom Spring; acting the part of his secretary, and dipping his pen in gall, then much used in the composition of ink, in the course of his correspondence. His next protégé was Simon Byrne, to whom he afforded the most friendly assistance, and seconded him in his fights with Sampson, M’Kay, and Jem Ward. Previous to the last affair, which ended in the defeat of Simon, he opened a public-house in Abbey Street, Dublin, which he conducted with great regularity until “his sand was run out.” He was decidedly a brave man and a scientific boxer, and left a wife and two children to lament his loss.

As a specimen of Tom’s talent in the use of the pen we append his

DEFENCE OF PUGILISM.

“I must acknowledge the gentlemen of the Press are favourable to the cause of pugilism; and it is not surprising when we consider that the persons conducting it are men, in general, possessing a liberal education, and blessed with a greater share of brains than the average of the community. Yet there is no rule without an exception; for two or three of the London journalists, imitated by a few country flats, occasionally give us a ‘facer;’ though I am confident it is not from conviction, but because they think a little opposition to generally received opinions may suit their pockets better than following the tide, where the brightness of their genius would not make them conspicuous. One of these worthies speaks of us as monsters that brutalise the country; another describes our poor little twenty-four foot ring as the only place in the three kingdoms where rogues and blacklegs spring up like mushrooms; a third says a pair of boxing-gloves debase the mind, and recommends the use of the foils as a preferable exercise; and a fourth, after a most violent philippic against the Ring, blames Government for not immediately putting an end to pugilism, and recommends, as a substitute, that Government should take into their wise consideration the propriety of giving greater encouragement to dancing assemblies. This idea is ridiculous. Certainly, if the editor does fill up his leisure hours as a hop-merchant, I do not blame him for putting in a good word for the shop, but what the devil has dancing to do with fighting? Can two men decide a mill by ‘tripping on the light fantastic toe’? The French dance every night in the week, and all day on Sunday, and what are they the better for that? Are they better men? Can they boast nobler feelings than Britons? They certainly make graceful bows, and there is no doubt dancing has an effect on the heels, for Wellington has often scratched his head, and given them a left-handed blessing, for their quickness in giving leg-bail.

“Because the English are not considered a dancing nation, that is no reason they are brutalised. The most savage people dance; the American Indian dances round his captive while he is roasting him alive; the Italians dance, fiddle, and sing; and, if they consider themselves offended, employ ruffians to assassinate the offender. The dancing Frenchman would shudder with horror at the sight of two London porters giving each other a black eye or a bloody nose, and say ’twas a brutal practice; yet the same fellow, in his own country, would take snuff, grin like a monkey, and cry ‘Bravo!’ at seeing two poor devils boring holes in each other’s hide with a yard of steel. So much for the consistency of the ‘Grande Nation,’ and the sense of the men who recommend dancing as a substitute for pugilism.

“I am no enemy to dancing; in fact, I am passionately fond of music; but there is a time for all things. With every inclination in the world to let every one ride his own hobby in his own way, I see no reason why a poor pugilist should take a facer from the wielder of the foil. Two hundred years ago, when the sword was worn, and decided quarrels in the streets, fencing was, without doubt, a necessary part of every man’s education; but, at the present day, though the foils may be very good exercise, I consider it the height of folly for any man to throw away his money and time in the attainment of an art that can never be of use. But we will suppose two pupils taking their lessons, the one with the gloves attaining a graceful method of drawing a cork, painting the margin of an ogle with some of the most beauteous tints of the rainbow, or directing a customer to the victualling-office; the other, with the foil, passes away his hours in attaining precision to pierce the centre of the heart, or in transfixing the ball of the eye, to cause instant death by perforating the brain. Let me ask in this mimic warfare which man’s mind was most debased? Blacklegs are not the peculiar growth of our Ring. Wherever men will sport on chance events, there Mr. Blackshanks will be found walking, and that, too, on shores where the fist is never used except by our brave tars, who often make them scamper by the mere flourish of their bunch of fives. Thieves may be found in the mob that surrounds our Ring; but where are they not to be found? A Radical assembly or Bible meeting is not exempt from their visits; and they will even be found at a charity sermon, praying they may have good luck when the jostling comes on, and may be considered as instruments of divine mercy, sent to deliver good men from the sinful dross of the earth.

“The only charge that can be brought against the Ring is crossing fights; and though the members of the Press growl, and very justly too, whenever a x takes place, yet none of them attempt to point out the cause or remedy. Fighting men are not all alike, neither are kings; for who would compare the British Sovereign with the scoundrel Ferdinand of Spain? There are men in our Ring with integrity that would adorn a more elevated situation: men that would sooner drop senseless under punishment, though fighting for little more than the colours that are tied to the stakes, than receive five hundred pounds to lose wilfully. I do deny most positively that pugilistic exhibitions debase, demoralise, or brutalise us as a nation; on the reverse, I am confident they introduce chivalrous (they may be rude) notions of honour, courage, fortitude, and love of manly fair play—characteristics so strongly indented in the British character that they are known and acknowledged from pole to pole. And who will be hardy enough to say the excitement to those feelings does not originate in the very same cause which our enemies say brutalises the feelings of the country?

“Even on the score of humanity pugilism ought to be encouraged; for, wherever it does not exist, murder, by violence and treachery, more frequently takes place. Without going to foreign countries for proof, a single glance at home will strike the blindest with the necessity of its encouragement. The men of Lancashire, twenty years ago, were up-and-down fighters: then murder was almost an every-day occurrence. Indeed, some of the old ones of that day took no little pride to themselves if they could boast of having stopped the ‘smoke of a chimney’ (choked a man), after the manner of Virginius. Since pugilism has been introduced, though the population is fourfold, yet murder seldom or never takes place. Compare the population of Ireland, where the stick has been thrown aside, and the fist used, to the other parts: the difference in the number of deaths by violence will strike conviction on the dullest. In fact, though chivalry did much to smooth down the roughness of the darker ages, ’tis only the boxing-gloves can give the true polish of civilisation to the world. And, I am confident, if Adam had been a Briton, he would have taught his sons to box; then the club would not have been used, and the first murder prevented. Cain would have given Abel a good milling instead of crushing his skull: and the brothers would have been found next morning supping porridge as comfortable as the Lord Mayor’s sons on a more recent occasion.

“Greece, the birthplace of the arts and sciences, encouraged pugilism; and the first man of the day considered not only himself, but his family, honoured, if lucky enough to mill his man at the Olympic Games. Look at the effeminate beings that now parade the streets of Rome, once trod by the conquerors of England and the world; with them a boxing or a milling match would have had more charms than the finest strains of a Rossini. The Government knew the advantage of exhibitions that would excite an admiration of courage and fortitude. ’Twas this reason induced the Athenian General to stop his army, that they might look at a cock-fight—’tis this that has secured our Ring the patronage of the noblest blood, rank, and talent in the country; and long may we deserve the support of men that soar above the braying of asses or the cant of hypocrites!

“With all due submission and thanks to the ancients, as the inventors of boxing, I cannot help feeling pride at the vast superiority our Ring possesses over theirs; for death was too frequently the result, in consequence of the metal braced to their arms. When our Ring is formed the combatants are left to themselves without fear of interruption from a third person. Temperate, manly courage is loudly applauded—passion, cowardice or foul play as loudly blamed; and should either of the men display any little act of humanity to his sinking opponent (of which I could state numberless instances), his gallantry is cordially praised; but the moment the dreadful word “ENOUGH” is uttered, hostilities cease and the conqueror, shaking hands with his fallen antagonist, wishes him better luck next time, and, in a kindly voice, expresses a wish that he may soon recover.

“Man is the creature of habit, and of the force of example; and, I again repeat, exhibitions of this kind have their good effects, which can be traced to us as a nation, and, independent of fighting, influence other actions of life. Show me the man completely opposed to pugilism, and you will find his character to be a bad neighbour and a tyrant under his own roof. The immortal Wyndham was the staunch advocate and patron of our Ring, and champion for the abolition of the slave trade. Have dealings with any other country—will you find them, in the mass, so honest or so honourable as Britons? In every part of the known world, who are more welcome than our merchants? What flag more respected or feared? Quarrel in the streets of any other country, you will have more than one to contend with. If an object of distress is pointed out, who is more ready to assist than a Briton? In other countries murder and robbery go hand-in-hand; in ours the most desperate men never dip their hands in blood, unless to protect themselves from ill-judged resistance. And who can boast an army or a navy so gallantly brave, or so ready to extend the hand to save, as Britons? Tell me a nation that could meet our brave sons on equal terms in the field or on the wave; yet, if conquered, which of them but would sooner become a prisoner to a British sailor or soldier than any other? Theirs is not the frenzied courage like that inspired by fanaticism, ferocity, or brandy, which, after the first gust of passion, leaves its helpless, hopeless, panting possessor; no, ’tis that kind of round-after-round courage which will admit of thinking and command, and knows no abatement till wearied nature or death closes the scene. Fair play is a Briton’s motto; we would extend it to the extremities of the earth, no consequence what country, religion, or colour. The sable African, throwing aside the chains that levelled him with the beast, now walks erect, in the majesty of freedom and liberty, calling down blessings on the country that, in spite of all the world, burst his bonds asunder. If these are the symptoms that the country is brutalised by pugilism, long may she continue so! Long may she be the home for the exile—the defender of the oppressed—the best boxer—and the fairest arbiter of the world!

“TOM REYNOLDS.”

With hearty approval we commend “Old Tom’s” spirited “defence” to the careful perusal of Sir Wilfrid Lawson, Messrs. Bright, Agnew, Richard, the Stigginses, the saints and sinners of Exeter and St. James’s Halls, and the Peace (at-any-price) Preservation Society.

DICK CURTIS (“THE PET”)—1820–1828.

