At a few minutes after one, Neat, arm-in-arm with his backer and Belcher, appeared in the outer space, and threw up his hat, but the sun being in his eyes it did not reach its intended destination, when Belcher picked it up and threw it in the ring. Shortly afterwards the Gas, in a white topper, supported by his backer and Shelton, repeated the token of defiance, and entered the ring sucking an orange. He immediately shook hands with Neat, saying, “How are you?” Mr. Jackson was the referee. Belcher and Harmer were the seconds for Neat, and Spring and Shelton for the Gas. The odds had completely changed on the preceding evening; and on the ground Neat was backed five to four, besides numerous even bets, and being taken for choice. Upwards of £150,000, it is calculated, eventually changed owners on this battle. The Gas weighed twelve stone, Neat nearly fourteen. The colours, deep blue for Gas, and the Bristol yellow man for Neat, were tied to the stakes.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Both men appeared in the highest condition; in fact the backers of Neat and Gas asserted that they were to all intents and purposes fit for milling. The frame of Neat was a fine study; and the comparison between the pugilists was remarkable. The Gas, on placing himself in attitude, surveyed his opponent from head to foot, and Neat was equally on the alert. Hickman kept dodging about in order to get an opening to plant a determined hit; but Neat was too leary to be had upon this suit, and whenever the Gas moved, he likewise altered his position. On Neat’s preparing to give a blow, the Gas, smiling, drew himself back; but immediately afterwards, as if resolutely making up his mind to do some mischief, he went right bang in, and with his right hand put in a nobber, Neat retreating. Hickman planted a second blow on his shoulder; he also put in a third hit upon Neat’s left eye, and, elated with his success, he was on the rush to place a fourth blow, when Neat stopped him with a tremendous hit on his throat, which made the Gas stagger a little. Hickman, however, undismayed, attacked Neat with great activity, and the result was, the Bristol hero went down (more from a slip than the severity of the blow) between the legs of Hickman, the Cockneys shouting for joy, and the regular fanciers declaring “it was all right, and that Gas would win it easy.” (Seven to four on Gas.)
2.—Hickman came laughing to the scratch, full of confidence; but on his endeavouring to plant his tremendous right-handed hit on the throat of his antagonist, the length of Neat prevented it, and the blow alighted on his shoulder. The Gas again endeavoured to make it, when the Bristol hero gave Hickman so hard a blow on his box of ivories that he chattered without talking, and went back from his position as if he could not keep it; he also was compelled to make a pause before he again commenced the attack. The Gas got away smiling from a left-handed hit, when he rushed in with uncommon severity, and, after an exchange of blows, they both went down, Neat undermost. (Another loud shout for Hickman, the odds rising on him, and “he’ll win it to a certainty,” was the cry.) While sitting on the knee of his second the Gas winked to his friends, as much as to give the office “it was all right.”
3.—If the backers of the Gas could not see the improvement of the Bristol hero, Hickman was satisfied that he had a dangerous customer before him, and found that the length of arm possessed by his opponent rendered it highly necessary for him to act with great caution; he, therefore, on coming to the scratch, made a pause, and did not appear, as heretofore, eager to go to work. Neat was all caution and steadiness, and determined to wait for his opponent; the Gas, in consequence, was compelled to make play, and he planted a sharp hit on Neat’s head, and, laughing, nodded at him. Encouraged by this success, he was about furiously to repeat the dose, when Neat caught him with his left hand on his nob, which sent the Gas down on his knee; but his courage was so high and good, that he jumped up and renewed the fight like a game cock, till he was hit down by another tremendous blow. (The Bristolians now took a turn with their chaffers, and the shouting was loud in the extreme. The partisans of the Gas-light Man were rather on the fret, and several of them had “got the uneasiness.”)
