Remarks.—Instead of making any remarks upon the above fight, it might be more proper to say, that the Phenomenon (Dutch Sam), the Nonpareil (Jack Randall), the Champion of England, Tom Johnson, Big Ben, Jem Belcher, the Chicken, Gully, Tom Cribb, etc.—without offering the least disparagement to their courage and abilities—never accomplished anything like the following:—Hickman won three prize battles in thirty-one minutes.
| He defeated | Crawley in | 13½ minutes. |
| 〃 | Cooper 〃 | 14½ 〃 |
| 〃 | Ditto 〃 | 3 〃 |
| 31 |
The preliminaries of Hickman’s match with Tom Oliver are given in that boxer’s life, we shall therefore merely detail the doings of the day of battle.
On Tuesday, June 12, 1821, at an early hour, the road was covered with vehicles of every description, and numerous barouches and four were filled with swells of the first quality to witness the Gas again exhibit his extraordinary pugilistic powers. The Greyhound, at Croydon, was the rallying point for the swells. The fight was a good turn for the road; the lively groups in rapid motion, the blunt dropping like waste paper, and no questions asked, made all parties pleasant and happy. The fun on the road to a mill is one of the merry things of the days that are gone; more character was to be seen there than ever assembled at a masquerade. View the swell handle his ribands and push his tits along with as much ease as he would trifle with a lady’s necklace, the “bit of blood” thinking it no sin to hurl the dirt in people’s eyes; the drags full of merry coves; the puffers and blowers; the dennets; the tandems; the out-riggers; the wooden coachmen, complete dummies as to “getting out of the way;” the Corinthian fours; the Bermondsey tumblers; the high and low life—the genteel, middling, respectable, and tidy sort of chaps, all eager in one pursuit; with here and there a fancy man’s pretty little toy giving the “go-by” in rare style, form altogether a rich scene—the blues are left behind, and laughter is the order of the day. Such is a print sketch of what going to a mill was in days of yore.
It was two to one all round the ring before the combatants made their appearance, and at one o’clock, almost at the same moment, Oliver and Hickman threw their hats into the ropes. Oliver was attended by Harmer and Josh. Hudson; the Gas Man was waited upon by Spring and Shelton. This trio sported white hats. The colours, yellow for Oliver and blue for the Gas, were then tied to the stakes. On Oliver entering the ring he went up to the Gas-light Man smiling, shook hands with him, and asked him how he did, which was returned in a most friendly manner by Hickman. On tossing up for the side to avoid the rays of the sun, Hickman said, “It’s a woman; I told you I should win it.” He appeared in striped silk stockings; and, on stripping, patted himself with confidence, as much as to infer, “Behold my good condition.” Some little difficulty occurred in selecting umpires.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Considerable caution was observed; each dodged the other a little while, made offers to hit, and got away. The Gas endeavoured to plant a blow, but it fell short, from the retreating system adopted by Oliver. The Gas again endeavoured to make a hit, which alighted on Oliver’s right arm; the latter, by way of derision, patted it and laughed. Oliver was now at the ropes, and some exchanges took place; but in a close Oliver broke away, and a small pause ensued. Hickman at length went to work, and his execution was so tremendous in a close that the face of Oliver was changed to a state of stupor, and both went down. Oliver was picked up instantly, but he was quite abroad; he looked wildly, his left ear bleeding; and the cry was, “It’s all up, he cannot come again.” Indeed it was the general opinion that Oliver would not be able again to appear at the scatch. However, the Gas did not come off without a sharp taste of the powers of the Old One.
2.—Oliver was bad; in fact, he was “shaken.” His heart was as good as ever, but his energy was reduced: he got away from a hit. The Gas now put in so tremendous a facer that it was heard all over the ring, and Oliver was bleeding at the mouth. In closing, Oliver tried to fib his opponent, but it was useless; the Gas held him as tight as if he had been in a vice till they both went down. Oliver was so punished and exhausted that several persons cried out, “It’s of no use, take the Old ’un away.”
3.—The scene was so changed that twenty guineas to two were laid upon Hickman. The latter smiled with confidence on witnessing the execution he had done; but the game displayed by Oliver was above all praise: he appeared, after being hallooed at by his seconds, a shade better, and he fought a severe round. The Gas received a terrible body hit, and some other severe exchanges took place. The cunning of Gas was here witnessed in an extraordinary degree; with his left hand open, which appeared in the first instance as if his fingers went into the mouth of Oliver, he put the head of Oliver a-side, and with a dreadful hit, which he made on the back part of his opponent’s nob, sent him down on his face. A lump as big as a roll immediately rose upon it. The Gas in this round was very much distressed; his mouth was open, and it seemed to be the opinion of several of the amateurs that he was not in such high condition as when he fought Cooper, or he must have finished the battle. The Gas once stood still and looked at his opponent; but Oliver could not take advantage of it.
4.—Hickman endeavoured to plant his desperate right hand upon Oliver’s face, but missed and fell. Oliver, in trying to make a hit in return, fell over Hickman; the Gas laughed and winked to his second. It was, perhaps, a fortunate circumstance that Hickman missed this hit, as it might have proved Oliver’s quietus.