For skill, neatness, finish, straight, and therefore swift, hitting, no such boxer as Dick Curtis has appeared in the present century. His weight, nine stone, and his height, five foot six, as a matter of course precluded his appearance among the Champions; but, as Champion of the Light Weights, Richard Curtis has had no superior, if any equal, in the annals of pugilism.

He was decidedly the most perfect specimen of a miniature fighting man of modern times. His science was, we might almost say, intuitive, his judgment of time and distance extraordinary, his readiness in difficulty most remarkable, his change from a position of defence to that of attack instantaneous and astonishing, and his power of punishment, for so light a man, unparalleled. Curtis was patronised by the most distinguished admirers of pugilism of the period in which he lived, and throughout his long career was never defeated, with the single exception of his last battle, when with Perkins, of Oxford, to whom he was inferior by a stone and two pounds in weight, as well as in length and height, he fell before youth and stamina.

Richard Curtis was born in Southwark, on the 1st of February, 1802. He came of a fighting family, his brothers John and George having both figured in the ring. Young Dick’s first public appearance was at the age of eighteen, on the well-known battle-field of Moulsey Hurst, where on Tuesday, June 27th, 1820, in the same ring in which George Cooper had just defeated Shelton, he entered the lists with Watson, a Westminster boxer, of about ten stone. Watson was game, and fought desperately for twenty-five minutes, when he cried “Enough!” and Curtis was hailed the conqueror, almost without a mark. Curtis’s skill was so remarkable in this rencontre that two months afterwards some Corinthians, previously to leaving town for the shooting season—which was then September—as railroads had not brought grouse and the Scottish moors within hail of the Metropolis, determined to see the smart young Bermondsey lad again show his prowess. A match for £40 was accordingly made for him with a well-known light weight, Ned Brown (the Sprig of Myrtle); and on Monday, the 28th of August, 1820, Brown, waited on by Jack Martin and Paddington Jones, tried to throw his hat into the ring on Wimbledon Common, in such a smart gale that it blew it over, and away across the heath. Shortly after, Curtis, attended by Josh Hudson and Tom Belcher, approached the ropes; but his lily-white beaver shared the same fate, so that the omen was negative. Both men were in good condition. The colours—a canary yellow for Curtis, and a blue bird’s-eye for Brown—being tied to the stakes, the men shook hands and began

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Brown, full of confidence, made an offer to hit, but Curtis was awake, and nothing was done. A long pause took place, each endeavouring to get an opening, when Brown rushed in to work; a change took place in the struggle to fib each other, when both went down, Brown undermost. (Great shouting; and Curtis for a trifle.)

2.—This round occupied thirteen minutes, and the amateurs were delighted with the science and manliness displayed on both sides. Curtis hit at a longer distance, and nobbed Brown in great style. Both of these little ones displayed as much caution as if a million of money depended upon the event. To describe the stop-hits and getting away would occupy a page: suffice it to say that Brown’s right eye was nearly closed, and, after some desperate milling, Brown went down undermost. The great length of this round showed the good condition of both the combatants. Curtis appeared the weaker man.

3.—Brown proved himself a fine and game fighter, but Curtis out-fought him, put in nobbers with the utmost dexterity, and also damaged his other eye. (Tom Owen sung out, “Go it, my white topper; it’s as right as the day.”) Both went down, Brown undermost. Two to one on Curtis.

4.—This was a short round; in closing, Brown endeavoured to fib his opponent, but Curtis got down. (Any odds upon the latter.)

5.—Brown displayed good tactics, and at in-fighting was quite clever. Curtis made some good nobbing hits, and Brown went staggering away; but the latter returned to the charge, and, in struggling for the throw, Brown dragged Curtis over the ring and downed him. (Brown for £20. Curtis seemed weak.)

6.—This was rather a long round. Fibbing on both sides. Both down, Brown undermost.

DICK CURTIS (“The Pet”).

7.—Curtis not only stopped in good style, but nobbed Brown away. After some exchanges at the ropes, Curtis dropped Brown by a blow on the side of the latter’s head.

8.—This was a famous round; and, in closing, Brown broke away twice with great activity. The punishment was severe on both sides. Brown was ultimately hit down, as if shot, from a tremendous blow on his forehead. (Great shouting. The “Sprigs of Myrtle” all drooping, and the denizens of Caleb Baldwin’s dominions upon the fret. “It’s all over.”)

9.—Brown, however, came first to the scratch. A severe struggle took place at the ropes, each too game to go down. (“Go down, Curtis,” from all parts of the ring.) Both at length fell, but Brown was undermost. (Here a near relative of Brown came close to the ropes, and told the seconds they were not doing right in not letting Brown “go in.”)

10.—Brown recovered a little, made a rush, and the change was considered in his favour. Curtis got down cleverly.

11, 12.—Both combatants excited the admiration of the ring by their fine fighting. In the last round Brown was hit down from a severe hit in the ribs. (Two and three to one.)

13 to 15, and last.—Brown was floored in all these rounds on coming to the scratch; he was terribly punished, but the game he displayed was of the first quality. Here the patron of Brown stepped forward (a more gentlemanly, liberal, or distinguished character for humanity of disposition does not exist, nor a greater admirer of true courage is not to be found) and said, “My man shall not fight any more.”

Remarks.—A better battle has not been seen for many years; 57 minutes of complete good fighting. Brown has fought eight prize battles, and proved the conqueror in the majority of them. Curtis, although a mere boy, bids fair to prove a teaser to any of his weight; he is a cautious boxer and a severe hitter. The amateurs never expressed greater satisfaction at any fight. It was the general opinion that although Curtis appeared weak two or three times in the conflict, yet the scale of victory was always on his side. It is true that Brown had no other chance to win but “going in;” yet the clever defence of Curtis rendered that plan equally dangerous.

Curtis’s next match was with Lenney, at Moulsey Hurst, on the 24th of October, 1821. “At one o’clock,” says the reporter, “young Curtis, in a white upper-benjamin, which would have set off a Regent-street ‘pink,’ a brilliant canary round his throat, and a white beaver of the most fashionable mould, showed arm-in-arm with the President of the Daffy Club,[^[55]] and threw his natty castor into the ring.” Lenney soon after appeared, with the Gas-light man and Curtis’s old opponent, the Sprig of Myrtle, and replied to the signal of defiance. Spring and Hickman seconded Lenney; Tom Belcher and Harry Harmer officiated for Curtis. The odds, within the previous two or three days, had changed in favour of Lenney, on whom five to four was laid. The colours were tied to the stakes by Spring and the President, who observed to the former, “I’ll bet you a trifle that I take them down.”

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The condition of Curtis was that of the finest racehorse; blood and bone were conspicuous, and he appeared as confident as if the battle were over. Lenney was equally fine; he commenced the fight with the most determined resolution of being declared the conqueror. Curtis was in no hurry to make play: Lenney was also on his guard. After some little manœuvring, Curtis let fly on the nob of his opponent, without return. This hit operated as a sort of stopper, and some little sparring occurred. Lenney endeavoured to go to work, and some blows were exchanged. The science displayed by Curtis was fine in the extreme, and he planted two sharp facers, right and left, that floored Lenney on his face, and the claret trickled down his cheek. (Loud shouting, and two to one all round the ring.)

2.—Lenney came to the scratch with a severe cut under his right eye. Curtis planted a severe body hit without a return; he also put in two severe facers. It was evident that Lenney could not protect his face from the out-fighting of his opponent, and to go in seemed equally dangerous. Curtis kept nobbing his man, and getting away with the utmost ease. In closing, Lenney was fibbed down, and Curtis fell upon him. (Thunders of applause, and “You’re a pretty boy, Curtis.”)

3.—This was a short round; a close took place, and the fibbing tactics went on till Lenney went down.

4.—The coolness of Curtis was the theme of the ring. He measured his distances with the accuracy of a mathematician, and nobbed his opponent with the severity of a hammer-man at an anvil. Lenney could make no impression on the mode adopted by Curtis. The latter followed Lenney up to the ropes, and, with his right hand, planted such a tremendous facer that it was heard all over the ring. In the struggle for the throw both combatants were hanging on the ropes; Curtis’s nose touched them, as they both came to the ground; but previous to this he put in some heavy blows on his opponent’s loins.

5.—Lenney came like a gamecock to the scratch; but his nob had undergone a strange alteration. Some exchanges occurred. Curtis, by a dreadful right-handed blow, sent down his adversary like a shot. (Three to one. “What a beautiful fighter!” exclaimed Randall.)

6, 7, 8.—Lenney stopped several blows with considerable skill; but his head was completely at the service of his opponent. Oliver made so sure of the event that he asked if any gentleman would oblige him by taking ten to two.

9, 10.—The fine fighting of Curtis now rendered the battle quite safe to him; so much so, that he could take his time about it without danger. Curtis astonished the ring with his execution as well as his science: he put such a tremendous blow on Lenney’s mouth that his ivories were on the chatter like dice in a box, and he felt it so seriously that his left arm dropped for an instant. (“It’s all safe now—it’s the Bank of England to a screen,” was the chaffing throughout the crowd.)

11, 12.—Lenney received so much punishment about the nob that he was quite groggy. Twenty to one was offered.

13, 14, 15, 16, 17.—All these rounds were nearly similar to the preceding ones. Any odds.

18 to 29, and last.—Lenney was game to the backbone, but he had not a shadow of chance. He ought to have been taken away several rounds previous to the last. He was hit out of time; and remained in a state of stupor for a short period. The battle occupied thirty-eight minutes and a half.

Remarks.—A more elegant or scientific fighter than Curtis was never seen in the Prize Ring. He could have won in half the time if he had wished, but he was determined not to give half a chance away, consequently no long rally took place in the battle. Curtis also proved the stronger man, and left the ring without a scratch upon his face; but his hands were much bruised from the severe punishment he had administered to his opponent. Lenney was carried out of the ring and put to bed. The attitude of the latter was not a judicious one; he leaned too far back, not only to do execution, but such a position must have distressed him much: in fact, Lenney could not reach Curtis with any degree of certainty. It seemed to be the general opinion of the Fancy that no one on the list of Curtis’s weight can beat him.