4.—It was now discovered by the knowing ones that they had not consulted Cocker; it was also evident (but rather too late to turn it to their advantage) that Neat was as quick as his opponent, a better in-fighter, with a tolerable knowledge of the science, and not such a roarer as he had been said to be. The severe nobbers the Gas had received in the preceding round had chanceried his upperworks a little, and, on his appearing at the scratch, he again made a pause. He saw the length of his opponent was difficult to get within; and he also saw that, if he did not commence fighting, Neat was not to be gammoned off his guard for a month. Hickman went in resolutely to smash his opponent, but he was met right in the middle of his head with one of the most tremendous right-handed blows ever witnessed, and went down like a shot. (The Bristolians now applauded to the echo, and the London “good judges,” as they had previously thought themselves, were on the funk. “How do you like it?” said one of the swells, who was pretty deep in it. “Why,” replied the other, “that blow has cost me, I am afraid, a hundred sovereigns.”)
5.—Gas came up an altered man; indeed, a bullock must seriously have felt such a blow. He stood still for an instant, but his high courage would not let him flinch; he defied danger, although it stared him in the face, and, regardless of the consequences, he commenced fighting, made some exchanges, till he went down from a terrible hit in the mouth. (The Bristol boys hoarse with shouting, and the faces of the backers of Gas undergoing all manner of contortions. “That’s the way,” said Tom Belcher. “It’s all your own. You’ll win it, my boy: only a little one now and then for the Castle.”)
6.—The mouth of the Gas was full of blood, and he appeared almost choking when time was called. He was getting weak; he, nevertheless, rushed in and bored Neat to the ropes, when the spectators were satisfied, by the superiority displayed, that Neat was the best in-fighter. He punished Gas in all directions, and finished the round by grassing him with a belly puncher that would have floored an ox. This hit was quite enough to have finished the pluck of two good men. (The long faces from London were now so numerous, that no artist could have taken their likenesses. The Bristolians were roaring with delight, “Didn’t I tell thee what he could do? The Gas is sure to go out now!” “Not this time,” replied a few out-and-outers from the Long Town, who endeavoured to face it out in favour of Hickman, while anything like a chance remained.)
7.—Spring and Shelton were very attentive to their man, and led him up to the scratch at the sound of time. The Gas was sadly distressed, and compelled to pause before he went to work; but Neat waited for him. The Gas was about to make play, when Belcher said to Neat, “Be ready, my boy, he’s coming.” The Bristol hero sent the Gas staggering from him by a nobber, but Neat would not follow him. On the Gas attempting to make a hit, Neat again put in a tremendous blow on his mouth that uncorked the claret in profusion. The Gas recovered himself to the astonishment of all present, went to work, and, after some desperate exchanges, sent Neat down. This change produced a ray of hope on the part of his backers, and “Bravo, Gas! you’re a game fellow, indeed.” The anxiety of Tom Belcher to be near his man, occasioned Shelton to remark to Mr. Jackson, that if Tom did not keep away from Neat, according to his order, he should likewise keep close to the Gas. “Tom,” said Shelton, “you had better come and fight for Neat.”
8.—The Gas, laughing, commenced the attack, but received such a giant-like blow on his right eye that he was convulsed; such were the terrific effects of this hit, that Hickman, after standing motionless for about three seconds, appeared to jump off the ground, his arms hanging by his sides, when he went down like a log on his back, and the shock was so great that his hands flew up over his head: he was totally insensible; so much so that Shelton and Spring could scarcely get him off the ground. The whole ring seemed panic-struck. Spring, vociferating almost with the voice of a Stentor to awake him from his stupor, with the repeated calls of “Gas! Gas! Gas!” The head of Hickman had dropped upon his shoulder. The spectators left their places and ran towards the ropes, thinking it was all over; indeed, the anxiety displayed, and the confusion which occurred in whipping out the ring, had such an effect that several persons observed a minute had passed away. On time being called, the Gas opened one eye wildly, for he had now only one left, the other being swelled and bleeding copiously.