And soon shalt thou have all thy wishes supplanted;
The stuff will drop in these parts, when ’tis chaunted
That Randall is short—Oh! the lad that hath fit!”
To this brilliant squib poor Pierce innocently puts it upon record that he “wrote a poetical reply,” which he forwarded to the editor of the Morning Chronicle, “who did not publish it.” We should have wondered if John Perry had done so. Accordingly Pierce resolved to “print it, and shame the fools.” Those who delight in doggrel will find this “rejected address” at pp. 112 and 113 of the fourth volume of “Boxiana.”
A third match was, however, hastily made on March 11, 1822, after a dispute; it ended in a wrangle, and a forfeit of Randall’s backers’ money, owing to failure in a deposit, fixed to be made good at Spring’s; Martin received the £200 down.
“More last words” appear from time to time in the papers, in the shape of challenges, acceptances, replies, and rejoinders, signed by Randall, Martin, and a host of pseudonymous friends, backers, “Impartial Observers,” “Justitias,” and the like, till the public became sick of this vamped up “literature of the ring,” as the historian innocently calls it. Pages of this rubbish are stuffed into the volumes of “Boxiana.” The “third great match between Randall and Martin,” was made for 1,000 guineas, and “the money all made good over a sporting dinner at Randall’s, November 5, 1822.” On the 15th of the same month, however (we condense from “Boxiana”), at Jackson’s rooms, Bond Street, it was announced that Mr. J. had received a letter from Mr. Elliot, the backer of Martin, requesting that he would send him a cheque for the £500, stating that his man should not fight against nothing, as Martin would be sued for the £200 forfeit he had received from the backers of Randall. Randall expressed himself warmly on the subject, declaring he had been ill-treated. He had lost his time, left his business to go into training, and spent a considerable sum of money. A benefit was accordingly organised for Randall, which took place at the Fives Court, on the 4th of December, 1822, and was overflowingly attended.
In January, 1823, Randall and Josh Hudson wishing to give Jack’s old Hampstead trainer, the well-known Bob Pilch, a turn, were enjoying themselves at the Horse and Groom. It is and always has been a penalty of celebrity in any line of life to be intruded upon by the impertinent, the curious, and the conceited. Jack Randall and his friend Josh. were soon objects of vulgar attention, when they went out to take the air in the village. An elderly man among their followers, who ought to have known better, and who had been indulging too freely, several times touched Randall in the back with an umbrella as he was ascending the steep hill, when the Nonpareil forbearingly asked him to desist; no further notice would have been taken of the rudeness had it not been for a brewer’s servant and his companions. This fellow, known as “The Cock of Hampstead,” six feet in height, and about thirteen stone, had, it seems, a hankering for a “shy at Randall,” and thought this a fine opportunity for the experiment. We quote from “Boxiana.” “He put out his tongue by way of derision, saying, ‘Who cares for Randall or Josh. Hudson, I wonder? They would be afraid to talk to a younger man so!’ and, without further notice, gave Randall a flip on his nose, by way of notice of his intentions. Jack returned the compliment with interest, not wishing to remain long in debt to the man of grains. During the first and second rounds nothing but sharp work was displayed, the fighting being all on the side of Randall, and the strength on that of the Cock. In the third round Jack received so severe a blow on the tip of his shoulder, added to the tightness of his coat, that he could not lift up his arm, and immediately tore off his Benjamin. The little trump, being disencumbered from his togs, then went to work with the big one in terrific style (something like the slaughtering mill in which he so dreadfully served out Baruk, the Jew); and in two more rounds the man of grains was so punished about his nob, that it was pitiable to behold. Randall, in going down with the Cock, never left him, but tremendously fibbed his opponent. On Josh picking up Randall, he felt a little surprised on viewing the face of the latter, which, to all appearance, looked as bad as his adversary’s; but, on wiping of it, Hudson laughingly exclaimed, ‘Oh, I perceive you have only fell into the paint-pot, you are not hurt; but you should not have robbed your opponent of any of his colour. A novice serve you so, very likely indeed!’ The sixth round put an end to the crowing of the Cock; he was quite done up, and was so altered in complexion, as scarcely to be recognized by his friends. His pal, another big one, also fell foul of Jack, when Josh was about to tackle him. ‘Never mind,’ said Randall, ‘I have got a little one for him presently.’ One round completely satisfied the second hero of the grain fraternity, who received in that small space of time pepper enough to last him for a twelvemonth. Randall and Josh now reached the Horse and Groom without any further molestation; but as they were blowing a cloud, and laughing over the various scenes which had crossed their career, a third hero of the grain department put in his appearance, with £100 to fight Randall. On Hudson chaffing this chap, that ‘he believed Jack could wap the brewery all round,’ he took fire, and thought he could punish Josh. ‘Well,’ replied Hudson, ‘perhaps you may; but if you will take a little bit of amusement with me on the heath, as I would not on any account create a riot in honest Bob’s house, you will then know a little more about the matter.’ The grain cove entertained an opinion, ‘the weather was rather too cold for the sport,’ fobbed up his blunt, and on his ‘better half’ looking into the room after him, he retired in a whole skin. The Nonpareil and John Bull fighter then spent the evening pleasantly, returned to London comfortably, and reached their places of roost in perfect safety.