Dick at Epsom Races.—Although it was nearly five o’clock before the last race—the Maiden Stakes—was over, on Thursday, May 26th, 1822, and most excellent sport had been afforded, yet numbers of the sporting fraternity seemed to think the day was not exactly complete—that it wanted a sort of finish. As some of the lads from the Metropolis were upon the look-out for a little job, a mill was proposed by way of dessert, and a subscription purse of £16 was collected in a very short time. Little Dick Curtis, with as much blood as any horse upon the course, made his bow to the amateurs, and said he had not the least objection to peel, more especially as he had been cleaned out of all his loose rag by backing Deaf Davis on the previous Tuesday. “You’re a good lad,” replied a swell; “and it is a thousand pities you should be suffered to remain idle.” A gipsy pricked up his ears upon hearing these remarks, and offered himself to the notice of the “Pink of Society,” just to have a small taste, for the amusement of the company, if his honour had no objection. “Why,” said the pink, “you seem to have been a little bit about the hedges lately. By your looks you are a gipsy. What set do you belong to?” The brown-visaged hero, with pride, answered, “The Coopers.” “That will do,” replied the swell; “show yourself at the scratch without delay.” Dick Curtis was seconded by Ould Tom Jones and Harry Holt; and Cooper was handled by Gipsy Cooper and another “traveller.” Seven to four on Dick.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The Gipsy stripped well, and was what the fair sex term rather a handsome young man. He seemed, by the attitude he placed himself in, to meet his opponent as if he knew something about milling. Dick measured the Gipsy from head to foot with much confidence; but he was in no hurry to go to work. The Gipsy at length let fly, and missed, when Dick, lively as a dancing-master, put in some telling hits, and in the struggle the Bohemian went down amidst thunders of applause. (“Two to one!” lustily roared out.)

2.—Dick came laughing to the scratch, as keen as a stockbroker and cunning as a fox, giving the wink to his friends it was all right. Still he would not hit first. The Gipsy was again gammoned to make play, when his domino box got as much slashing as if seven had been the main. The rattling of the ivories was repeated, and the Gipsy floored. (Five to one, and no takers.)

3.—This round took the conceit out of the Gipsy, who ran furiously at Curtis, but the latter, with the utmost ease, stopped him, by giving him the pepper-box on his sensitive plant. Dick now commenced fighting, and put in four such complete facers that they made the Gipsy all abroad; he went down like a log. (Ten to one, and the multitude chevying from one end of the ring to the other, “What a prime little fellow Dick is!”)

4.—This was short and sweet to Curtis; he sent the Gipsy down to cool himself on the turf for half a minute. (Any odds, but no takers.)

5.—It was clear to the judges that it must be soon over, and that the Gipsy must be milled off-hand. Curtis again drew his cork, and the hero of the bush once more embraced his mother earth. It was all stuff to offer odds, for no person seemed inclined to take ten to one.

6.—The pepper-box and vinegar cruet were again made use of by Dick, till the Gipsy had nearly let it escape out of his mouth that it was no go. Gipsy down.

7, and last.—The Gipsy napped a rum one on his canister, and he went down immediately, saying “he would not fight any more, as he had not room enough for his strength.” Curtis gave a jump, and pocketed the purse almost without receiving a hit, exclaiming, “Success to Epsom Races!”

Remarks.—It is true it was a very bad ring, owing to the vast multitude that pressed in upon the boxers from all sides; but if the Gipsy had had the whole of Epsom Downs to shift in he would never have been able to defeat Curtis. The latter is decidedly one of the best boxers of the day; no commoners must think of having a turn with him, and first-rate fighters must make a pause before they enter the lists with Dick. Two bystanders gave Dick a sovereign each for winning, which he generously made a present of to the Gipsy.

It would unnecessarily swell the bulk of the present volume to reproduce the numerous ring encounters in which Curtis was engaged during the succeeding years, in which time he fought with Peter Warren no less than five times, defeating that boxer on four occasions, and on the second the contest terminating in a drawn battle. The dates and duration of these are here given:—

1. Beat Peter Warren, 20 min., 10 rounds, £30 a-side, at Colnbrook, July 23rd, 1822.

2. Draw with Peter Warren, £25 a-side, 16 min., Moulsey, April 16th, 1823. On this occasion a wrangle and riot ended in the stakeholder returning the stakes to each party’s backers. A third contest was therefore arranged, for £50 a-side.

3. The third battle was decided at Crawley Hurst, July 8th, 1823. On this occasion Warren was defeated in one round, occupying nine minutes only, having sprained his kneecap so severely as to put him at once hors de combat.

4. After defeating Dick Hares, as we shall presently detail, Curtis beat Warren (£20 a-side) on Epsom Downs, in six sharp rounds, occupying eight minutes only, and finally—

5. Defeated his pertinacious opponent at Warwick, in 7 rounds, time 16 minutes, for a stake of £100 to £90, on July 19th, 1825.

Dick Hares was in the interim matched with Curtis, for £50 a-side, to come off April 13th, 1824, but the affair was prevented by an information laid at Bow Street, and two officers were sent down to Moulsey to stop the fight. It will perhaps raise a smile if we state the “reason” assigned for this prompting of the magisterial energy. The information of the “impending breach of the peace” was laid by a theatrical manager, who, his house being shut up because it was “Passion week,” did not see “why other public amusements should be tolerated”! Hinc illæ lachrymæ, the laying of the information, and the disappointment of the Fancy.

A new match was accordingly made, as neither party desired a “draw;” and on Tuesday, July 8th, 1823, on Moulsey Hurst, on the ring being cleared after Ned Neale had defeated Gaynor (see ante, Life of Neale, Period IV., Chap. V.), Hares, attended by Peter Crawley and Tom Shelton, threw his hat within the ropes. Curtis followed, waited on by Josh Hudson and Tom Owen, the Sage of the East, whose admiration of Curtis as a boxer had been long loudly expressed. Curtis’s hat was about to go over the ropes with the wind, when Bill Moss caught it cleverly in both hands, and dropped it within the enclosure. Curtis fought under a yellowman, and Hares sported an emerald green flag. Six to four on Curtis.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On stripping, the condition of Hares was the admiration of every amateur present. He looked like a new man, instead of an old one. Such are the advantages of training, if an athlete is not absolutely used up. “Curtis must be licked to-day; he has not stamina enough to get rid of Hares,” was the cry. We also heard Jack Randall express the same opinion. On setting-to, Curtis appeared well in health; but he looked thin, boyish, and little compared to his opponent. The attitudes of both men were pretty, and the anxiety of Curtis to get the first advantage remarkable. Hares too was eager to let fly, but he could not get an opening. Not so with the Pet; he embraced the first opportunity that presented itself, and his left hand alighted very heavily on the nose of Hares. An exchange of blows followed, in which Curtis received a small grain of pepper on his left cheek; but Hares napped a full dose. Standing still for a minute, nothing to be done. Curtis again let fly his left hand, which nearly sent Hares’s teeth on a journey down his throat. The men closed soon afterwards at the ropes, when the fibbing of Curtis was terrific—he spoiled the look of his man, got Hares down, and fell upon him. A deafening shout for Curtis, the “Bermondseys” nearly out of their senses with joy. Two to one on the Pet.

2.—Hares was bleeding at the nose, his face much disfigured, and Curtis a little distressed and winking. Hares made an excellent stop. (“Well done, Hares!”) Dick put in another nobber, the claret following. Counter-hits, and Curtis received a heavy blow on his cheek. An exchange of blows, and no light play. Hares made another good stop. Curtis slipped a little near the ropes, when Hares ran up to him, and planted a heavy body hit; the Pet endeavoured to retreat, when his opponent stuck close to him, and put in another blow. Curtis recovered himself, and let fly his left hand in the middle of his opponent’s head. Counter-hits. Two more terrific, stupefying facers by Curtis, and no return. In closing, the fibbing administered by the Pet was tremendous, and Hares went down, Curtis uppermost. (“What an extraordinary little fellow! He hits as hard as Cribb. The other man has no chance; take him away.”)

3, and last.—Hares came up game as a pebble; but his head was quite altered; and his seconds, with all their industry and attention, could not keep his face clean. Both offering, but nothing done. Hares stopped a tremendous nobber. Rather a long pause. “Go to work, Hares.” The latter made a second and also a third attempt with great skill; but after this time the execution was so decisive on the part of Curtis that it was positively one hundred pounds to a farthing. The left hand of Curtis went flush into the middle of Hares’s head; a profusion of claret followed. (“What a limner this Pet is!” said the Sage of the East to Josh. “I never saw such a painter before. Why, he is a master of colour! What an artist!”) The succession of hits planted by Curtis in the middle of Hares’s head, without return, was surprising. It was a nobber, and claret—ditto—ditto—ditto. “Take the brave fellow away,” said his backer—“I will not suffer him to fight any more. He has no chance.” But Hares, regardless of the humane entreaties of his friends, stood up to receive punishment till Nature deserted him, when he fell in a state of stupor. Curtis jumped for joy, but immediately ran up to shake the hand of the fainting Hares. He was at once carried off the ground, and medical advice procured. It is but justice to say that Shelton and Crawley deserve great praise for the humanity and attention they paid to the brave but fallen little man.

Remarks.—We have no hesitation in pronouncing the execution of Curtis the most decisive thing we ever witnessed in the Prize Ring. He won the fight with his left hand only, as he never made but two blows with his right hand during the battle. The Pet is the very first of boxers, and we think all pugilists will accede to the remark. He won the fight in twenty minutes, but did not prove the conqueror without receiving some heavy blows. Three or four tremendous hits were made by Hares. Although Curtis won the fight in such superior style he was certainly overmatched in weight and strength. The position of Curtis was so extremely fine that he was guarded at all points. Curtis dressed himself immediately, and walked about the ring receiving compliments from his friends. His left hand, however, if not quite gone, was terribly damaged.

