“Witness—John Rooke.”
On Tuesday, December 12th, 1826, at South Mimms Wash, Middlesex, fifteen miles from London, this interesting contest was decided. Sampson was thought by his friends to have improved considerably in frame and science since his second contest with Jem Ward—nay, so much so that he was placed as the “second best” on the list of pugilists; indeed, to make use of Sampson’s own words, he acknowledged Jem Ward as his master, but styled himself “foreman to the champion.” In calculating the advantages he possessed over the Streatham Youth, three points were considered in his favour—length, height, and weight; and another point was added by some—the best fighter. Sampson’s immediate friends therefore booked his winning as a certainty, urging, as a proof of their good opinion, that Neale had never beaten or stood before so capital a boxer as Sampson. The latter pugilist also supported this opinion by offering to take long odds that he won the fight in fifteen minutes, and without a black eye. Equally confident were the friends of Neale. They urged that Ned had always proved himself a conqueror, and acted upon the general rule adopted by sporting men—always to back a winning horse and a winning man to the end of the chapter. Five and six to four were betted in numerous instances upon the Streatham Youth.
As the time of fighting drew near the interest upon the battle increased, and large sums of money were sported on the event. At the John Bull Fighter’s dinner, when the whole of the four hundred sovereigns were made good, Sampson and Neale met, but not upon the most friendly terms. Sampson informed the company that he had heard Neale had spoken of him in a disrespectful manner, and he now gave him the opportunity of offering a contradiction to the aspersions he had made upon his character. Neale, with considerable warmth, replied: “You behaved unmanly to me in my own house, Sampson, while I was in a bad state of health, and I will never forgive you till you and I have decided our fight in the ring. Give me five pounds and I will bet you one hundred that I lick you.” To prevent an open row it was judged necessary by the backers of both of the men that they should separate as soon as possible.
Every precaution was used to select a secure place for fighting; and after an assurance that it was likely no interruption would take place, Dunstable Downs was the spot appointed. Sampson left the “Crown” at Holloway, his residence during the time of his training, on the Wednesday previous to the battle, and took up his quarters at the “Posting House,” in Market Street. Neale did not leave the house of his backer at Norwood until Monday morning, when he was placed, on his arrival in London, under the care of Mr. William Giles. Neale, in company with the gay little Boniface of the first market in the world, and Harry Holt, in a post-chaise, reached the Crown Inn at Dunstable about eight in the evening of the Monday.
It might have been anticipated that in consequence of Sampson having pitched his tent in the neighbourhood of the scene of action, a buzz would be created that a prize-fighter was on the spot, and the magistrates would become acquainted with the circumstance. It proved so, for on the Monday morning a notice was sent that he must not fight in the counties of Bedford and Buckingham. This information got wind early on the Monday afternoon, and the town of Dunstable, which otherwise would have been filled to an overflow, was completely spoilt, as the amateurs preferred halting at Redburn and Market Street to proceeding forward on a matter of doubt.
During the whole of the night carriages filled with persons were on the road. An hour before daylight another magistrate arrived in Dunstable, in his gig, declaring himself a magistrate for three counties, and that no mill should take place in Bedfordshire, Buckinghamshire, or Hertfordshire. On his meeting with Sampson, Phil promised the gent he would not exhibit in either of the proscribed counties. It therefore became necessary to hold a council of war. Sampson wished to proceed to Stony Stratford, as a spot where no interruption was likely to take place, but Pierce Egan, on whom the selection of the ground had devolved, decided for Middlesex, acting upon the articles agreed to, which stated the fight was to be within thirty miles of London. The office being given “towards home,” confusion began, and “The devil take the hindmost,” was the word. The northern stage coaches were all filled inside and out, for the sudden turn round had nearly thrown most of the passengers bound for the fight out of distance. All the post-chaises and horses had been previously hired, so nothing else was left to numerous persons, with plenty of cash in their purses, but to toddle for miles through mud, slush, and heavy showers, to the scene of action. It was truly laughable to see lots of heavy swells, with their thick upper toggery tucked up under their arms, trudging along as if pursued by an enemy, their brows covered with perspiration, and their hinder parts splashed with dirt. The muster of the motley group was immense, and the turn-out of Corinthians more numerous than had been seen for months past at a fight. A crowd of