On Tuesday morning the knowing ones laid their nobs together as to a spot of ground, and a field at Haversham, about five miles from Stony Stratford, was named as the scene of action. Thither the travellers repaired, and a few minutes past twelve o’clock Sam, attended by Curtis and Oliver, threw in his tile. Sam sported silk stockings. Davis appeared immediately afterwards, followed by Sampson, and Johnny Cheetham, of Manchester. The colours, yellow for each of the combatants, were tied to the stakes. Sam was the favourite for choice; but his friends were not inclined to give above five to four. Sam won the toss.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Davis reminded us of Bishop Sharpe, but was even more formidable in appearance. He had been well trained; in fact, he was up to the mark, and his heart also in the right place. To win, and nothing else but to win, he said, he left Manchester. Sam was gay as a lark, but his friends did not think him so well as he might have been, and one of his knuckles on the left hand was tender and swelled. Sam had the advantage in height and length, but the superiority in weight was with Davis. The latter hero looked every inch a milling cove. On appearing at the scratch Davis was still cautious, and watching the movements of Sam from his eyes down to his toe. Sam also measured his opponent at all points, and felt assured that he had a rum customer before him. Offers on both sides, but no blows; at length Davis rushed in, and slightly planted a hit on Sam’s arm. Sam, with great skill, crept, as it were, by degrees, up to his adversary, and let fly on Davis’s sensitive plant. Davis’s ogles winked again, (“Sam for £100!”) A trifling exchange occurred, when Sam cried, out, “First blood!” the claret slightly appearing on the mouth of Davis. Sam was not long before he planted another snouter, but Davis received it very coolly. Davis put in a body hit. Exchange of blows; when they separated, Sam waiting for another turn. A long pause. Davis would not make play. Sam planted another successful noser. Several minutes had elapsed; so much caution was observed on both sides that it was certain that a long fight would be the result. Sam retreated from some heavy work to a corner of the ring, where he received a bodier; but he returned a heavy nobber, which sent Davis staggering until he went down. This was considered a knock-down blow; and the two events had been obtained upon the part of Sam, as to first blood and the first knock-down blow. (The Samites opened their mouths like good ones, saying, it was as right as the day, and offering any money on the son of the Phenomenon.)
2.—Davis hit Sam on the ribs. Sam returned right and left. Davis missed two heavy blows. A long pause. Sam again felt for the nose of his opponent. Davis gave two body hits, but they were short, and not effective. Counter-hits; but the length of Sam gave him the “best of it.” Another tedious pause. Sam walked round his opponent to get an opening. (“As you are a fine fighter,” said Sampson, “why don’t you go to work?” Curtis observed to Sampson, “Do you recollect Ned Neale?”) Davis stopped a left-handed blow cleverly; he also got away from another. The men now went to work, and several blows were exchanged. In closing Sam endeavoured to fib his adversary; but the strength of Davis was too much for him, and in struggling for the throw Sam got down well. “Well done, Sam!” from the London boys.
3.—The claret was now visible upon the mug of Davis, and the nose-enders he had received put him on the winking system. This round was a truly tedious one—five minutes at a time and no blows passed. Sam was determined, like a skilful general, not to lose an inch of ground, and only to hit when it was a certainty to get home. Sam let fly, and the face of his adversary napped it. Some sharp fighting occurred, Davis endeavouring to do mischief, and he ultimately succeeded in planting a desperate left-handed hit on the side of Sam’s head, which floored the Young One. The Lancashire lads began to open their mouths—“That’s right, Dick!”—while the Samites not only looked blue, but were silent as fish.
4.—Sam looked rather stupid; he was labouring under the effects of the last blow. Davis did not follow up his success, but waited for Sam to make play. The latter with great ease put in a rum one, and Davis put up his hand to feel if his nose was in the right place. Sam stopped a well-meant body blow. A short rally, but Sam broke away. In closing some expressions of disapprobation saluted Davis for his mode of throwing. But as it did not appear to be done intentionally, the umpires did not notice it, and Sam was under.
5.—This was a short round, but the milling in it was better than in any of the preceding rounds. The exchanges were at par. Davis thrown.
6.—Several of the London Fancy began rather to be alarmed, and got their money off by backing Davis. Excepting his nob he was none the worse for the battle, although one hour and more had passed away. The science displayed by Sam was the delight of the amateurs; he jobbed Davis repeatedly; but the game of the latter was not to be reduced by the left-handed blows of Sam. The right eye of Davis was cut in the corner, and the claret was streaming from his nose. He made some counter-hits, but had the worst of the round until he went down.
7–9.—The fighting of Davis in all these rounds was the same; he would not go in; and stood out to be nosed at the will of Sam. The latter was thrown heavily in the last round.
10.—This was a long round. Sam was more than cautious; and under the circumstance of his bad hand his fighting was entitled to praise. The lip of Davis was cut severely. He received lots of smashers in the face, and the claret running down his throat annoyed the Lancashire man much. In closing Davis was under.