Barney Aaron, whose weight was 10st., and who had beaten in succession Ned Stockman, Lenney, Frank Redmond, and Peter Warren, now challenged Curtis, and articles were signed for £100 a-side. The battle was to have been decided on Tuesday, November 23rd, 1824, on the stage at Warwick, after Josh Hudson and Cannon had settled their differences; but on this occasion Curtis received forfeit of the battle-money, under very suspicious circumstances as regarded some of the Israelitish speculators, who had calculated on “getting at Curtis” in such a way as to secure what was then called “a slice of ready-made luck.”

Soon after the match was made, Curtis being the favourite, such eagerness was shown in certain quarters to take the odds, and subsequently to lay even as much as six to four on the Jew “rather than not do bishnesh,” that strong suspicions were excited, and a x, in which Curtis was to “chuck the fight,” was publicly talked of. Alarm spread at the sporting houses, and on inquiry Curtis came forward and declared “that he had rather lose his life than his fame.” Upon this declaration the odds veered about, and Curtis was the favourite at five to four, giving chance, at any rate, of hedging. Then the assertions of dishonest intentions became stronger, and Barney was declared a safe winner. Thus matters stood when, some days previous to the big fight, Barney Aaron and his backers left London for Leamington, and made their headquarters at the “Crown.” In due time, also, Curtis and his friends arrived at Warwick. Still such doubts existed that betting was at an end, until some heavy stakes were sported on the night before the fight, at the “George,” at Warwick, and Barney again taken for choice. At an early hour in the day a report was circulated through the Race Stand that “the fight was off.” This circumstance created regret among the true sporting men. However, in a few minutes after Hudson and Cannon had left the stage, Curtis appeared, attended by Tom Belcher and his backers, and threw up his hat amidst loud cheers. Aaron was called for, but not showing himself, Curtis addressed the multitude. He said, “I attended here according to the articles, and I call upon Barney Aaron to face me according to articles.” He repeated the challenge twice without reply being made. Curtis then declared that “he would wait one quarter of an hour, and if Aaron did not appear, he should claim the stakes, £100, as a forfeit.” Previous to the quarter of an hour having elapsed, Curtis wished it to be known that he would fight any man of his weight in the world, for £200 a-side, and give half a stone.

Tom Belcher said he was the stakeholder, and the forfeit being claimed, he considered it his duty to give the £100 to Curtis, according to the rules of sporting. (“Perfectly correct, Tom,” from the spectators.) Belcher then presented Curtis with a new £100 Bank of England note, which the Pet smilingly deposited in his pocket. Belcher then took the nattily shaped “Pet” on his back, and lightly carried him, amidst laughter and applause, through the mud to the Grand Stand, where his health was drunk in sparkling “cham” by his friends, backers, and the admirers of straight-forward honesty.

At Ned Neale’s benefit at the Fives Court, two days after this fiasco, Curtis and Aaron met in the most friendly manner. Curtis said: “I would rather have fought for the money; but I am sure, Barney, it was not your fault.”

Aaron then proceeded to explain. He said he was told the place was Oxford, and there he was taken by his backers in a post-chaise, contrary to his intention, which had been to meet Curtis. He had with him his drawers and shoes. “Had I been licked,” said he, “which I don’t think I should have been” (a laugh from Curtis), “I should have got some blunt; but I have been regularly dished.” “I hope you will get backed,” replied Curtis; “I know you’re a brave man, and I hope next time we shall have a comfortable fight!”

Some chaffering about the amount of stakes followed this interview; Curtis proposing to fight for £200, and Aaron’s backers modestly suggesting that Curtis (in consideration of the forfeit of £100—the forfeit was only £50) should fight Barney £200 to £100. The subjoined stanzas, conveying the challenge, seem of sufficient merit to deserve snatching from oblivion:—

THE PET’S INVITATION.

Richard Curtis to Barney Aaron—Greeting.

Come, Barney, ’tis Curtis, the Pet, who invites thee;

No longer to fight for two hundred refuse;

For while all the pride of “the Peoplesh” excites thee,

You can’t need the needful, my star of the Jews!

Remember the glories of ancient Mendoza,

And hard-drinking, hard-hitting, shifting Dutch Sam;

Think on old Ikey Pig, and Big Bittoon, who knows thee,

With the rush of a lion, yet mild as a lamb.

What though Mrs. Aaron thy mug may delight in,

And thinking of black eyes, turns fretful and wan?

She’ll say, when convinced that you really mean fighting,

“Mine husband, Cot plesh him, ’s a brave little man.”

I’ll own that as good as e’er pulled off a shirt is

The lad I now call to the old milling game;

And remember, friend Barney, though challenged by Curtis,

No Cur-’tis invites to combat for fame.

Then try all the good ones who live in the Minories,

Kick the shins of the dwellers in Petticoat Lane—

Get blunt, which of all sorts of milling the sinew is;

Drop chaffing, and take to fair fighting again.

August 28th, 1825.

THE STAR’S ANSWER.

Barney Aaron to Richard Curtis—Greeting.

I come, Mr. Cur-’tis the Star of the Sheenies

Who advances to pluck from thy brow the high crest,

With a sufficit quantum of courage—and guineas—

To lower thy caput, my Flower of the West.

You fought Peter Warren a hundred to ninety,

Then why not fight me for the first-mention’d name?

But being all bounce you the scratch will not come to,

To show your much-vaunted pretensions to fame.

You say that the ochre—the metal—the rhino,

Is flush ’mong the Sheenies of Petticoat Lane;

’Tish more scarsh nor you think—I vish it vash mine, oh!

I’d fight for my losht reputation again.

Now hear! For one hundred, I’m ready to fight you,

Surely, out of mere fairness, you cannot refuse;

You’ll have to contend with no Warren, my Cur-tis,

But with brave Barney Aaron, the Star of the Jews!

Duke’s Place,

September 3rd, 1825.

These poetic effusions, with a dozen prosy letters to boot, failed to bring the men to terms.

Curtis was now indeed “the Pet of the Fancy;” no sparring exhibition of any pretension was perfect in its programme without the Light weight Champion displayed his skill in the art of which he was such a consummate master; and as Dick never hesitated to put on the gloves, and give away a stone or two and a few inches, the disparity of his opponents added a keener interest than usual to his demonstrations. The newspapers of the period are full of them. Curtis was now perforce idle, for there was no boxer near his weight who could get matched against him. Of course he was the object of envy to many of the fraternity, and as

“Envy doth merit like its shade pursue,

And by the shadow proves the substance true,”

so with one Mister Edward Savage, whose anger at the want of appreciation of his own merits, and the favour lavished on “the Pet,” carried him beyond all bounds of common civility. Edward Savage, an eleven stone man, was one of three Savages, the others named William and Cab. (or Jack) Savage, who were professed boxers. Ned Savage, on the evening of the 5th of August, 1825, entered the parlour of Tom Belcher’s, the “Castle,” Holborn, where Curtis and other friends were taking their whiff and their wet. The conversation turning upon pugilistic affairs, Mister Savage made some most insulting remarks upon the diminutive size of Curtis, coupled with regrets that he (Savage) could not get himself down to ten stone (Dick had challenged all comers and to give a stone), and concluded with a ruffianly threat of what he would do if Curtis would “give him a chance.” The Pet was about to leave when Savage, true to his name, struck him severely in the eye. The return on Mister Savage’s optic was made with lightning celerity, and the next instant the little one had his man round the neck, and delivered a succession of left-handers of such cutting severity that when Savage got down his head was a piteous spectacle. The company now interfered, but Curtis declared that he “must teach this Savage a lesson.” Savage rushed in blind with rage, and it is charity to suppose somewhat upset by liquor, when he was met by one, two, three steadiers in the head, his returns being parried, until he fairly staggered down. The affair now became a regular battle. Curtis threw off his upper garments, and Savage did the same. Savage rushed at his man so fiercely that Dick, stepping aside, delivered his blow on the ear of a bystander, to the man’s great astonishment and the amusement of the company, while Curtis simultaneously delivered alternately with both hands in such style that Savage turned away from the punishment. He was, however, game, if nothing else, and came up as receiver-general until the sixteenth round, when he was so completely cut up and beaten that he cried, “Enough!” Not more than sixteen minutes elapsed from the first assault to the close of this unexpected performance, the description of which by a few of the scientific spectators raised the fame of Curtis to a height hardly exceeded by that attained by his victories in the twenty-four foot. Tom Belcher’s concluding remark when narrating this little episode used to be—“It wouldn’t be lucky for some of us if Dick was twelve stone. There wouldn’t be much chaff about who would be Champion then”—a remark in which the heavy weights present usually coincided, some of them perhaps with a slight mental reservation in favour of his own brave self.

A ridiculous encounter with Ned Stockman, on the day of the fight between Gaynor and Bishop Sharpe (Tuesday, May 16th, 1826) is recorded. In this affair Stockman, after challenging Curtis and offering to fight him, laid down like a cur after a single round, as recorded in the reports of the time.