fours-in-hand, tandems, curricles, post-chaises and fours, cabriolets, gigs, drags, &c., were all trying to get the best of each other to be early on the ground, and so obtain a good place. At length Mimms Wash appeared in view, a large sheet of water, when Bill Gibbons dashed through the stream with as much sang froid as if he had been crossing a kennel in the streets of London. “We are not going to be outdone by the Ould One!” exclaimed some costermongers, following Bill, and suffering for their temerity by going head over heels in the muddy water mixture, to the no small chaffing and laughter of the crowd. Several pedestrians, regardless of cold or consequences, waded the Wash with as much indifference as if it had been a summer’s day. A swell, who had plunged in up to his middle, invited his fellow-travellers to accompany him through the flood, exclaiming: “I’m a philosopher! Come along! Follow me. I’m not wet at all. You only fancy it is water!” But even this logic had not the desired effect, and his companions preferred being conveyed across the Wash in a coach. The ring was soon made, upon a rising spot of ground in a field hard by, and at a quarter past two o’clock Sampson threw his hat into the ring, amidst loud cheers, followed by his second and bottle-holder, Jem Ward and Jem Burn. Neale soon afterwards repeated the token of defiance, attended by Josh Hudson and Harry Holt. Sampson deliberately tied his colours (pink) upon the stakes; and Holt placed the dark blue bird’s eye for Neale upon those of his opponent. The men were not long in peeling, and at twenty-five minutes after two they shook hands, and the battle commenced.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Both men appeared in excellent condition. Sampson was quite tip-top, but Neale, it was thought, was not exactly weight—that is to say, what he ought to have been—and the judges hinted he was rather thin. The attitudes of the combatants claimed attention; in fact, the contrast was singular. Neale held his left hand firmly above his nob, operating as a kind of office that he was perfectly aware of the danger of the Strong Man’s right mauley. Sampson’s guard was low, but his ogles were on the alert, and he kept a good look-out to do mischief. In most fights, the first round, if not tedious, is generally expected to show superiority of science in one of the men as the first blow is considered of consequence; but in this instance it was extreme caution against extreme caution. Sampson, however, had previously asserted that only let him have the chance of getting Neale before him in the ring, and he would cut his nob to pieces. Such is the difference between theory and practice; Sampson soon found out the difficulty of going to work off-hand with his clever opponent; and Neale, like that great master in the art of war, the Duke of Wellington, was determined not to give away a chance, and preferred the retreating system. Several minutes were occupied in making offers, retreating, dodging, and pacing all over the ring without any effect, Neale jumping back from every attempt of Sampson. The goodness of Ned upon his pins attracted the attention of all spectators. After numerous attempts to do “summat,” Neale having retreated to a corner of the ring, Sampson went in and planted a slight facer. Ned, having no opportunity to make a hit, closed with his adversary. In struggling for the throw, Sampson down and undermost. (The Streathamites opened their chaffing-boxes, and gave him the benefit of their red rags, by repeated shouts of approbation.)
2.—The left arm of Neale was again raised, and Sampson could not make him out. The latter boxer did not at all seem prepared for the mode of defence resorted to by his adversary. Neale, it should seem, had made up his mind to a certain mode of fighting, and was not, by any stratagem of Sampson, to be led away from it. Neal kept walking round his adversary, anxious to obtain an opening, and retreating when anything like danger showed itself. It was remarked by a spectator that “if the one was afraid, the other dared not commence fighting.” Several minutes passed away in looking at each other, and in making feints. Phil at length went to work, but missed a slashing hit, which was calculated to have done mischief. Neale returned, but it was not effective. In closing, Neale threw Sampson heavily. (“Bravo, Neale!” from his partisans.)
3.—Sampson eyed his opponent from head to foot. Both combatants were tired of holding up their arms, or appeared to be so, and Sampson, finding nothing was to be done, dropped his guard, and stood still. Neale also crossed his arms, and viewed his opponent. In fact, it was a complete suspension of hostilities—the spectators at length, became impatient, and expressed their disapprobation. Each man several times made himself up to do mischief, and every peeper was upon the stretch to witness some hits, instead of which retreating was again the order of the day. Sampson, in following Neale, got the latter boxer again in the corner of the ring, when he hit out right and left, and caught Neale on the mug, but Ned returned the compliment. In closing, Sampson went down on his knees, and brought down Neale with him. Odds were betted on Neale.