2.—A repetition of Round 1. Roche made play awkwardly; Neale retreated and shifted, stopping him cleverly. At length he in turn stepped in, delivered his one, two, cuttingly, and down went the Devonian. Roche was evidently remonstrating with his seconds in his corner, while his friends of the + division were running about frantically, hedging their bets if they could.
3.—This round only differed from the two preceding in the fact that, after some exchanges, in which the balance was all in favour of Neale, the latter suddenly closed, and giving Roche his leg, clearly threw the wrestler, amid the shouts of the Londoners and the astonished silence of the men from the “West Countrie.”
4, 5, and 6.—Ditto, ditto, ditto. Roche tried, however, a little up-hill fighting, and hit Neale twice or thrice, but with little effect, while Ned’s left-handers operated like kicks of a horse. (£100 to £10 on Neale offered.)
7.—In a bustling exchange Ned sent his left obliquely over Roche’s shoulder, who instantly clutched him, and endeavoured to bear him down. To the surprise of all Ned fairly lifted his ponderous adversary, and sent him down heavily by the back-heel, falling on him. (Utter dismay among the Devonians, and uproarious joy among the regular ring-goers. Ten to one going begging.)
It would be a mere waste of space to detail further the ensuing rounds, which went on up to the 30th. Roche, however, cut up game, and manfully did his best when he found how he was “sold” by his friends, who were themselves deservedly “sold” in turn. In Round 29, Ned being called upon by Spring to “put on the final polish,” went and delivered a left jobbing hit; Roche shifted, and in returning got Ned by the neck, under his arm, and fairly lifted him off the ground. Neale was for a few seconds in a critical position, but Roche, as he hung his weight on him, did not know what to do with him, and instead of being severely fibbed Ned got down cleverly, to the great relief of his anxious friends.
30, and last.—Neale broke ground cautiously, but confidently, making play with both hands, first delivering on the head and following it with a body blow, in the coolest and most workman-like manner, Roche “standing it like a lamb,” as one of his backers bitterly remarked. Neale after following him round the ring, at length caught him a straight one on the nose, then a flush hit on the mouth, and Roche went down on his back, Neale falling over him. When Roche was in his corner there seemed to be a sort of conference, when Ned walked across and assured Roche that he “meant to win and no mistake, so he might go on if he liked.” This plain hint was duly appreciated, and Roche declared he would “fight no more.” Time, thirty minutes.
Remarks.—A less accomplished fighter than Roche never stripped to contend with so tried a boxer as Ned Neale. Independent of heavy slowness, his ideas of defence and stopping were of the clumsiest and most puerile description. Though no doubt superior to Ned as a mere wrestler, even in this he was taken by surprise and signally overthrown. Great pains were taken to circulate stories of the strength and prowess of Roche, to cover the arranged defeat of Neale, as the vanquished man afterwards confessed. There is no doubt that Roche first issued his challenge inconsiderately, and, from an undue estimate of his own boxing capabilities; but that his confidence was based upon the information that he was to have an easy victory, all matters being made smooth for the result. Poor Roche, in truth, was a mere tool in the affair, and paid the penalty of his presumption and credulity.
Neale returned to the Swan Inn to dress, and after his ablutions met a party of friends from Portsmouth at dinner, his features being without a scratch. In the afternoon his “caravan” set out, decorated with blue and white favours, and accompanied a pair of Kentish-keyed bugles—the predecessors of our modern cornets-à-piston—on a drive through the villages, amid the cheers of the multitude, to Milford, where, on reaching his training quarters, he found the house ornamented with blue and white bunting, and bannerets of blue and white ribbons, with mine host Mandeville at the door, his old wrinkled face cracking like a mealy potato as he announced dinner number two, which was prepared in his spacious and convenient club-room. A score of smiling friends welcomed the victor, and Ned’s health was drunk with enthusiasm. Neale declared, in returning thanks, that “he was never happier, and hoped he had convinced his friends that he would not deceive them, as honour was dearer to him than money. He had punished those who would have had him rob those to whom he owed his fame and good name, and to deceive those who meant wrong he considered both fair and honest.”
Far different was the case with poor Roche. After being taken back to his inn and bled—for which one of his chapfallen backers tendered the operator a shilling—he was deserted, and but for one friend might have been almost penniless. That the downfal of the “clever ones” was signal was manifest, and those country friends whom they “let into the secret” were loud in their protestations of the whole affair being “a fluke.” Two or three London houses used by the conspirators, which had prepared illuminations in honour of the “certainty,” were conspicuous for their total eclipse when the real news arrived.
Neale and Roche showed on the following Thursday, at Harry Holt’s benefit, Roche exhibiting heavy marks of head punishment, while Neale had not a scratch.