This brings us to the match at length arranged, by the concession of Curtis, for £100 a-side, with Barney Aaron. The battle came off on Tuesday, February 27th, 1827, at Andover, Hants, upon a stage erected in a field at the back of the “Queen Charlotte” public-house, opposite that where Spring defeated Neale, in 1823, one mile from the town. The stage was erected by the townspeople free of expense, and upwards of forty wagons were sent to form an outer ring by the jolly Hampshire farmers of the neighbourhood. The pugilistic division from London was in great force. Jem Ward, Tom Oliver, Ben Burn, Young Gas (Jonathan Bissell), Harry Holt, Ned Neale, with Fogo the Laureate and Joe Fishwick the Commissary, had joined the wagon-train. Curtis, valeted by Young Dutch Sam, took up his quarters at the “White Hart,” and Barney Aaron and Gipsy Cooper at the “Catherine Wheel,” opposite. Curtis was the favourite, at five to four. At one o’clock Barney, accompanied by Mr. Nathan and Jem Ward, ascended the stage amidst loud cheering. Curtis, attended by his backer, and Josh Hudson with Ben Burn, soon followed, and were welcomed with acclamation. The men then shook hands, and the colours were tied to the stakes; a bright yellow for Curtis and a deep red with yellow spots for the Israelite; and the battle commenced.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The Pet, as he exhibited in buff, gave great delight and satisfaction to his numerous friends. His condition was acknowledged to be quite tip-top. He might have been compared to the finest racehorse for blood, game, and bone; in fact, the tout ensemble of the Pet was the picture of a fine-framed man in miniature. His arms were beautiful. The Star of the East was equally bright; he had done everything to improve his strength during his preparation, and he appeared at the scratch a robust, vigorous, athletic young man. In elegance, ease, and grace, Angelo, O’Shaughnessy, or Roland, with the foils, could not have exhibited more taste in the polite accomplishment of fencing than did the attitudes and arms of Curtis and Aaron exhibit in the art of self-defence. Both combatants were armed cap-à-pie; it was an eye against an eye, toe for toe, arm opposed to arm, caution matched with caution; if one was “down” the other was “up”—it was, “I won’t have it!” on both sides; in short, it was diamond cut diamond. Such were the boxers opposed to each other in this great trial of skill. Barney, unlike the character of his milling in his previous battles, preferred the “look-out” to the rush; he being well aware of the great talent, judgment, and finishing qualities of his opponent, and determined not to give the slightest chance away. The Pet, like an accomplished general, soon perceived that his adversary was nothing else but a difficult one, and not to be gammoned upon old suits: indeed, that nothing but the utmost skill was necessary to be with him upon any point. For several minutes the spectators were delighted with the extreme caution displayed on both sides, and at the same time the readiness which Curtis and Aaron displayed should any opening offer for the exercise of their fists. Curtis looked as it were into the “very soul” of his adversary, and the richness of the “Jew’s eye” was of an equally penetrating description. Barney waited for the Pet to commence offensive operations, but Curtis, finding that nothing could be done without great danger to himself, retreated slowly towards the corner of the stage, the Star of the East following him leisurely. The interest of the scene was intense, and every peeper on the stretch to witness mischief. Barney, with great spirit and tact, went in, and gave Dick pepper with his right and left hands on his face. (“Beautiful!” from the Sheenies.) The Pet countered slightly. Barney, in closing, endeavoured to fib his opponent, but Dick bolted (“Hallo! what’s the matter?”) and cleverly got out of trouble. The Pet turned quickly, and again met his man; an exchange of blows followed, and in closing they tried each other’s strength severely, when both went down, Curtis undermost. (Loud shouting for Barney, and “Where’s your two to one?”) The claret was seen on Dick’s mouth. “First blood” was declared in favour of Aaron.

2.—Curtis had always entertained a good opinion of the milling qualities of his opponent, but he was now completely satisfied that he was not only a troublesome customer, but a better man than any who had previously stood before him. Slow and sure appeared the order of the day on both sides. Aaron was not to be had by any stratagem practised by Curtis. The latter, however, gradually retired to the end of the stage, Barney in attendance upon him. Counter-hits were given, and both told. The Jew went to work in the most manly style, and the counter-hits were admirable. In closing Barney endeavoured to fib his opponent, but the Pet returned hard and fast, and it was difficult to say which had the best of it. Barney was ultimately thrown, but Dick also went down. The Pet-ites now began to let loose their red rags, and Curtis was hailed with shouts of applause.

3.—This round was “as long as Paterson’s Road Book.” Each of their mugs exhibited the handiwork of the other, and Barney’s peepers had been measured for a “suit of mourning.” The Pet was cautious, and his face bespoke that he had all his work to do to change the battle in his favour. Barney was equally shy, and kept a good look-out. Curtis, finding that he could not make an impression, tried once more the retreating system, but Barney was after him, though his blows were skilfully stopped by the Pet. Counter-hitting, and Jack as good as his master. Curtis’s right eye received a sharp taste, but the Jew had the favour returned with interest. A pause, and nothing like mischief for a short period. Barney at length let fly on the Pet’s chaffing-box, and the claret followed, which appeared rather troublesome to Curtis. The admirers of scientific fighting had a perfect treat, both men being prepared at every point. Curtis seemed rather fatigued, put down his hands for an instant, and the Jew followed his example. The truth is, the conduct of Barney in not availing himself of his weight and length not only surprised all his friends, but astonished the backers of Curtis. The disinterested part of the audience viewed it as a doubtful thing. Barney at last went to work, and planted two successful hits. Some sharp exchanges. In closing, fibbing was the order of the day, and the pepper-box changed hands in rapid succession. The men broke ground, and Dick adopted his skilful mode of retreating. The Star of the East went after him, and in the corner of the stage planted a severe blow on his throat, which made Dick gulp again. In closing, after a severe struggle, Curtis went down undermost, and Barney upon one knee. (“Vell done, Barney!” from the Sheenies.) The backers of Curtis, although not positively afraid, yet candidly acknowledged they had hitherto thought too little of Aaron.

4.—The face of Dick did not exhibit his usual gaiety of expression. His mind was at work to attack his opponent upon a new system. In short, we never saw him so puzzled before in any of his contests. The pause was long, and nothing done. Jem Ward, who had hitherto been silent, now exclaimed, “It will be—‘who’d ha’ thought it?’ We shall win!” Barney cleverly hit the Pet away, and some little workmanship took place between them, when the left mauly of Dick caught Barney’s nob, and he went down partly on his knees. It could scarcely be considered a knock-down blow. The Pet-ites were again liberal with their applause, and seven to four offered.

5.—Those persons who had witnessed the severity of execution done by Dick in his fights with gloves expected that he would have nobbed the Jew off-hand. But the science and caution of Barney astonished the ring-goers. Sharp counter-hits. The fighting was good on both sides, and both nobs were damaged. The right cheek of the Star of the East napped a severe cut. In closing the struggle was great to obtain the throw, when the Pet, by a sudden impulse, gave Barney a hoist between the ropes. He would have fallen at least six feet to the ground, but fortunately for the Star of the East a wagon had been placed near the stage for the accommodation of the reporters, umpires, and referee. Pierce Egan and another scribbler caught hold of Barney by the arm and his leg, and rescued the Jew from his perilous situation. Like one of the gamest of the game Barney jumped up and exclaimed, “I am not hurt, it’s all right,” and reascended the stage amidst thunders of applause.

6.—Of course the agitation and shock sustained by the above accident, added to the shortness of the time, only half a minute, to return to the scratch, were considerably against him. Yet he set to in the most manly way, and gave Dick not a very light one on his pimple. The latter countered as quick as lightning. Milling on both sides for a short period, until they separated. Both careful, and upon the look-out for an opening. A rally occurred, in which Dick rather took the lead, and Barney’s head received severe punishment. The Jew at length went down upon his hands. (“You have got him now, Curtis, only go to work!” said the boys of the Borough. “He knows better,” answered a Sheeny; “Curtis will be in trouble if he does!”)

7.—The countenance of Curtis now became cheerful, and he gave the “office” to his friends that the fight was his own. Dick was evidently improved, but Barney, game as a pebble, commenced fighting. The Pet retreated with advantage, and as Barney followed him he planted one, two, and a third facer in succession. The Jew, good as gold, would not be denied, went in to work, caught hold of Dick, and fibbed with all his strength; Curtis was not behindhand. In struggling for the throw Curtis went down easy, but was undermost. Two to one on Curtis, and lots of shouting.

8.—The Pet was decidedly getting the best of it, yet the strength of Barney was by no means so reduced as to indicate that the fight would soon be over. Barney went to work, and a sharp rally was the result. Some hard hits passed between them, and Curtis received a teaser on his jaw. In closing both went down. The Sheenies did not desert their man, and cheered him with applause.

9, and last.—Dick, though quite satisfied in his own mind he was now winning the fight, was as cautious as if he had yet all his work to do. The head of Barney was rather out of shape, and the nob of Curtis was a little changed. Sparring for a short time, when Dick made himself up for mischief, and mischievous he certainly was. With his left he put in a tremendous blow upon his opponent’s throat. Barney went down like a shot—flat upon his back—his heels up, and was utterly insensible when time was called. Curtis so well knew that he had settled the business that he went up immediately to the time-keepers to wait for their decision. The Pet jumped for joy, and was proclaimed the victor, amidst the shouts of the surrounding populace. Josh Hudson hoisted the Pet upon his shoulders and carried him to his post-chaise, huzzaing all the way. The fight lasted fifty minutes.

Remarks.—Such a real, scientific battle on both sides has not been seen for many a long day: indeed, no lover of the Fancy would have thought two hundred miles any distance to have witnessed the superior tactics displayed by Curtis and Aaron. The Pet, high as he stood before on the roll of pugilists, raised himself to the top of the tree by this victory. Curtis has now proved the conqueror in eleven prize battles. As we have already said, we never saw Dick so puzzled before, and until he had reduced the Jew to his weight the first four rounds were of a doubtful character. Without exception the Pet must be pronounced the most efficient boxer in the pugilistic world. We cannot say more. At the same time it is equally true that Barney Aaron, if not exactly at the top of the tree, is very near to it. That is to say, if Curtis ranks as number one, number two of the light weights belongs to the brave little Sheeny. He is still the Star of the East, and instead of having fallen in the estimation of his friends by this defeat, his fine fighting, manly conduct, and fair play must raise him in the eyes of the sporting world. Curtis did not weigh nine stone, and Barney just drew ten. The severity of the blow which Aaron received on his throat operated so strongly that he did not come to himself for nearly an hour. To use Barney’s own words, he said, “I do not know that I could have won the battle, but had I not received that blow on my throat, which fairly hit me out of time, I am certain I could have fought for half an hour longer.” Curtis, before he left Andover, called upon his fallen and brave opponent and presented him with a guinea, and acknowledged that he was the best man he had ever fought with. A subscription of six pounds was also made on the ground, collected by one of the backers of Curtis.

