“This freak of nature, it would seem, was indebted to his mother for what little instruction he received, the principal of which was an extraordinary volubility of speech; and from his early acquaintance with the streets he picked up the rest of his qualifications.
“Buckhorse’s composition, however rude and unsightly, was not without harmony; and although his fist might not appear musical to his antagonist by its potent touch, yet when applied to his own chin, was capable of producing a variety of popular tunes, to the astonishment of all those who heard and saw him, and by which peculiar trait he mostly subsisted, added to selling little switches for a halfpenny a-piece, his cry of which was so singular, that Shuter, the celebrated comedian, among his other imitations, was more than successful in his mimicry of Buckhorse, which was repeatedly called for a second time.
“As a pugilist, Buckhorse ranked high for strength and endurance among the boxers of the day, and displayed great muscular power in the battles he contested.”
“Boxiana” says, under date 1742, after the fight of Smallwood and Willis, “About this time the noted Buckhorse fought Harry Gray, when the latter got severely punished by this ugly customer.” It is true that this battle took place in 1742, but if Mr. Egan had read Fig’s bill, which he prints at p. 44, vol. i., he would have seen there that, ten years previous (Sept. 18, 1732), it is announced that “Buckhorse and several other pugilists will show the art of boxing.” Unless the infant was eight years old in 1720, he must have been “noted” enough to be specially underlined in capital letters at twelve years old! Fig died in 1734 (see p. 12, ante). Buckhorse continues, too, it will be seen, in Broughton’s bill for his “New Amphitheatre,” on the 13th of March, 1743 (p. 24, ante), and is there advertised, not for a match among the eight men specially named as to be paired, but in a singular manner, indicative of a mêlée rather than a boxing match. Thus: “N.B. There will be a battle royal by the Noted Buckhorse and seven or eight others, after which there will be several bye-battles with others.” Buckhorse seems to have fought previously in these bye-battles, e.g., that with Harry Gray (who here appears among the men to be matched), two years previously (23rd Nov., 1741), after Tom Smallwood had defeated Harris. (See ante, p. 38.)
There is something truly Hogarthian in the portrait handed down to us; and as he was a contemporary of “the valiant Fig,” it is no strained supposition that it came originally from the great English master’s pencil, as well as that of the champion himself.
“As ugly as Buckhorse” was for a long time the uncomplimentary expression for a remarkably ugly man. This singular being is said to have been in the custom of allowing himself to be knocked down for a trifling gratuity by any one who might fancy a trial of the strength of his own arm.
TOM FAULKNER, THE CRICKETER—1758–1791.
One of the best men of his day, and who divided his attention between the two great English games, cricket and boxing, both, in a scientific form, nearly contemporaneous, was Tom Faulkner. Twice, fired with the ambition of holding the champion’s title, did he enter the lists with the renowned George Taylor, and twice, after a good fight, he succumbed to his master in skill. But Tom feared not an uphill game. He felt that he had the key to the secret of his former defeats, and a third time, in 1758, challenged Taylor to the field. Taylor had now retired, and, as already stated, kept the Fountain at Deptford. The “old ’un” accepted the challenge without hesitation, and in Hertfordshire, one mile and a half from St. Alban’s, on the 13th of August, 1758, the heroes met, the stakes being 200 guineas and the door money. Faulkner, it is said, with the odds of three to one against him, risked all he possessed upon the event. Faulkner, knowing his man, determined to keep him to fighting. “He began the attack with astonishing courage, amounting almost to ferocity. For several of the earlier rounds Faulkner was either knocked down or thrown. About the fifteenth, Taylor was blowing, but in a rally each put in a dozen hard blows before Faulkner levelled his opponent. Taylor now began to shift, and several times fell without a blow.[[26]] This created much disapprobation and confusion, but Faulkner easily consented to proceed. Afterwards they set to more resolutely, if possible, than before, when after a severe contest of one hour and a quarter, Taylor acknowledged himself beaten. They were both carried off the ground, and it was the general opinion that more skill and courage never was displayed by any pugilist in this country. Taylor’s loss of an eye and a blow at the close of the fight on the other were the aiding excuses of his defeat.”
In the next year (1759) Tom Faulkner was in turn challenged by Joe James. Joe came of a fighting family, and his brother Jack James, “the bruiser at Broughton’s Amphitheatre,” with his father, “old Jockey James, of Newmarket,” seconded young Joe. The battle came off at Putney, Surrey, on April 8, 1759, for 100 guineas. “A stage was erected near the White Lion Inn, and they set-to about two o’clock. Before a blow was struck the odds were two to one (they betted preposterously tempting odds in those green and early days) in favour of James, and after the third round five to one. Joe knocked Faulkner down several times (here was piling up the agony), when, in the last round, which was not more than ten minutes from the commencement of the contest, Faulkner, by a well-aimed blow, brought down James (!), on which, though apparently not hurt or even fatigued, he gave in.” We should think so: it would have been mere tempting fortune to go on. The chronicler adds, “the indignation of the spectators was very highly expressed by their hissing him off the ground,”[[27]] which did not, it seems, prevent the bets going with the battle-money. Verily, as Bildad the Shuhite said of the man of Uz, so may we say of this ancient ring-scribe, “Behold, he is yet in his greenness.” “Old Jockey James” seems to have known when to give “the office” that the “book was full.”
Tom appears now to have betaken himself to attacking his opponents’ stumps, and bowling them out with “underhand twisters,” for as yet the hand above the elbow was not, the curve-bladed bat was like a butter-knife, and two stumps with a cross-piece gave every chance that a straight ball would go harmlessly through the wicket. Yet were there skill and enjoyment in those days of our forefathers, and the village green and its May-pole were institutions of “Merrie England.” The May-pole is as extinct as the megatherium, and what has modern science given us in its place? Among those who—