5th and last round.—Gamble received two such blows that struck him all of a heap—one in the mark, that nearly deprived him of breath, and the other on the side, which instantly swelled considerably. Gamble fell almost breathless, and when “time” was called, gave in. It is reported that not less than £20,000 changed hands on this occasion. The Irish were full of murmurings at Gamble’s conduct, who was beaten in five rounds, and in the short space of nine minutes! Gamble fought very badly. From his former experience much was expected, but he appeared utterly confused at his opponent’s quickness. Belcher treated Gamble’s knowledge of the art with the utmost contempt.
It may be worth noticing that the “Pride of Westminster,” in after years known as Caleb Baldwin, described in the report as a “dealer in greens,” polished off a big Irishman, named Kelly, in fifteen minutes, twelve rounds, for a purse of 20 guineas, in the same ring.
While Belcher was witnessing the battle between Bittoon the Jew and Tom Jones, on Wimbledon Common, on Monday, July 13, 1801, Joe Berks, who was excited and quarrelsome, made a disturbance in the outer ring,[[82]] and offensively called out, “Where’s young Jem Belcher? where’s your champion?” Jem went up to him and asked him what he wanted; the reply to which was a blow, cleverly warded off. A fierce set-to followed, for Jem was semper paratus, when Berks displayed so much courage and strength, that the spectators did not know what to think about the finish of this impromptu affair. The combat lasted nineteen minutes, and although Berks was beaten, an opinion became prevalent that had not Belcher applied all he knew of the science, and Berks fought, as it was termed, “hand over hand,” there was great probability of Jem’s falling before the resolute onslaught of the Shropshire man.
Berks having shown so much game under such evident disadvantages, Lord Camelford determined to back him for a second combat in a more regular manner, for 100 guineas. He was accordingly put out to nurse; a teacher appointed to initiate him into the mysteries of the science; and it was reported of Berks that he was a promising child—took his food regularly, minded what his master said to him, and, for the short time that he had taken to study, great improvement was visible. Berks ultimately turned out one of the most troublesome customers, and the hardest to be disposed of, that ever entered the lists with Belcher.
On Saturday, September 12, 1801, Belcher met Berks, at the Cock, in Sun Street, Spitalfields, when Jem accepted his formal challenge for 100 guineas, and seven days after, on the 19th, they met at the same house, to proceed to the battle-field—a rare instance of promptitude and eagerness on both sides; but the police having scent of the affair, a magistrate’s warrant was issued, and the battle postponed to the 12th of the next month. As there is no trace of these proceedings in “Boxiana,” and they are amusing as well as curious to the ring-goer, showing the disappointments and modus operandi of the ring in the olden times, we reprint the account from a contemporary newspaper; and as a specimen of what then was thought smart writing in the fashionable world.
“On Monday (12th October, 1801), as had been agreed upon, the long expected battle between James Belcher and Joseph Bourkes (Joe Berks) was to have taken place at Enfield, but much to the chagrin of the amateurs and lovers of the pugilistic art, it was prevented by the interposition of Mr. Ford, the magistrate of Bow Street, who, having received information of the intended combat, issued a warrant against Belcher, and on the Sunday night previous Townsend took him into limbo. Many circumstances combined to excite a most extraordinary degree of expectation, and produced a multitudinous attendance on this attractive occasion. The late ratification of peace had tended to annihilate fighting;[[83]] conversation which had been so lively supported by the race of two famous horses, Sir Solomon and Cock-fighter, had now become exhausted in the sporting circle; the combatants being of the highest renown in the science, could not fail to animate every amateur; and, to add still greater numbers to the assembly, a violent thunder-storm on the Saturday night had kept the heroes, who on that evening enjoy themselves, altogether inactive. All the loose cash, all the turbulence that had been amassed that night, now prompted by curiosity, broke forth with increased avidity. The ‘fight’ was the very goal of attraction; it consolidated every vagrant wish, every undecided mind, and every idle hope.
“This match first became the subject of contemplation from an accidental skirmish during the fight between Bittoon and Tom Jones, at Wimbledon, in which, although Berks seemingly had the worst of it, the amateurs considered it as a matter of surprise; and no previous training having taken place on either side, much consequence was not attached to the defeat, nor was it considered decisive of the merits of the rival heroes. Many knowing ones indeed conceived that Berks got thrashed in this contest only through his own rashness, and entertaining flattering hopes of his powers, took him into private nursing. Raw eggs to improve his wind, and raw beef to make him savage, were the glorious non-naturals that composed his regimen, and in all his exercises he topped even expectation’s self. All this was done in the anxious trust that Belcher would be backed with great odds, as he was thought to be the favourite with all, excepting those in the secret. They, however, did not manage with all that address which experience proves so requisite to gull the world; it soon spread that Berks had been in training, and had considerably improved in his sparring. Odds then took a contrary direction, but when the amateurs who con o’er these sublime subjects began to consider that Belcher, although not in training, had lived temperately, was in good condition, and full of stiff meat, he again became the favorite, and on the ground six to four were the standing odds.
“The hours appointed in the articles for the decision of the contest were between twelve and two. At about one o’clock Berks appeared on the stage, stripped, and began to show play for the amusement of his friends, who did not forget to make the welkin ring with their plaudits; however, Belcher not ascending the stage as expected, he dressed himself again, amidst cries of ‘Where is Belcher?’ Berks immediately assumed the attitude, not of a fighter, but of an orator, and in the following eloquent manner addressed the multitude:—
“‘Gemmen, I com’d here, d’ye see, to fight Jim Belcher. I’m here, and he isn’t. I wish he had; for, on the word of a butcher, I’d have cleaved his calf’s head, and given him such a chop in the kidneys, as would soon have brought him on his marrow bones.’
“The cry of ‘Where is Belcher?’ still continued, when Gamble, the Irish bruiser, came forward—‘Where is he? why at Bow-street, to be sure; he was grabbed on the road.’ This was not the fact, but something near it. The suspense, however, was not of long duration: two friends of Jemmy’s arrived with the sad and melancholy tidings of the ‘queer tip’ he had met with the last night.