Curtis was next backed to fight Jack Tisdale for £120 to £100.

Staines, on the Windsor road, was the great rallying point, and Shirley’s, the “New Inn,” the house of call upon the above occasion. Every room was full of milling visitors. In the stables, although extensive, the prads were riding over one another, the yard filled with drags of all sorts, and lots of customers could not find the slightest accommodation. Such were the attractions of the two heroes, the Pet of the Fancy and Jack Tisdale.

Between nine and ten in the morning of Tuesday, October 9th, 1827, the men met according to appointment to ascertain their weight, as required by the articles. Curtis proved to be no more than eight stone nine pounds and three-quarters, and Tisdale eight stone eight pounds. Curtis, in the most confident style, betted two sovereigns to one with Tisdale, after which the men retired to their inns, Curtis to Shirley’s and Tisdale to the Swan Inn, near the bridge, at Staines.

Curtis was decidedly the favourite throughout the whole of the match, at seven to four, two to one, and higher odds. Tisdale was always viewed as a good little man, but it was considered he had entirely left the ring, five years having elapsed since his last battle with Lenney. Tisdale was highly respected by his numerous friends. He had made up his mind to win and nothing else, and assured his backers that if he could but get at Dick, and he thought he could, victory would crown his efforts.

The heavy rain did not damp the ardour of the visitors, and the ring was surrounded by thousands of spectators. Within a mile and a half of the town of Staines, in a meadow in the county of Bucks, almost opposite the race-course at Egham, was the spot of ground selected for action.

At the appointed time Tisdale made his appearance, and threw his castor into the ring, followed by two good ould ones, Jack Randall and Bill Cropley, as his seconds. He was well received. In a few minutes afterwards the Pet, in a military cloak, repeated the token of defiance, waited upon by the John Bull Fighter and Young Dutch Sam. Lots of applause for Curtis. Tisdale and Curtis shook hands together in the most hearty style. The colours, yellow for Curtis and blue for Tisdale, had been tied to the stakes by Hudson and Cropley. The hands were crossed together by all parties and the battle commenced.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On peeling Curtis looked extremely thin, nevertheless he was quite well. He had reduced himself during his training nearly fourteen pounds, but he was lively, strong, and well to all intents and purposes. It was a dangerous experiment for a light man like Curtis, but to use his own words, he assured his friends he was never better in the whole course of his life. Tisdale was as good as he could be made by the wholesome effects of training, and also inspired with the highest confidence that success would crown his efforts. In point of youth the Pet had the best of it. The attitude of Curtis was a picture, and he appeared to the spectators a master of the art of boxing. The style of Tisdale was not so imposing as his accomplished fistic rival, but it was firm, calculated to receive the attack, and formed an excellent outline of a scientific pugilist. Dick measured his opponent from head to foot, keeping a good look-out for squalls, anxious to give, but not to receive. Tisdale was also leary, but his guard was low. The Pet viewed his rival as a dangerous customer, and like a skilful general was determined not to give half a chance away; he not only worked hard with his hands, but he was likewise perpetually on the move with his feet. Plenty of caution was exhibited on both sides. “Do not be gammoned,” was the advice of Randall and Cropley to Tisdale. The interest was intense amongst the spectators to witness the lead taken on either side. Tisdale attempted to plant a blow, but Dick got away like a dancing-master. Tisdale repeated the attempt twice, when ditto, ditto, on the part of the Pet was the time of day. A sort of stand-still followed, both keeping prime lookouts, like experienced pilots. Curtis made an offer, but Tisdale was awake. The Pet, after manœuvring in his best style, at length let fly his right and left, when Tisdale, with admirable skill, parried both hits, amidst loud applause from the surrounding crowd. A short pause. “It will be a long fight,” said the amateurs. Tisdale made another neat parry. Dick, as if it appeared to his mind he had got his opponent, hit out one, two, reached the canister of Tisdale, then rushed in to his work and fibbed away. Tisdale endeavoured to return the compliment, but without effect, was ultimately thrown, and undermost. (It might be said not much was the matter, but the Bermondsey boys let loose their red rags, and odds to any amount were offered. This round occupied nearly nine minutes.)

2.—Tisdale wished to go to work, but Dick would not have it. Curtis with great force put in a facer without return. (“Beautiful!” from his friends.) Tisdale slightly touched the body of his adversary. Both made themselves up for mischief, and two prime counter-hits were the result. The Pet planted a ribber, which made Tisdale blow for breath. Both on the look-out. Curtis hit out right and left with effect, but in return he napped a rum one on his ear. Some exchanges occurred, when Dick, with great impetuosity, planted two blows that were heard all over the ring, and Tisdale went down. The effect was so heavy that Tisdale for the instant scarcely knew where he was, and he put up his hand to keep Dick off.

3.—The handiwork of the Pet was visible to all the ring—a lump on Tisdale’s forehead, and his left eye damaged. Dick soon planted a nobber. A pause. Dick got away from mischief. Tisdale endeavoured to plant some hits, but Dick retreated in the most masterly style. Tisdale again missed several hits, owing to the retreating jumps of Curtis. Dick also made some beautiful stops. Tisdale satisfied his friends that he was a brave little man, although he could not get the lead. The skill evinced by Curtis was much admired. He gammoned his opponent to come and fight, and then punished him for his temerity. Dick again made his one, two, good, which produced some severe in-fighting, decidedly in favour of the Pet. In closing, both down, Tisdale undermost. (“Odds?” cried Josh; “why, you may bet anything, and no mistake! It’s one hundred to a rump steak, and I’ll lay the hundred pounds.”)

4.—The Bermondseys were all in high spirits. Tisdale made play without effect, Dick being ready for his opponent at all points. Tisdale, rather wild from the one, two, of his opponent, hit at random. In closing Dick got the best of the fibbing, and Tisdale was again thrown. (“Meat in Newgate Market must rise to-morrow,” said the John Bull Fighter, “to cover the losses of the kill-bulls.”)

5.—Upwards of a minute elapsed before anything was attempted between the combatants, so much caution was observed on both sides. Tisdale was on the alert to effect a turn, but Dick was up to his movements. The latter also neatly, and with great force, planted two hits without return. Tisdale at length got into work, and some sharp blows were exchanged. Tisdale showed “first blood,” from the mouth, which was announced to the ring by Josh Hudson. In closing Tisdale went down.

6.—The steadiness displayed by Tisdale was much admired. He came cheerfully to the scratch, and tried to punish the Pet, but the latter stopped him with ease. The right hand of Curtis made a smashing hit on Tisdale’s left ogle, but the Newgate Market hero quick as lightning countered, and produced the claret from Dick’s ear. (“My eye,” said Cropley to Randall, “that was a teaser!”) Dick tried all his skill to draw Tisdale again into his clutches, but Jack was not to be had, and a long pause ensued. Curtis jobbed with his left hand, nevertheless Tisdale returned the charge like nothing but a good one. The men fought their way into a rally, and pepper on both sides was the order of the day, until they broke away. This round was decidedly the best that had taken place; and although it was the general opinion that Dick would prove the conqueror, it was admitted at the same time that he would have his work to do. Tisdale could not plant his hits effectually, the Pet was so good upon his legs. Curtis in great style stopped a rib-roaster, and patted his arm, laughing at Tisdale. A rally was the tie-up of this round, to the advantage of Curtis, and Tisdale fell with his back upon the ropes. Several bets were now lost that Dick won the battle in half an hour.

7.—This round was a touch of the polish. Dick had it all his own way. He jobbed and jobbed again, without any return, and closed the round by throwing the hero of Newgate Market.

8.—Dick, although so much in his favour, was still cautious, determined to make his conquest complete. The left hand of the Pet in numerous instances operated like the kick of a horse on the nob of Tisdale. The latter retreated to the ropes, followed by Curtis, when Dick took the lead in weaving, and a severe struggle for the throw took place. During the time Tisdale was balancing upon the ropes, and apprehensive of the punishment he was about to receive from Curtis, he said, “Dick, don’t hit me now.” “I will not,” replied Dick, and laying hold of Tisdale’s hand he pulled him up, and led him into the middle of the ring, amidst tumultuous applause. The battle was now severe indeed, and Tisdale hit wide and wild; the Pet planted a facer, when they both went to work like out-and-outers. Give and take, and summat the matter on both sides; the nose of Curtis appeared as if it had been scraped with a knife. The face of Tisdale had now assumed an altered aspect, and, according to the phrase of the Ring, his uncles and aunts would have doubted his relationship, his frontispiece was so completely altered. To add to Tisdale’s already damaged head, Dick again planted two jobbers, and Tisdale was floored. (Hats were thrown up, the Bermondsey coves shouting and dancing, and odds as extravagant as St. Paul’s to a cockle-shell offered.)

9.—Short. Tisdale suffering under the severity of punishment hit at random. This sort of conduct suited Curtis; he took advantage of the mistake, and by a hit on the domino box sent Tisdale to his mother earth.

10.—A brave man will always claim admiration, and a braver or better little man was never seen in the twenty-four foot than Jack Tisdale. But his superior in tactics stood before him. The coolness which had previously distinguished the conduct of Tisdale was gone by, and the repeated irritating blows had excited his passion; at all events, he threw several blows away. He would not be denied, and he bored Dick nearly to the ropes. In stopping a sort of kill-bull blow Dick slipped down on his latter end. This circumstance gave a little bit of new life to his friends, and Tisdale was loudly cheered.

