Next week the bard of “London Life” will accurately tell.
But tho’ no victory was achieved by well intended thumps,
Both men have proved undoubted game, and turn’d out genuine trumps;
And all uninjur’d and unscath’d in Tuesday’s battle fray,
Slasher and Freeman both survive to fight another day.
The referee having been called on to name the next time and place, the parties interested met at his house the next day (Friday). The Slasher was present, and expressed an anxious desire to have the fight over; he declared he had no wish to evade the meeting, and was quite ready to fight the following day (Saturday). To this Spring replied that as the Commissary had not yet returned to London with the ropes and stakes, and as his whereabouts might not be known in time, the proposal would not be accepted. The Tipton objected to a long delay, and as Bungaree the Australian and M’Ginty were to fight on the following Tuesday, it was suggested that both couples should be “asked out” at the same place and time. It was then found that the backers of Bungaree and his opponent had selected a locality where it would be most imprudent for such noticeable men as the Giant and Slasher to show themselves without certainty of interruption. The Bungaree division, however, proposed to alter their plans and effect an amalgamation, by jointly hiring two steamboats for the conveyance of the men and their friends to the field of battle—that the vessels should leave London Bridge on the Tuesday morning at eight o’clock, and proceeding down the river, pick up the “big’uns” at places appointed; and that, with the view of securing the absence of undesirable voyagers, two sets of tickets of contrasted colours should be issued by Spring and Broome only, no person to be admitted on board except those presenting the one for the downward the other the homeward voyage.
On the next day, Saturday, Freeman took a benefit, previously announced, at the Westminster Road Baths, the immense area of the “Mechanics’ Bath” being crowded to excess. That these affairs, of which there was too much at this period, were profitable speculations may be gathered from the fact that exclusive of free admission and tickets sold elsewhere, £178 was taken at the doors, although the performers were the humbler outsiders of the Ring, with the exception of Freeman (who showed, but did not set to, in view of the impending contest) and Caunt, whom Tom Spring kindly assisted by putting on the gloves with him. Although Big Ben showed some improvement, his style, as compared with the accomplished ex-champion of a long bygone day, could not fail to awaken unpleasant comparisons in the minds of such men as Mr. John Jackson, old Tom Cribb, and Thomas Belcher, all of whom were recognised at this gathering Freeman, who stripped, had not a bruise upon his body, and except a little swelling of the lip and an injury of the right thumb, bore no marks of the recent encounter.
On Tuesday, December 20th, 1842, at 8 a.m., we embarked on board the “Father Thames” steamer at the Old Swan Pier, London Bridge, Freeman having been put on board from a row-boat half an hour previously, while the vessel lay in midstream, and privately ensconced in the after-cabin, his immense stature being rightly considered as placing him in great peril of arrest if exposed to the public gaze. At Blackwall the Slasher came on board, looking rough and hardy in the sou’wester and blue frieze of a river pilot. The other combatant couple, M’Ginty the Scotchman, and Bungaree the Australian, had quietly embarked at London Bridge. The company on board, about four hundred in number, was truly representative of the Ring patrons of the day. A Scotch marquis, two or three scions of the peerage, a sprinkling of military men, a veteran “salt,” sundry hunting and university men, doctors, barristers, with some sporting clubbists from “the sweet shady side of Pall Mall” and the dingy smoking snuggery of the now resplendent “Limmer’s,” formed the “upper-crust.” The Church, of course, was not represented, unless we may enumerate the Right Rev. the Bishop of Bond Street in that category. That facetious worthy was indeed prominent, and, with the forethought gained by long experience, had brought on board a capacious hamper, accompanied by a handsome basket of white willow, which, to the delight of the Corinthians, who formed “the excursionists” thus “personally conducted,” disclosed at an after period a wealth of game-pie, pigeon-pie, chickens, ham, tongue, salad, and the various comestibles for which Fortnum and Mason are renowned. That the white willow basket was a worthy auxiliary of the big hamper “goes without saying.” “Schnapps,” in several square-shouldered and short-necked bottles and flasks, cognac, sherry, and a battalion of silver and gold-necked champagne, came forth at intervals in such succession as made us think that the Bishop had really the supernatural gift boasted by Glendower, “I can call spirits from the vasty deep,” and that “they do come when I do call them.” But we are anticipating. The “old familiar faces” of Ned Painter, from Norwich, Tom Spring, Peter Crawley, Oliver, and Burn were on deck, together with Adams, Johnny Walker, Langham, Orme, Parker, Johnny Broome and his brother Harry, Tom Maley, Jemmy Shaw, &c., &c.; while the “sporting publican” division was represented by Owen Swift, Jem Cross, Jack Gardiner, Jemmy Moore, “Stunning” Joe Banks, and a host of “hosts.” On her downward course the “Father Thames” was followed by several craft, and by the time she arrived at the Lower Hope Point, about six miles below Gravesend, there was quite a “mosquito fleet” in sight, not including a “tail” of Gravesend wherries which were permitted to hang on to her stern tow-rope.
When off Cliffe Marshes, the welcome sounds of “Ease her!” “Stop her!” “Easy astarn!” sounded from the bridge. All on deck were in a bustle of delight. The facetious Joe Banks, backed up by jolly Jem Burn, having, with impressive gravity, informed a group of listeners, the destination of the craft being as yet a secret, “that the swells below had arranged with the captain for a trip to the coast of France, as they were determined to have no more stoppages from beaks nor blues,” the horrid rumour ran from stem to stern; and not a few were sorely exercised in their minds as to how a limited knowledge of the French language, and a slender exchequer, would serve them in a trip to the Continent, much more bring them back again, should they miss the boat. Great, then, was the laughter at those who were beginning to believe in “the sell” when the paddles were backed, the chain-cable run out, and the smartest of the boatmen hooked their craft on to ropes hanging from the sponsons of the “Father Thames.” The ground was well chosen, under the lee of a high ridge of the river bank, in a level intersected by broad ditches, and approachable only by crossing a deep drain, bridged by a couple of stout scaffold planks, at each end of which was a cluster of ring-constables, who secured comparative safety to the single file of pilgrims, many of whom carried folding-seats from the steamer, forms, trestles, bundles of straw, baskets, and other conveniences, to say nothing of two enterprising Israelitish speculators, who, with dubious steps, staggered over the wooden bridge, amid the cheers and laughter of the admiring crowd, carrying a beer-barrel slung on a slight, springy pole. This bridge of Al Sirat passed, and “the land of promise” reached, the cheerful groups assembled round the outer rope, while the privilege-ticket holders, press-men, and officials, seated themselves on the stools aforesaid, or, with the best waterproof protection procurable, assumed recumbent positions on the damp and springy morass. The outer circle was soon after materially increased by a crowd of East Enders, conveyed by sundry steam-tugs, which, at a very low tariff, conveyed the multitude to the Kentish Champ de Mars.