BOB GREGSON—1807–1809.[[130]]
Few men were more widely known in the sporting circles of London, for the few years that he made the metropolis his home, than the burly, bigboned, gigantic landlord of “Bob’s Chophouse,” better known as the Castle, Holborn; the head-quarters of pugilism in the great days of the Belchers, Cribbs, and Tom Spring; the first and last, for a long series of years, being bonifaces of this well-known hostelry.
Gregson was born July 21st, 1778, at Heskin, three miles from Chorley, and ten from Preston, Lancashire; and we have Pierce Egan’s word for it, who doubtless had it from Bob’s own lips, that he commanded the Liverpool and Wigan Packet, for several years with credit and respect. What follows is somewhat strange. “For the period of seven years, all the pugilistic heroes of Lancashire, as well as those from other parts, that met him in combat, surrendered to his conquering arm, and the name of Gregson was resounded from one end to the other as the proud champion of that most populous county. His pitched battles were numerous; but the skirmishes of Bob were by far too frequent for us to treat upon, and we have, therefore, slightly touched on those achievements which claim a prominency of feature.”
The captain of “the Liverpool and Wigan Packet,” must have had his hands pretty full, for besides “all the pugilistic heroes of Lancashire, as well as those from other parts,” Bob Gregson is related to have beaten a rival for the hand and affections of Mrs. G., of the name of Harry Mandersley; after which one “Ned Waller, a sort of second champion of the county,” had to be disposed of, which he of course was. James Ayschire, Ned Prescot, James Benton, “one Tom Dawber,” Robert Fance, Tom Wright, Bill Hallrop, and other real or phantom boxers, all fall in succession before Gregson’s “conquering arm,” each under circumstances minutely manufactured with a detail and diffuseness that may well excite the envy of the most prolix penny-a-liner that ever stuffed out emptiness with verbose nothings. Finally Pierce brings down the “tremendous Joe Berks,” introducing him in the following choice rhodomontade:—
“The tremendous Joe Berks now made his appearance in Manchester, threatening destruction to all the pugilists in the county, who should have the temerity to enter the lists with him, when Gregson was once more called upon to avenge the honour of his native soil, and to expel, if possible, this daring invader. It was a truly brave contest, and the gluttony of this pugilistic cormorant was never more completely satisfied, and who publicly declared a short time afterwards, that his appetite had never been good since that period. The battle took place at Higher Hardwicke, when after forty minutes had elapsed Berks acknowledged Gregson to be his master.” Need we say, after a perusal of Berks’ memoir, that the whole of this is pure invention. Gregson and Berks never met. The historian proceeds, “Soon after this circumstance,” the imaginary encounter with Joe Berks, “Bob’s prospects in life experienced a material change, owing to a severe domestic calamity, in the loss of an amiable and affectionate partner; and he now not only bid [bade] adieu to Lancashire, but in all probability to pugilism in future, in being presented with a commission in the army, which regiment, named after the county, was quartered at Plymouth, to which place Gregson repaired, to join the standard; but finding that his finances were not able to support the character of an officer with that respectability which such a situation required, he relinquished the project, and entered, rather imprudently, into the gay pursuits of fashion at that place, that when he arrived in the metropolis, to use a sporting phrase, he was nearly cleaned out. Bob now experienced some vicissitudes—facts are stubborn things—and it was from the necessity of the moment only, that Gregson was induced to enter the ring again as a pugilist.” Of this we may believe as much or as little as we please. The Lancashire hero’s first interview with John Gully, seems, however, somewhat inconsistent with “behaviour becoming an officer and a gentleman,” as the phrase runs. His eulogist shall tell it in his own words: “Upon Bob’s first meeting with Gully, at a public house, some harsh epithets passed between them, when Gregson, to show his strength took Gully up under his arm, and threw him down on the ground; upon which a match was the consequence between those heroes.” This is pretty good. We will not, however, pursue this branch of the subject further.[[131]]
BOB GREGSON.
Gregson, who stood six feet one inch and a half in height, and weighed fifteen stone six pounds, was a Lancashire rough, of undaunted courage, immense endurance, trusting to brute strength for victory, and falling before skilful practitioners of the art of self-defence. His battles with Gully at Newmarket, October 14, 1807; and at Markyate Street, Herts., May 10, 1808 (for which see life of John Gully); with Tom Cribb, at Moulsey, October 25, 1808 (see life of Tom Cribb), sufficiently illustrate his strength and courage. As to Gregson’s poetical merits, whereon Pierce Egan expatiates in several pages of his own marvellous prose, we may pass them safely to the limbo of lost reputations; lest, however, we should be thought invidious, we will give the best stanza we can find among the specimens preserved in “Boxiana,” vol. i., p. 358, in the Appendix of “Prime Chaunts for the Fancy.”
“The garden of freedom is the British land we live in,
And welcomes every slave from his banish’d isle,