While Spring was taking off his boots, Cribb and Ned Painter put on knee-caps, made of chamois leather and stuffed with wool. It having been circulated in Ireland that Painter used his knee against Langan when he was on the ground, in the fight at Worcester, a sergeant-major in a marching regiment, quartered at Norwich, and occasionally visiting the house of Painter, observed, “By J——s, Mr. Painter, I’ll take care you do not hurt Langan this time with your knees: I’ll have a couple of knee-caps made for you both, and if you mean to give Jack fair play, I insist that you wear them during the battle.” The sergeant had them made according to his own order, and as Painter and Cribb always were lovers of fair play, both these pugilists, with the utmost good humour, placed the caps, tied with a narrow blue ribbon, round their knees.
Langan shortly followed, under the patronage of Colonel O’Neil. Belcher, Harmer, and O’Neil (not “Ned,” of Streatham), his bottle-holder, were in attendance. The Irish champion ascended the stage, and in a modest manner dropped his hat within the rails. He was prepared for action; but the Champion not being ready, he walked up and down the boards with the utmost composure.
A black silk handkerchief was placed loosely round Langan’s neck, which, we understand, was tied by the delicate hands of the lady of a gallant Irish Colonel O’B——, before he left the inn, at which the lady stopped in her journey to the Isle of Wight. Mrs. O’B—— offered him a green handkerchief, as a token of his country; but Langan politely refused, saying, “I am not of importance enough to make it a national affair: I do not wish it, indeed, madam; it is merely to decide which is the best man; therefore, if you please, I prefer a black one, having fought under that colour.” Mrs. O’B——, on tying it round his neck, romantically exclaimed, “You are Irish: colour is immaterial to a brave man: glory is your only object. Go, then, and conquer!” Langan returned thanks very politely for the attention paid to him, and the good wishes of the lady. Everything being ready, the colours, dark blue with bird’s eye for Spring, black for Langan, were tied to the stage, and Mr. Jackson arranged the spectators round the ring in an orderly and comfortable manner. Betting two to one, and five to two, at the beginning of
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Spring never looked so big, nor so well, in any of his previous contests; he appeared perfectly at his ease: coolness sat upon his brow, and his deportment altogether was a fine personification of confidence; indeed, it was observed by a noble lord, “There is something about the person of the Champion, if not truly noble, yet manly and elegant.” Langan also looked well; his face exhibited a tinge of the sun, and his frame was robust and hardy; his loins appeared smaller than in his former contest. His countenance was as pleasant as his opponent’s, and his eyes sparkled with fire and animation. Previous to setting-to, Langan went up to Spring, opening his drawers, and observed, “See, Tom, I have no belt about me,” the Champion immediately followed his example, and said (also opening his drawers), “Nor I neither, Jack!” This circumstance elicited great applause from all parts of the ring. “Well done, Langan; bravo, Spring!” Spring now shook his brave opponent by the hand. Cribb laid hold of Tom Belcher’s fist, and Ned Painter shook the bunch of fives of big Paddy O’Neil (shortly afterwards beaten by “my nevvy,” Jem Burn.[[5]]) The men placed themselves in attitude. The glorious moment had arrived, and the seconds, in compliance with the articles, retired to the corners of the stage. This time Langan stood up within the reach of his adversary, and it was pleasing to witness the activity displayed by the combatants moving over the stage to obtain the first hit. A stand still, steadfastly looking at the eyes of each other; at length Langan made an offer, which Spring stopped well. The Champion made a hit, which told slightly on Langan’s nob; the latter fought his way into a close, in which Spring endeavoured to fib his antagonist. Here the struggle began for the throw—it was desperate; the art of wrestling was not resorted to by either of the boxers, and main strength was the trial. Langan broke from the arms of Spring, and a stand still was the result. Langan observed, “First blood, Tom;” which slightly appeared at the corner of Spring’s mouth. The Irish Champion made a good stop, but was blowing a little. Spring planted another facer, when Langan fought his way into a close: a desperate struggle ensued: fibbing was again attempted, when Langan went down on his knees. Spring patted the Irish Champion on the back with the utmost good humour, as much as to say, “You are a brave fellow,” (A thundering report of approbation, and “Well done, Spring!”) Four minutes and a few seconds. The referee, on being asked who drew the first blood, replied, “He did not see any on Spring; but he saw a little on the left cheek of Langan, just under his eye.”
2.—Langan made play; but Spring, with the nimbleness of a harlequin showed the utility of a quick step. The Irish Champion made a rush, when they were again entangled for a short time, until Langan broke away. A pause: breath wanted: and consideration necessary. Langan gave Spring a facer with his right hand, and tried to repeat the dose; another quick movement prevented it, Spring smiling. A little bit of in-fighting: a desperate struggle for the throw: downright strength, when Spring went down, Langan falling heavily upon him. (“Bravo, Langan!”)
3.—The attitudes of the combatants were interesting, and both extremely cautious. Spring got away from one intended for his nob. The science displayed on both sides was so excellent in stopping, that in the ecstasy of the moment the Commander-in-Chief[[6]] loudly exclaimed, “Beautiful.” Another skilful stop by Spring; and one by Langan, “Well done: good on both sides,” observed Mr. Jackson. Langan planted a hit. A pause. (“Fight, Langan,” from Belcher, “you have all the best of it.”) Spring drove Langan to the corner, but the hero of the black fogle got out of danger in style. He made also an excellent stop while on the retreat: Langan made himself up to do mischief, and Spring received loud applause for stopping a tremendous hit. The Champion also bobbed his nob aside, in the Dutch Sam style, from what might have been a floorer. The Champion again broke ground, and bobbed cleverly away from the coming blow. Spring now took the lead famously. He planted a facer without any return; repeated the dose, and administered a third pill. Langan again got out of the corner, by fighting up like a trump. A short stand still. Heavy counter hits. A pause: Spring made another facer; a stand still. The Champion stopped well, and also drove Langan into the corner, but the hero of the black wipe would not be detained; he fought his way out manfully, and, in closing, though the struggle was terrible, Spring obtained the throw. (Loud applause.) This round occupied nearly seven minutes. The left hand of Spring was already going, if not gone.
4.—The “good bit of stuff from ould Ireland” endeavoured to take the lead, and had the best of this round; he fought first. He planted one or two hits, and not light ones either, and would have kept it up, but Spring said “it wouldn’t do,” and stopped him. In fact, this was a well-contested round on both sides; and Langan, after a terrible try for it, got Spring down. (Applause.)
5.—The left ear of Langan was much swelled; he was also piping. The superior science of String enabled him to get away from a number of heavy blows. Langan followed his opponent, trying to do something. Two counter-hits, which reminded both the men they were milling; the claret ran from Spring’s nose. Spring planted a facer; and after a determined struggle on both sides, as Langan was going down, the Champion cleverly caught him a hard blow on the nose. (“That’s the way, Spring; you’ll soon win it.”)
6.—A stand-still for a short time—Spring always taking his time to do his work. Counter-hits that were a little too much for the combatants. Langan began to shift: indeed, Spring had drawn his claret liberally. Both down, Spring uppermost.