Hudson, still continuing to rise in the estimation of his friends, was backed against Benniworth, the Essex champion, the hero of the country for several miles round, for 50 guineas a-side. Benniworth was six feet in height, weighing thirteen stone twelve pounds; nevertheless, Hudson was the favourite. This contest took place on Tuesday, April 4, 1820, on a common near Billericay, in Essex. Hudson was seconded by Owen and Purcell; Benniworth was attended by his brother and another yokel.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—About a minute elapsed in sparring, Benniworth making numerous awkward feints, and dancing about, sometimes standing with his right leg first, then changing it for the left. He made three or four hits, but they proved short. At length Benniworth made a slight blow with his right hand on Hudson’s body. Josh. seeing what sort of a customer he had before him, made play, and let fly right and left in the middle of Benniworth’s nob, both of which told, and the claret flowed copiously. Benniworth’s left eye was much damaged. He rushed in to his opponent, when, in getting away, Hudson’s heel hung in the grass, and Benniworth made a slight half round hit on the neck with his left hand, flooring him. (Great rejoicings from the yokels.)
2.—Hudson, with much dexterity, in a sort of half-arm rally, placed three straight hits on Benniworth’s nob. Josh. also drew backwards, and avoided all Benniworth’s half round blows. Hudson now made himself well up, and planted a most tremendous right-handed blow on the nose of his opponent that floored him like a shot. (Any odds, but no takers, and the Johnny Raws all blue.)
Further description would be useless. Hudson had it thenceforth all his own way. He laughed at Benniworth, and nobbed him at pleasure. The Essex champion lost his temper, rushed in, and followed Hudson all over the ring, with his head leaning forward and both his hands open. Hudson kept retreating, and jobbing his adversary on the head with his left hand. Benniworth was a complete receiver-general; nevertheless, he succeeded in driving Hudson to the ropes; but here he had the worst of it, a guinea to a shilling. Josh. nobbed him terribly away; and in following him, floored him with a terrific right-handed hit on his nose. Benniworth, when “time” was called, was in such a state of stupor that he could not leave the knee of his second, whereon Hudson was declared the conqueror.
Thus was the vaunted rustic champion disposed of in the short space of seven minutes. As a scientific pugilist, Benniworth did not appear to possess a single point: he had no idea of fighting. From the moment he entered the ring Hudson kept laughing at him, and beat him without a scratch upon his face. It certainly was a laughable, but not an interesting contest; and it was matter of astonishment how such a boxer could have obtained so terrific a character. Upon the Essex champion coming to himself, he exclaimed, with great surprise, “Be I licked?” “You are, indeed,” replied Josh., laughing; “but you may have a round or two for fun, if you like it, Benny.” “Noa, noa,” said the champion; “as I’ve lost the stakes, there be no fun in that loike.” Benniworth, it seems, had made so sure of conquest, that he invited his mother and sister to be near at hand. The yokels had also booked it, and provided themselves with blue ribbons to decorate their hats the instant victory was declared in Benniworth’s favour.
Josh. was suddenly called into action with Spring at Moulsey Hurst, on Tuesday, June 27, 1820, for a purse of £20; and, notwithstanding the disparity of size, weight, and science between the combatants, Hudson showed himself a good man. (See the Memoir of Spring, vol. ii.)
Hudson, during the time he was at Norwich, had a battle with Abraham Belasco in the long room at Gurney’s Bowling Green, July 19, 1820. In this contest, which might be termed for honour, Josh.’s shoulder went in and out three times.
Moulsey Hurst, on Tuesday, December 5, 1820, was again the favourite “bit of turf” for a genteel mill between a swell of the name of Williams and Josh. Hudson. Williams was unknown to the mass of sporting men; but those persons who knew him pretended to be acquainted with his prime fighting qualities, and chaffed all the old ring-goers out of conceit of their own judgment, and Williams was the favourite, six and five to four. This sort of “whisper” importance was also kept up at friendly Bob Lawrence’s, the Red Lion, at Hampton, where the fancy met to take a bit of a snack before they crossed the water, and make their “books” complete. Richmond, downy as a hammer, spoke in raptures of the swell’s superior science with the gloves. Bill Eales, who had stood before Williams many times, nay, who had given him instructions several years back, pronounced him “a downright slaughterer.” The Master of the Rolls was quite infatuated with this pink of the gloves. Martin had tried him again and again, and not having found Williams “wanting,” was this day £50 the worse for his opinion. Tom Shelton was also led away by the stream, and Spring was taken in upon the same suit. Oliver, too, was out of his know, and out of pocket in consequence. Cocker had nothing to do with the fight in question; indeed, who could make any calculation about an unknown man? Randall and Belcher, somehow or other, were persuaded into the good milling qualities of their hero; in short, there was a sort of fashion attached to the betting. The “Swell” was supported and brought forward by the swells. Judgment was shoved, as it were, into the background, or else a novice in the ring would never have been backed, at high odds, against a well-known high-couraged man, one who had often been put to the test, and admitted to be a boxer of talent. But then the shoulder of Hudson was ricketty; no dependence could be placed upon it. Things went on in this manner till about a few minutes before one o’clock, when Williams appeared and threw his hat into the ring, followed by Belcher and Randall as his seconds. The look of Williams was swellish in the extreme. He bowed in the most graceful manner, and there was a superior air about him. He paced the ring up and down for about eight minutes, when Josh., with his white topper, a fancy upper Benjamin, and a blue bird’s eye round his neck, came brushing along and threw his castor into the ring. He immediately went up to Williams and shook hands with him in the true open-hearted English style. To witness the manly act, this characteristic trait of Britons, is worth more in its influence upon society than the perusal of a thousand canting essays tending to fritter down the courage of Englishmen. Williams observed to Hudson, that he hoped there was no animosity between them. “Not in the least,” said he; “we are going to fight for a prize, and to see which is the best man.” Tom Owen and Ned Turner were the seconds for Josh. The latter tied his colours (yellow) to the stakes, and Randall covered them with the blue of Williams. Owen, who had never seen “the Swell” till he entered the ring with “his boy” Josh., observed to the latter, “Why, my chaff-cutter, if you don’t go and lick this Bond Street blade in a jiffy, the white topper shall never more be placed on your nob. My dear boy, the East against the West End for milling.”
THE FIGHT.