In the third round Caunt managed to catch hold of his opponent and threw him. But although his training had not exactly hurt him, his strength was not at its greatest, and Bendigo’s speed quite overwhelmed him. He hit him as he liked, smashed his face with left and right, and would get away without a reply: then lest the reply turned out to be belated but sure, Bendigo would slip down.
Once Caunt caught him up against the ropes and leaned on him there, and would most likely have hurt him seriously, but that he overbalanced himself and fell down. Bendigo’s hitting was really terrific. Caunt was much cut about the face from the earliest rounds, but in the thirteenth round Bendigo sent in a left which is famous in the history of boxing. It struck Caunt on the right cheek with such force as to knock him clean off his legs, actually lifting his fourteen stone in the air. For a few seconds he was quite stunned. A little later Bendigo split his man’s upper lip clean through, and the blood poured from it. Caunt was tremendously game, and though utterly beaten, hit for hit, stood up and fought. Bendigo was never a cur whenever he did suffer punishment, but his artful dodge of avoiding it by continually going down was detestable and ought to have been stopped at once. And towards the end of this fight, which lasted for ninety-three rounds and over two hours, Caunt was getting the better of it. Bendigo continued to drop directly he saw danger. Caunt’s supporters again and again appealed to the referee, but in the yelling and confusion about the ring they were either unheard or unheeded. Moreover, the proper way to appeal—according to the rules—was first to the two umpires, who in their turn referred to the higher authority. Backers and seconds frequently forgot this, and referees occasionally took advantage of the fact.
The roughs who had come to support Bendigo were known as the “Nottingham lambs,” and they were indeed a pretty crew. Time and again they tried to cut the ropes when Caunt had forced Bendigo against them, and one blackguard aimed a blow with his bludgeon at Caunt’s head, missed, and caught Tom Spring, who was by the ropes at the moment, on the shoulder. To the last the big man hoped by getting in one frightful smasher to end the fight, but towards the last they were both using foul methods, Bendigo hitting below the belt, Caunt trying to use his knee. In the ninety-third round Caunt knocked Bendigo down—so Bell’s Life tell us—and turned away, naturally supposing that the round was over. Bendigo leapt to his feet, however, and dashed after his man, hoping to be able to hit him at a disadvantage before he could turn. As his arm was poised to deliver the blow Caunt abruptly sat down. An appeal was at once made by Bendigo’s seconds, Ward and Hannan, together with others, direct to the referee, who decided that Caunt had deliberately gone down without a blow, and that Bendigo was the winner. It must be remembered that when Bendigo went down as he did, over and over again, it was in a less obvious manner; that is to say, at the end of a sharp rally when he was close to his man. His position in this way would be more equivocal than Caunt’s.
Jack Randall
born Nov. 25 1794 5 feet 6 Inches high weighs 10st, 6lb; has beaten Jack the Butcher in 20 minutes, Walton in 10 minutes Geo Dodd in 25 minutes, Ugly Borrock the Jew in 12 minutes, West Country Dick in 33 minutes, Holt in 25 minutes & only 8 rounds. Belasco in 51 minutes & only 7 rounds, Parish in 53 minutes & only 11 rounds, Turner in 2 Hours & 16 Minutes, Martin in 53 Minutes & many others of late note, in sport he has never been beaten.
Reviewing the evidence, it certainly does seem that the referee made an error of judgment. Having made it, he stuck to it, as he should. He was, of course, accused of being intimidated by the ruffians whose heavy sticks were close about his head. The facts of the case were presented to “The Old Squire” afterwards, especially Caunt’s quite natural supposition that the round had ended. The referee replied that he had given his decision to the best of his ability from what he saw. His view of the proceedings was constantly being interrupted, and it was quite possible that he did not see everything. He pointed out, further, that against his wishes he had been chosen as referee by both the parties.
It is perfectly useless to make any comment other than that the referee should certainly have been stricter in the earlier stages of the fight. On this occasion the principals themselves, especially the winner, were not blameless: but the chief fault, of course, lay with the person or persons who organised the band of ruffians from Nottingham. These men had no silly idea of putting money on the chances of Bendigo and backing their sanguine opinion. They intended to subscribe a certainty.
Caunt and Bendigo were bitter enemies for a long time after this, but in 1850, they had a great joint Benefit, at which they at last shook hands and became fast friends.
Bendigo was a bit of rapscallion, certainly; but he was a born clown, with the keenest sense of fun, which lasted almost to his dying day. His acrobatic feats even when he was an old man were the astonishment of his contemporaries and the delight of children. He was, as you might say, a funny mixture: a great gardener, a patient fisherman, in bouts a drinker who, with very little liquor in him, went clean off his weak head, and once cleared a butcher’s shop in his drunken rage, hurling legs of mutton at the jeering crowd upon the pavement. At the considerable risk of his own he saved a man’s life from drowning in the Trent, and indignantly refused a material reward. In 1870, some revivalists seeing the peculiar possibilities of this brand if he could only be snatched from the burning, “converted” him; and “Thormanby” tells the story of how Lord Longford, his old backer, once meeting him in a London street dressed in a black coat and a white tie, stopped him and asked, “Hallo, Bendy! What’s your little game now?”