11.—A few persons seemed to think that Dick was weak, but he soon convinced his partisans to the contrary. Dick got away from mischief, but was exceedingly mischievous in the return, and the nose of the hero of Newgate Market received a hit enough to have satisfied any common glutton. Tisdale, undismayed, never flinched, and returned sharply on Curtis’s chin. (“Hallo!” cried Cropley, “Master Dick, you have napped it.”) Dick, waiting for a turn, tried every move on the board to have the best of it; he planted a facer, repeated the dose, then tried it a third time with success. (“Blow my dickey!” said Josh; “why, I never saw a footman knock at a door half so stylish as Dick is paying his respects to Mr. Tisdale!”) The hero of Newgate Market stood up with the firmness of a brick, counter-hitting, and exerting himself to win, until Dick punished him in all directions at the ropes. In struggling for the throw Dick had the best of it, and Tisdale was undermost. (Curtis, during the time he was sitting upon the knee of his second, informed his backer he could put on the polish and win it in a canter. “No,” was the reply, “take your time; it is all your own; win at your leisure.”)

12.—This round had hardly commenced when a facer was planted by Curtis. Tisdale, quite wild, followed Dick over the ring, but Curtis put on another opera step, and nothing was the matter. Tisdale again went to work, but the skipping back of Curtis made him all right. The Pet put in a jobber, ditto, and ditto, repeated. The gluttony displayed by Tisdale called forth not only admiration, but pity. The Newgate Market hero made himself up for mischief, tremendous counter-hits occurred, and the claret was seen from the nose of Curtis. Yet nothing could take the fight out of the Pet. Tisdale wildly following him received punishment at every step. In closing Tisdale underwent fibbing, and was also thrown.

13.—This round had nearly proved a finale. Tisdale now became desperate, and plunged headlong to work, regardless of consequences. Dick stopped him, got away with ease, and punished his opponent severely. A pause ensued, Dick as cautious as when he commenced the battle. The appearance of Tisdale was really piteous, but he still kept the game alive, and did his best for himself and friends to obtain victory. The Pet soon got an opening, and hit poor Tisdale to a perfect stand-still; his hands dropped, he staggered, and fell down. (“Take him away,” said Josh; “it is a shame to let such a brave fellow be punished without the shadow of a chance to win.”)

14.—When time was called Tisdale answered it, but he was as groggy as a sailor three sheets in the wind—“yes, and worse than that ’ere,” as the John Bull Fighter observed, Tisdale scarcely knowing what he was about—in fact, he was quite abroad, dealing his blows at random. Dick hopped out of the way of mischief, then planted a facer, which gave his opponent the staggers. Tisdale fell on his hand and knee, but being too game to consider the round at end, immediately got up to renew the fight, when the Pet ran up to him and sent him down. “Foul!” and “Fair!” were the cries—the umpires disagreed, but the referee considered it fair. The conduct of Curtis might have been censured as not exactly polite or gentlemanly, as Scroggins said, nevertheless it was perfectly fair, as Tisdale rose upon his legs to renew the battle. In the first instance Tisdale was about leaving the ring, but upon hearing the referee’s decision he returned to renew the fight.

15.—The time gained by the wrangle was good for Tisdale. He put up his hands at the scratch, then recollecting himself said it was “foul conduct,” left Curtis, went up to the umpires, and asked “what he was to do?” “Why, fight on,” replied the referee, “if you do not mean to lose the fight.” It is worthy of remark that Curtis never took any advantage of Tisdale’s movements, which he might have done. Some of the spectators had now left their places in the outer ring, and all was glorious confusion.

16.—This round was all upon the bustle, and whips and sticks were at work to keep the ring clear. The battle was now reduced a horse to a hen; Tisdale was of no use, and Curtis hit him down. (“Don’t leave the ring, Dick, till you finish the fight properly,” observed his friends.)

17, and last.—Tisdale again appeared at the scratch, but it was only to receive additional punishment. Dick was at him without delay, and Tisdale was again down at the ropes. On time being called Tisdale did not appear at the scratch. Curtis went up to him, when Randall said, “It is all over,” and Tisdale also added that “he would not fight any more.” The John Bull Fighter, after putting the colours, the fruits of victory, round the neck of the Pet, hoisted him on his shoulders, and carried him in triumph to his drag, amidst loud shouting. The fight was over in fifty-eight minutes.

Remarks.—From the beginning to the end of the mill it never appeared to us that Tisdale had a chance of winning. In observing thus much it is not meant to convey an opinion to our readers that Tisdale is not a good boxer—the contrary is the fact. He is one of the best little men of his weight in the kingdom; he stands well upon his legs; he can stop like a tactician, hits hard, and possesses a capital knowledge of boxing. His courage is of the highest order, and his game unquestionable. He is not disgraced in surrendering to Curtis, the irresistible Champion of the Light Weights. Many spectators felt disappointed that Curtis did not do more with Tisdale at the beginning of the battle, as the friends of Curtis declared that Tisdale would be polished off sans cérémonie. But Curtis was not to be led away by the high praises of his backers, and like a skilful general he treated his adversary as a dangerous opponent. Curtis did not escape without some sharp punishment about the head, but in comparison with Tisdale’s it was trifling in the extreme.

Curtis, from his unbroken career of conquest in the Prize Ring, might now be compared to the celebrated Eclipse, who, having won all the King’s Plates he went for, was “cried down;” for the Pet was so decidedly excellent in his tactics that he was left without an opponent.

Some injudicious persons at this period began an idle newspaper controversy on the comparative merits of Curtis and Jack Randall, full of vulgar personalities; and the latter boxer, in the month of October, 1827, allowed a letter to appear with his signature in Pierce Egan’s Life in London, in which he offered to fight Curtis “in four months from the time of making the match, for £300 to £1,000 (!) either on a stage or the turf,” “money always ready at the Hole in the Wall, Chancery Lane.” To which Curtis replied that “his weight was nine stone,” but he would “give half a stone, and fight Mr. Randall, or any other man, for £100 to £300.” This buncombe of course meant nothing. Indeed, poor Jack was already doing battle with the universal conqueror, who gave him the finishing blow within six months of this ridiculous challenge.

Curtis took his leave of the Prize Ring at a benefit at the Fives Court, in November, 1827, by an open challenge for a month to any man in England, half a stone above his weight. No boxer had the temerity to come forward and “pick up the glove;” and Curtis in consequence retired from the scene of active pugilism. But although the Pet had given up prize milling, he had not given up the use of his hands to protect himself from insult. On Wednesday afternoon, January 2nd, 1828, as the Pet and his pal, Young Dutch Sam, were walking along Blackfriars Road, they passed a couple of sturdy coalheavers, one of whom, in swinging his whip round, struck Dick. The latter asked Coaly what he meant by striking him. The exact reply we must not mention—suffice it to say that Dick threatened to kick the offender on that part of his person to which he was referred for an explanation. Coaly, not knowing the Pet, threw a brave defiance in his teeth, and a set-to commenced, Sam seconding the Pet, and Coaly having his own companion to pick him up. Dick found himself engaged with a very strong fellow, who knew a little about fighting, and was moreover fully a stone and a half the heavier man. Coaly rushed in to bring his strength to bear, and Dick, as his custom was, broke ground—jobbing and retreating. One of the black diamond’s eyes was soon in darkness, but he did not take without giving; almost at the very commencement of the fight, he planted a nobber that severely damaged the Pet’s neat countenance, besides sending him back against a cart, with a force that raised a peal of bells in Dick’s cranium. The spectators of all sorts were, of course, numerous, and some of them expressed considerable disapprobation at Dick’s mode of getting away. Encouraged by this, the second coalheaver went behind Curtis and stopped him as he retreated; Young Dutch Sam instantly floored him, which at once took all conceit of either fighting or interfering out of that gentleman. A bystander soon after received a topper from Sam for placing his carcass where it ought not to be; he soon after came up behind the young Dutchman, returned the hit on the sly, and retreated among the mob; but Sam quickly pulled him forth and gave him three or four facers, whereupon he cried for quarter. During these proceedings the Pet was still engaged with his first antagonist, who proved himself a game man, and though told that he was fighting with the celebrated Dick Curtis, he refused to give in, but declared that he knew he could beat his man, saying, “let him be Dick or Devil, he’d sarve him out.” At length a gentleman, not liking to see a good man cut up where he had little or no chance, took Coaly by the arm, and after literally begging him to leave off, strengthened his counsel by a douceur of half-a-crown, upon sight of which the brave, though saucy, coalheaver consented to say “enough.” He was severely punished about the head—nor did Curtis escape scot-free; his nob was visibly marked.

A long letter professing to come from the coalheaver and signed “George Phillips” appeared the following week in the Dispatch, in which the writer, denying his defeat, and offering to fight Curtis for £5 (!), hoped that the Pet would meet him “for love, and the £5 as a sweetener.” Mr. Whittaker, an oilman and ex-pugilist, its supposed writer, also went about offering to back “his man” against “the Pet.”

Curtis now went on a sparring tour to Manchester and Liverpool; at the latter place, at the Circus, he was enthusiastically received. Young Sam, Jem Ward, and Ned Stockman were also of the party.

All doubts respecting the milling capabilities of Coaly were completely put to rest at Joe Fishwick’s benefit at the Tennis Court, on Monday, March 17th, 1828. The sturdy black diamond having declared, in opposition to all the statements published of that affair, that he had the “best of it,” Curtis chivalrously volunteered to put on the gloves with him. He had not the slightest chance with Curtis, who nobbed him at pleasure, drew blood from his razor-shaped nose, and knocked him down no less than six times. All he could do was, when not hit off his legs, to bore Dick against the rail by superior weight and strength; but in everything that belongs to fighting it was “all the world to nothing” on the Pet. The latter seemed at length ashamed to hit the man, and offered to cut it, but Coaly was foolhardy enough to wish for more, saying “he was not hurt.” Curtis therefore accommodated him with additional punishment. On pulling off the gloves the coalheaver appeared quite chapfallen. Dick was so completely armed at all points that the violent attacks of Coaly were utterly frustrated, and it might almost be said that Curtis left the stage without receiving a hit.

