Remarks.—To sum up the behaviour of the fallen hero in the fight, it is only common justice to say of the Gas, that he cut up, without disparagement, gamer than any man we ever before witnessed. His greatest enemy must join in this remark; indeed, if his countenance was anything like an index of his mind, the courage of Hickman was so high that he appeared to feel ashamed, and to quarrel with nature for deserting him. It is true that he was floored, but it is equally true the Gas was not extinct. “Give him,” said an old sporting man, “but a chance with anything near his weight, and the odds will be in his favour; he will again burst forth with redoubled splendour.” It cannot be denied that Hickman made himself numerous enemies by his chaffing. Out of the ring he was viewed as a great talker, often asserting more than he could perform; but in his battle with Neat he decidedly proved himself no boaster; and in the eyes of the sporting world, although suffering defeat, he raised his character higher than ever it stood before as a pugilist. His fault was, he thought himself unconquerable, and laughed at the idea of weight, length, and strength being opposed to him. If any apology can be offered for Hickman, it is that he did not stand alone in this view of his capabilities, for he was flattered by the majority of the fancy to the very echo, who backed him, on the match being made, nearly two to one.
A parallel might be instituted between Hickman and the lion-hearted Hooper; high patronage, without discretion, ruined the former, and however good nobs for milling boxers may possess, it is too commonly seen they do not wear heads to bear sudden elevation. As a friendly hint to all pugilists we trust this lesson will prove useful to them, and if they will endeavour to avoid “putting an enemy into their mouths to steal away their brains,” all will go right. The fists of pugilists are only to be exercised in the prize ring; the tongues of boxers were never intended to excite terror in the unoffending visitor. Hickman, however, wanted discretion and self-control: he had no reason to be ashamed of this defeat, for it was one of the most manly fights ever witnessed. No closing, no pulling and hauling each other at the ropes, but fair stand-up milling from beginning to end. No pugilist strained every point further to win a battle than the Gas did, and although thousands of pounds were lost on him, his backers had no right to complain.
The behaviour of the subject of this memoir was the admiration of all present: it was unassuming and manly in the extreme. In a word, Neat proved a good fighter, and was thought, before he met with Spring, to be superior to any boxer on the list. He retired from the ring without any prominent marks; nevertheless, he received many heavy blows.
Bristol, in the person of Neat, now claimed the championship. Although its hero bore his blushing honours with becoming modesty, and publicly asserted, at the Castle Tavern, Holborn, on the Thursday after the fight, that he took no merit to himself in having defeated Hickman. “The Gas-light Man,” said Neat, “was over-weighted; but I think he can beat all the twelve stone men on the list. He is, I am convinced, one of the gamest men in the kingdom; and, although I have been a great deal chaffed about as a nobody, I will fight any man in London to-morrow morning for £100 a-side of my own money.”
The result of this mill was a pretty “cleaning out” of the Londoners, who returned to town with “pockets to let.” Nevertheless, there was little grumbling, all uniting in the opinion that Hickman was entitled to praise, doing all that he could to win. The news arrived in London by pigeon about half past three o’clock in the afternoon. It is impossible to describe the anxiety of the great crowds of persons which surrounded all the sporting houses in the metropolis to learn the event. In Bristol it was the same, and the editor of the Gazette of that place thus describes it:—“Such was the intense feeling excited in this city, that the streets were crowded as if an election contest was at its height, all inquiring the result, which was known here about seven o’clock.” The following sentences were exhibited by a boy on a board in the road:—
“Bristol illuminated,
London in darkness,
The Gas extinguished by a ‘Neat hand.’”
The Bristol hero arrived at Belcher’s, the Castle Tavern, Holborn, on Wednesday evening, and made his bow to the Daffy Club. He was received with loud cheers.
The turn of that “tide” which Shakespeare has declared to exist in the “affairs of man” now occurred in the milling career of the “Pride of Bristol,” as he was at this time termed. This was the great match with Tom Spring for the championship, of which full details will be found in pp. 16–22, vol. ii., ante. The battle was for £200 a-side, and took place near Andover, May 20, 1823. Spring’s weight was stated at thirteen stone two pounds, Neat’s at thirteen stone seven pounds, Spring being about four years older than his antagonist. The length to which the report of the battle extends in the pages above referred to, precludes the necessity of farther dwelling on its features here, than by relating a few anecdotes connected therewith.