33.—The state of Turner now appeared so piteous, and his bravery so much the praise of the spectators, that several persons cried out, “Do not let him fight any more.”—“Don’t say that, gentlemen,” replied Owen, “he’s worth twenty beaten men!” Turner, however, went down from a facer.
34 and last.—The admiration of all present was expressed at Turner again coming to the scratch; and although in a state of exhaustion, he was cool, collected, and as game as a pebble. After some other hits, a blow on the left side of Turner’s head floored him, that he could not come to time. Two hours, nineteen minutes, and thirty seconds had elapsed.
Remarks.—The first act of Randall, on being pronounced the victor, was to push the crowd away from him, and to clasp the hand of his brave fallen foe with much zeal and friendship; while Turner, nobly disdaining animosity, gently patted Randall on the back, in token that he was the best man, and had won the battle nobly and in gallant style. The amateurs applauded both of them, and pronounced them the two best bits of stuff, of their weight, in this country. Turner, it seems, on being repeatedly solicited to give in, indignantly spurned such advice, asserting that he could yet win the battle. His brother, Mr. Baxter, at length insisted that he should fight no longer, which put an end to the contest.
On victory being declared in favour of Randall, Turner was immediately carried from the ground by Sutton, in a distressed state, to a neighbouring farmhouse, put to bed, and every attention and assistance administered to his wants that humanity could suggest. It is well known that, heavy as the blows were, added to the extremity of pain he must have felt from the severity of punishment he had received, these were “trifles light as air,” compared to the anguish which his mind suffered at the recollection, afflicting to a brave man, of defeat. He was very ill, but complained most of the body blows. Randall, in the course of the Saturday evening, arrived in town, anxious to meet his better half and son; the latter was about two years old.
The public interest was so great upon this occasion that hundreds surrounded the turnpike gates to learn the name of the winner.
Randall at this time announced his retirement from the ring, and his intention to serve the public as a publican. We find in Monday morning’s Morning Chronicle, after the fight, the following paragraphs headed:—
“Remnants of the Fight.—Daylight on Sunday morning discovered the remains of several gigs lying along the wayside, which had been floored by coming in contact with each other from the narrowness and badness of the roads. Beds could not be procured at any of the inns; and, in consequence, hundreds were compelled to travel in the dark. The horses were all dead beat, the long faces not to be described, and the cleaning out immense. Near the dwelling of Randall, the Cock, in Tottenham Court road, hundreds were waiting for the result of the event; and, upon the arrival of Jack, the applause he received rent the air. The mob round Belcher’s door was beyond all precedent. In the Borough Market, Cribb’s house was equally besieged, and those of Harmer, Oliver, and Burn, crowded and surrounded. The sale of newspapers was as great as if some important victory had been achieved on the continent, so much anxiety was felt upon this battle. The first news which arrived in London was that Turner had gained the day. Numerous bets were made upon the information, and the hoax was not dispelled till ten o’clock on Saturday night.
“Turner arrived in town last (Sunday) night; and notwithstanding the numerous blows he has received upon his face, it was astonishing to see how quickly the appearance of punishment had left it.”
At a sporting dinner at Franklin’s,[[154]] on December 22, 1818, to celebrate Randall’s victory, a noble lord, a staunch patron of boxing, proposed to back Martin against the Nonpareil. Martin, who had just defeated “the invincible” Jack Scroggins (as Pierce Egan calls him after four defeats), in the previous week (December 18th), was then in the height of his fame; yet a backer of Randall not only accepted the proposal but offered, lest Martin’s friends should draw back, to fight £150 to £100; so good a thing did he think it; though Martin was a stone heavier, touching 11st. 5lbs. In a little row with the ponderous Burn, Randall displayed his skill upon the “big ’un,” and offered to fight him for £100, before his match with Martin. These were of course mere “wild and wandering words, my lord.” For the match with Martin, £50 on the part of Martin, and £75 for Randall, were posted on the last day of the year 1818, at Burn’s, and the 4th of May was fixed for the meeting, that it might not interfere with Newmarket.
Randall went into training at Hampstead, and in March, in consequence of some difference of opinion between his trainer and Martin’s, a foot-race of 100 yards was proposed for £5 a-side. The men agreed to run, and came together, when Martin beat Randall cleverly by seven yards. The reporter adds: “This was the first time Randall’s name was coupled with defeat, but then it was his feet that betrayed him, his fists had no hand in it.” “This was thought,” as “Elia” says in his “Essays,” “smart writing for newspapers thirty years ago.”