11.—It was evident to every spectator that Inglis could not win. He staggered like a drunken man; but his goodness enabled him to show fight, and he made blows with the most determined spirit. The ould one again caught him with an upper-cut, and, as he went down, Ned might have added more punishment, but he nobly disdained taking an advantage, held up his hands, and walked away, amidst loud shouts of approbation. (“Bravo! Ned; that is like an Englishman.” “True courage is always backed by feeling and generosity—first the lion and then the lamb,” said a cove in a rusty black suit, something like a schoolmaster. “Never mind,” said one of the Partiality Club, “it is good doctrine, come from whom it may.”)
12.—Short, but terribly severe. Inglis was floored sans ceremonie by Turner. (“Take the brave fellow away.”)
13.—When time was called, his seconds bustled him up; but Inglis was in a doldrum till they shook him, and, on roaring out in his ear, “Ned’s coming,” he opened his eyes wildly, and, as if by instinct, prepared himself to fight. He rushed towards his opponent, but Turner sent him down.
14.—“His youth will bring him round,” observed a few of his friends. “Not this fight,” said a costermonger; “he’s done brown twice over.” Inglis again down. A hat was thrown up—
15th and last.—But he came again to the scratch. Inglis staggered about for a second or two, when he fell stupefied, Turner merely looking at him. It was over in forty-six minutes.
Remarks.—Science must win, if supported by moderate strength; science will win if a man is out of condition—that is to say, science will get a man out of trouble; it enables a boxer to wait for his man, time him, meet his opponent, bring him down to his weight, and ultimately prove the conqueror. It is not necessary for a long yarn to describe the beauties of the “ould one” in the ring; suffice it to observe, Ned is a master of the art; his stops were interesting to the spectator; his hits were decisive, and he finished off his man like a first-rate artist. Excepting a tremendous right-handed lunge which Ned received between his eyes in the first round, all the other hits did little execution. The method adopted by Turner to lead his opponent into trouble, and then punishing him for his temerity, evinced skill and tactics of the highest order of milling. Inglis proved himself a game man in every point of view; but, valuable a quality as endurance must always be considered in boxing, it is of little use when a man’s head gets into chancery. Inglis was beaten to a stand-still, and ought to have been taken away three rounds before the fight was over. Inglis was a brave, worthy, honest, well-conditioned creature. Turner must have won the battle much sooner had not one of the small bones in his left hand been broken in the early part of the fight.
Poor Ned was highly pleased to take leave of the prize ring in the character of a winner, and dined with his friends at Bill Moss’s, the Crown, in the Borough, on Monday, November 15, 1824. He was surrounded by some capital sporting patrons. On his health being drunk, he said, “It was very likely that he should not fight any more; but if he did alter his mind, he would always behave like a man.”
Turner gradually began to decline in health: he became lame, and, labouring under the effects of an asthma, announced his farewell benefit to take place in April, 1826. His last appearance on any public occasion, was at Hudson’s dinner, on Thursday, March 31, 1826.
Out of respect to an old favourite in the prize ring, the amateurs mustered strongly at the Tennis Court, on Tuesday, April 18, but it was not made known to the visitors that poor Ned had departed this life on Monday (the preceding day) at two minutes before five in the afternoon. The sets-to, generally, were well contested.
Randall and Scroggins mounted the stage, and having made their bows, the former came forward, and spoke as follows:—“Gentlemen, I am requested by the friends of poor Turner to come forward and express their thanks in his behalf, for the kind and liberal manner in which you have this day manifested an interest in his fate. Gentlemen, Ned and I have been opponents in the ring, but we have always been friends in private, and no man feels more for his situation than I do. That we shall be able to see him here at any future time, I think is more than doubtful; but let us hope we may all see him hereafter” (loud applause). Randall appeared much affected. Jack Scroggins followed. “Gemmen,” said he, “Ned was always a gentlemanly sort of a man—he is now gone to his long home, and I hope God will forgive him, as well as everybody else. Let us all live while we can, and when we can’t live no longer, why, I suppose we must die; and I don’t see why a fighting man shouldn’t see eternity as well as anybody else.”