Though retired as a principal, Dick’s talents as a second were in constant requisition, and his name will be found, in that capacity, in many pages of our volumes. It would have been well indeed for Curtis had he adhered to his resolution of retirement; but it was not to be. A ten stone man, Perkins, of Oxford, who had received the title of “the Oxford Pet,” had so raised his name by rapid victories over Wakelin, Jem Raines, and Dick Price, in one year (1827), that a battle for £100 was proposed and accepted. In this overmatched contest Curtis was defeated on December 30th, 1828, at Hurley Bottom, Berks, as detailed under our notice of Perkins in an after-page of this Appendix.

From the period of his first and only defeat Curtis did not enter the Prize Ring again as a principal. As a second he was constantly called upon to exercise his talents, as our pages will show. On these occasions he displayed incomparable tact and judgment, often winning fights “out of the fire,” where all hope of success had been abandoned. He was second to Owen Swift in the unfortunate battle between that accomplished master of the art and Brighton Bill, as is fully set forth in the memoir of Young Dutch Sam. For this he was tried at the Hertford Assizes on July 14th, 1838, and was sentenced to three months’ imprisonment. In the later period of his life he was a martyr to the rheumatic gout, and was frequently laid up for weeks together. The life of the Pet shows no exception to that of other public favourites, theatrical or otherwise—chequered by vicissitudes, at one time in “full feather and fine song,” and at another penniless—a state of things to be ascribed to his propensity to “a hand at crib,” and other gambling practices. For a short period he was a publican, keeping the “Star,” in Blackman Street, Borough; but he had not then “sown his wild oats,” and the eccentricity of his disposition soon caused him to “retire from the business,” or more correctly the business retired from him. Notwithstanding his temporary acquaintance with the interior of Hertford Gaol, he continued to be sought as a “trump card” at all fights, and those who succeeded in securing his services had never any reason to regret their confidence. A contemporary, the late Vincent George Dowling, Esq., thus bore testimony to his worth in an editorial obituary notice in Bell’s Life, and the writer, from personal knowledge, can well endorse that testimony: “Long as we have known Curtis, we never heard of his having deceived a friend, and he was one of the few of his class upon whom reliance in matters of opinion could be implicitly placed. He was always grateful for obligations conferred, and in the hour of need had never-failing sources of relief, when his pride would permit him to confess his necessities. His last and fatal illness is attributable to having burst a blood-vessel, from which he never thoroughly rallied, and it has been our lot to hear him speak in terms of deep gratitude for the kindnesses he experienced whilst an inmate of Guy’s Hospital, as well from his medical attendants as from those numerous old acquaintances who sympathised in his sufferings, among whom we may rank his early pupil and protégé, Owen Swift, who was enabled to raise and contribute to his wants within the last six weeks upwards of eighteen pounds, while we know from other sources that sum was doubled during the same period. This is the best refutation of a tissue of gross falsehoods foisted upon the editor of the Morning Herald, unfortunately but too ready to adopt any statement, however absurd, which he deems calculated to throw discredit on the manly art of boxing or its professors. Young Dutch Sam, who was also introduced to the Ring by the deceased, contributed his mite, and we can say, from the best authority, that the expiring ‘King Richard,’ while he died in peace with all mankind, was surrounded with every comfort his situation required, and in homely terms testified his perfect satisfaction with all that had been done for him. ’Tis true he left no ‘stock purse’ behind, but that circumstance did not restrain those who knew and respected him in life from taking the necessary steps to secure a becoming attention to the last sad ceremonies of the grave.”

To this spontaneous testimony of the “Nestor of the Ring,” we may add that Curtis breathed his last at his own house in Dover Street, Southwark, on Saturday, September 16th, 1843. We have been more precise on this point because an eminent sporting writer, misled by the paper once known as “My Grandmother,” has left it on record, “And the once caressed Pet of the Fancy breathed his last unfriended and unattended, save by the hireling servitors of a public hospital.” “King Dick,” as his companions were wont to call him, was sensible to the last, and perfectly conscious of the approaching close of his career.

His memory and his widow he bequeathed to his friends, feelingly deploring the reduced state of his exchequer, and hoping that his old “pals” would liberally come forward to contribute something towards alleviating the sorrows and distresses of his widow, who had been to him a careful and kindly nurse throughout a long and painful illness. For some days previous to the final flicker of the vital spark, Dick had been occasionally wandering, and the scenes of his former pursuits seemed to pass before his mental vision. He talked of battles won and lost, of the merits of his compeers, and of the qualifications requisite for his profession. When visited by Owen Swift, and others his “companions in arms,” he was cheerful, although he occasionally mistook one for another, and on reference to coming events gave his opinion pretty freely about those modern pretenders who stickled for half a stone. Turning to a friend, he observed, “My last round is come!” and sinking into a state of insensibility, shortly afterwards expired.

The remains of the departed pugilist were carried to their “narrow home” in St. George’s Churchyard, Southwark, on the Thursday next after his decease, in a manner suitable to the respect felt by his family and friends. Among the mourners who followed were his brother, a well-known veterinary surgeon, the Champion of England, Peter Crawley, Jem Burn, Owen Swift, Alec Reid, Young Reed, Ned Turner, Johnny Hannan, Johnny Walker, Reidie, Deaf Burke, cum multis aliis. His friend Young Dutch Sam was absent from illness (he died in six weeks afterwards), and such was the sympathy and public curiosity on the occasion that quite ten thousand persons lined the route of the funeral procession. While upon this subject, we may add that the proceeds of a sparring benefit at Jem Burn’s, £25, were handed over to the widow by the editor of Bell’s Life in London, with more than £50 of subscriptions from other sources, with which she was placed in a humble but profitable business in Fetter Lane, and where the factory was known as that of “Curtis’s Premier Blacking.” We therefore consider the rhetorical flourish of “Nimrod” as completely “polished off” as “King Richard” during his reign himself polished off those who disputed his “fistic” supremacy.

MONODY ON THE DEATH OF DICK CURTIS.

Farewell! a long farewell! renowned King Dick!

Well may we mourn that thou hast cut thy stick;

Victorious still in many a sharp attack,

Stern Champion, Death, hath laid thee on thy back;

Exhausted all thy bottom and thy pluck,

Thine arm lies powerless, and thy colours struck;

Rigid thine elasticity of limb,

Deaf are thy listeners, and thine ogles dim;

Pale are those lips from which rich humour rush’d;

Spun are thy spicy yarns, thy tongue is hush’d;

Stripped are the laurels bright that girt thy brow

And dust to dust is all that waits thee now.

Yet long the Fancy’s tears thy grave shall wet,

Star of the Light Weights, all-accomplished Pet!

For thy bold spirit soared on eagle’s wing,

And shed a halo round the fighting Ring—

Acknowledged there the bravest and the best,

For craven fear ne’er harboured in thy breast;

Conquest, proud conquest, was thine only aim,

Unrivall’d still in gallantry and game.

As lightning quick to dart upon thy foe,

And in the dust to lay his glories low,

The palm of victory forcing him to yield,

And sing “Peccavi” on the battle-field;

Adieu, thou pride and wonder of the age,

The brightest star on Fistiana’s page,

Where records of your manly deeds are stor’d,

The pinks you’ve pepper’d, and the trumps you’ve floored!

Why should we mourn of Perkins the sad tale,

O’er which sad memory fain would draw a veil,

And while unfading thy brave deeds shall bloom,

Consign thine errors with thee to the tomb!

Well may we weep for these degenerate days,

As a sad trophy to thy fame we raise,

And mourn, since boxing hath become a trade,

Its honour tarnished and its flowers decay’d!

No hardy Cribb now throws the gauntlet down,

Nor brave Tom Spring, of unalloyed renown;

No brawny Belcher now for victory strives,

Nor tough Game Chicken flourishes his fives;

No Molyneux now rears his sable nob,

Nor rough-and-ready stout White-headed Bob.

Well may we grieve, as we thy fate deplore,

The golden days of milling are no more,

Exclaiming, as fresh candidates appear,

“Oh, what a woeful falling-off is here!”

But Curtis prov’d a trump, and no mistake, }

To every move upon the board awake, }

And staunch as e’er tied colours to a stake! }

When a mere boy, by two good men assail’d,

Beneath his prowess Brown and Watson quail’d;

And after combat resolute and tough,

Lenney and Cooper, sorrowing, cried, “Enough!”

Thrice Peter Warren tried to do the trick,

But found his master in triumphant Dick;

In a turn-up, from momentary heat,

Ned Savage was made savage by defeat;

And bouncing Barney Aaron, Hebrew stout,

Look’d all abroad when Richard sarv’d him out;

Tisdale our Monarch ventur’d to attack,

But all the shine was taken out of Jack;

And lastly Dick, urg’d on by insult’s goad,

Whack’d a coalheaver in the Surrey Road.

But his last fight is fought, and clos’d his reign,

And time is call’d to poor King Dick in vain;

For Death, that ruthless monarch, gaunt and grim, }

Hath cruelly hit out and finished him, }

Sent him to earth, and stiffened every limb. }

Flower of the Fancy, yet one more adieu!

Where shall we look to find a “Pet” like you?

Sound be thy sleep, receive my last good night,

And may the turf upon thy breast be light,

For though in manhood’s prime by fate unshipp’d,

Thou wert a boy as brave as ever stripp’d;

Time shall fly forward, years shall wax and wane,

Ere “we shall look upon thy like again.”

M.