“The name of Randall was now known in the religious world, for it is said one of the lower order of ranting preachers, not a hundred miles from Bolton-in-the-Moors, addressed his auditors in the following metaphorical language:—‘I dare say you’d all pay to see a boxing-match between Turner and Randall, and yet you don’t like to pay to see a pitched battle between me and Beelzebub. Oh, my friends, many a hard knock, and many a cross-buttock have I given the black bruiser for your sakes! Pull, do pull off these gay garments of Mammon; strike the devil a straight blow, and darken his spiritual day-lights! At him manfully, and I’ll be your bottle-holder. I ask nothing but the money, which I hope you’ll not forget before you go.’” “Boxiana,” vol. iv., pp. 120–122.
At Dick Curtis’s benefit (March 27, 1823), Randall asked Gipsy Cooper if he had challenged him for £200 a-side as was reported. Cooper replied, “No, I did not, you are too good a fighter for me, Jack.” At Spring’s benefit, however (May 5th, 1823), the Gipsy challenged Randall for £200 a-side, authorised by Mr. Elliott, his backer, so to do. Randall replied he would fight for £300 a-side; he was settled in business, and had a wife and three children to provide for, less would not suit him; indeed he did not mean to fight any more prize battles. Randall’s challenger did not persevere, and from this time Randall attended to his business at the Hole-in-the-Wall, which is frequently named in the progress of pugilistic matches and deposits for sporting events. One little episode of Jack’s publican’s life, as we find it reported in the papers for January, 1826, we will find room for, as it gives us a glimpse of the character for forbearance which has always marked, in our experience, the true-bred and courageous pugilist.
“Hatton Garden, January 24th.—A fashionably dressed man about the middle age was brought up from the Eagle Street Watchhouse, where he had passed the previous night, on the introduction of Mr. John Randall, mine host of the Hole-in-the-Wall, Chancery Lane, the unvanquished hero of the P. R. Jack’s science, every one knows, does not consist in sophistry, though his arguments have often been considered forcible, nay, irresistible. In his own straightforward way, he told Sergeant Sellon a round unvarnished tale, about ‘this ere bit of business,’ as he called it. On Monday night, about a quarter after eleven, the Hole-in-the-Wall was closed up, and Jack was settling the accounts of the day in the bar, as was his wonted custom, when a loud knocking announced the arrival of late visitors. ‘You can’t come in,’ cried Jack, ‘I wish to keep my house regular, and no man comes in here to-night, for it’s after hours, d’ye see.’ This, however, did not satisfy the thirsty party without, and a voice demanded instant admittance, in a rather peremptory tone. ‘You don’t know who I am, Randall,’ quoth the speaker. ‘No, nor I does’nt care,’ responded the Nonpareil. ‘Why, I am Cooper, the mayor of Canterbury; don’t you remember meeting me at the races at Doncaster?’ Randall’s reminiscences are often pleasing, but, at all events, without designing to admit his old acquaintance, he resolved to have the ‘ocular proof;’ he straightway opened the door, when in bolted the pretended mayor and his satellites. ‘Do you know me now?’ ‘No, I don’t,’ said Jack, ‘not a bit of it, neither now nor then; so you’ll please to bundle off, Mr. Mayor.’ This was not intended, and the latter replied, that as he was a ‘flash man,’ he had an undoubted right to accommodation in a ‘flash house,’ and stay there he would; and if Jack pleased, he would have a ‘turn-up’ for it. Jack very good-humouredly hinted, that he would rather see a ‘turn-out;’ whereupon the Canterbury Mayor struck him in the face. The hero of the fistic art, though accustomed to return compliments of this sort with cent. per cent. acknowledgments, very prudently held back, and calling in the watch to his aid, the mayor was put hors de combat, and found himself eventually in the watch-house. The defendant pleaded hard that he never did assume the character which Mr. Randall described. His name was simply John Samuel Powell, that he was a plain country gentleman, and never had the honour of filling the civic chair of Canterbury, though he certainly had met Mr. Randall in company with Mr. Cooper, who held that distinguished station, at the aforesaid races. With respect to the assault complained of, he would not deny the charge, though he had no recollection of it, his senses being steeped in forgetfulness. Having the highest respect for the talents of Mr. Randall, he was anxious to make the amende honorable, if it would be accepted. ‘There now,’ exclaimed Jack, extending his hand, ‘that’s enough, man; but if I had treated you as you treated me, you wouldn’t be standing afore his worship just now.’ The complaint was then dismissed at Randall’s request.”