“Windmill Street, Haymarket, July 29, 1838.”
As we have already recorded in our memoir of Bendigo, the Nottingham hero lost no time in accepting this challenge, and stated he had placed £100 in the hands of Peter Crawley to make the match. Unfortunately for the Deaf’un’s reputation, he had, through his intimacy with Young Dutch Sam, become entangled in a vicious companionship, as the humble “pot-companion” and gladiatorial buffoon of a clique of dissolute young noblemen and swells, the last expiring parodists of the school of which “Corinthian Tom” and “Jerry Hawthorn” were the models. By these and their companions he was carried off to France, on the pretext of training and seconding Owen Swift in his second fight with Jack Adams, and much obloquy was cast on him unjustly, under a supposition that he had run away from his engagements. A “Paris Correspondent” transmitted the following:—
“Paris, June 14.—The Deaf’un arrived in this city on Sunday, under the Mentorship of Sancho Panza, from Seven Dials, a ‘buck’ of the first water. He met Swift on the Boulevard des Italiens, and was so affected at the interview with this interesting exile, that the water came from his eyes like the jet d’eau in the Temple Gardens. As the speediest mode of acquiring an acquaintance with the French language, he lives entirely on fricandeau de dictionnaire. He has already won the affections of a grisette by his very natural imitation of the statue of Cupid. He afterwards tried the Venus de Medici, but that was a decided failure. He has been favourably received by the patrons of British Sports in the French capital, but it is feared he cannot be presented at the Court of Louis Philippe, in consequence of his having neglected to present himself at the Drawing-room of our lovely young Queen. In a visit to the Jardin des Plantes, he thought he recognised a young brother, but on closer inspection he discovered it was only the chimpanzee. He appears to be regarded with as much curiosity in Paris as Soult was in London, and expected the old Marshal would have given him ‘a Wellington reception,’ but hitherto the gallant veteran has not recognised him as ‘a companion in arms.’ His presence has already had an influence on the fashions, and ‘pantalons à la Burke’ have made their appearance in the Palais Royal, while ‘gantelets à la Deaf’un’ are noted as a novelty in Le Courrier des Salons.”
We have already noticed in our memoir of Bendigo that the Deaf’un did not return from his continental trip until, after training Owen Swift, and seconding him on the 5th of September, 1838, he again sought the shores of England, lest he should receive the “polite attentions” of the French authorities for his share in that “scandal,” as the Paris correspondent of “My Grandmother” styled it. The staunchness of poor Burke’s “summer friends” was now tested. They had withdrawn the £100 placed in Jem Burn’s hands, but, after some negotiation, the match was made, Burke posting £100 to Bendigo’s £80, and on the 29th of February, 1839, the rivals met. The full details of the Deaf’un’s defeat may be read in pp. 16–22.
The reflection is here unavoidably thrust upon us, that the so-called “friends” of an athlete, if they by their own loose habits seduce him into similar irregularities, are his worst enemies. What is sport to them is ruin to him. Temperance, regularity of living, open air exercise, and severe attention to the wellbeing of every bodily function that goes to build up health—the mens sana in corpore sano—can never be neglected without ruinous consequences; and thus fell the brave and imprudent Deaf’un, the victim of the follies of those the world miscalled “his betters.” A few quatrains on his downfall shall find a place here.
THE LAMENT OF DEAF BURKE.
Well, ’tis strange, precious strange, arter what I have done,
That in my late battle I shouldn’t have won;
I vow and protest, on the word of a bruiser,
I scarce can persuade myself yet I’m the loser.