Remarks.—​Broome won the fight from superior tact, good in-fighting, and the clever use of his legs, both in getting away and throwing. To the quick use of his left—​for he did but little with the right—​the downfall of his game antagonist is also to be ascribed. Rowe, we must confess, from what we had previously seen, somewhat disappointed us. Not only was he slow, and generally short, but his hits were elbow-deliveries, while, before the battle was half through, he adopted such a determined line of mere defensive tactics as never could have gained him victory over such a courageous and active adversary as Young Broome. We almost suspected he had made up his mind to defeat early in the fight. Broome’s youth, though much against him, was relied on by Rowe, mistakingly, as the event proved. He was neither so much exhausted, or even tired, as his older opponent. It would be prudent, from the injury he has twice sustained in his right-hand, that he should, for a time, retire from the active pursuit of the profession he has adopted, until gristle has hardened to bone, and well-knit sinew and tendon replace his youthful rounded muscle. That Young Harry possesses steadiness, self-possession, game, and confidence he has fully shown, and these, aided by the increasing strength and stamina which time must bring, must ensure him a high position among pugilistic professionals. The weather was, throughout the day, most favourable, and order and regularity admirably maintained, Spring, Peter Crawley, Jem Burn, Owen Swift, Johnny Hannan, Jem Turner, Young Reid, Jemmy Welsh, and others of the corps d’élite, contributing greatly to this desirable state of things.

At this period (1846) there resided at Birmingham a boxer of high local repute, some five years the senior of Harry, and still in his prime, who, in the opinion of his fellow-townsmen, was well fitted to check the triumphant career of the juvenile representative of the house of Broome, which was considered to have transferred its pugilistic fame from its native place to London. This was Ben Terry, whose successive defeats of Jem Hodgkiss, Forster, Davis of Birmingham, and Tom Davis, in 1841, 1842, 1843, and 1844, all middle-weights, had earned for him a character approaching invincibility. After some cavilling with Johnny Broome in times passed by, before that boxer retired from the Ring, which, however, ended in nothing. Ben now proposed a match for £100 a side, with Young Harry, at 10st. 4lbs., and the youngster, nothing loth, closed with the offer. There was much partisan feeling mixed up in the affair, and on February 3rd, 1846, the men met at Shrivenham, Berkshire, on the Great Western line. There was tedious disputation on the choice of a referee; and the behaviour of the partisans of Terry was simply disgraceful, and marked most significantly the falling fortunes of the Ring. The unfinished battle, which occupies an immense and undue space in the contemporary report, is not worth preserving. Suffice it to say that for the first half hour the fighting of Harry was singularly irregular and wild, and only accountable upon the supposition, loudly proclaimed by Brother Johnny, that Young Harry had been stupefied by the surreptitious introduction of some drug in his drink—​in short, had been “hocussed.” We, who witnessed the fight, however loth we should be to admit such a shameful act without clear evidence, could not resist the suspicion of some foul play. Terry, however, seemed to fight very little better than his opponent. After the 35th round, the confusion and disorder defied description. The ring was broken in, and filled with an unruly crowd; repeated claims of “foul” were made from both sides; the referee was sought to be intimidated by uproar and threats; and finally the fight was claimed for Terry, without any decision being given by the properly constituted authorities, and the respective parties returned—​the one to Birmingham, the other to London, to wrangle over the destination of the £200 in the hands of the stakeholder. After a tedious controversy and furious mutual recriminations, it is clear that the Terry party did not fancy a second meeting, and the affair ended by Johnny Broome, on behalf of his brother, consenting to draw stakes on receipt of a douceur of £5. Terry, who was subsequently beaten by Coates and Posh Price, died at Birmingham, October 12th, 1862.

We have noted in the life of the Tipton Slasher, how, after his defeat of Paddock, in December, 1850, he laid public claim to the Championship; how Bendigo, after stating that he was prepared to fight for £500, and no less, backed out when the Tipton offered to meet him for that amount; and further, that he, the Tipton, would fight any man for £100 or £200. This challenge was unanswered until May, 1851, when Broome declared himself ready to make a deposit for an “Unknown,” for £200 a side. This was accepted. At a subsequent meeting at Johnny Broome’s, on the 2nd of June, the articles were completed, and the battle agreed to take place within four months. On the occasion first named poor Tom Spring, who had in this case undertaken to see to the interests of the Slasher in London, lay stretched on a bed of sickness, struggling with that grim antagonist who soon after gave him his final fall; consequently Johnny Broome claimed and received forfeit at the second deposit, the Slasher’s friends not putting in an appearance. In the following week a gleam of hoped-for health on the part of Spring, and the arrival of Perry himself in London, led to a demonstration, and a sum of money was deposited in the hands of the Editor of Bell’s Life on the part of Tipton, to meet the “Unknown” for the sum proposed. That the “Great Unknown” was a mystery, like the authorship of “Junius,” and, for a time, the Waverley Novels, was evident, for men did not scruple to say that Johnny had had a lucky escape from “a bit of bounce” by the receipt of the small amount down. The mystery, however, was quickly dissipated, for at the next meeting, to the astonishment of all, Young Harry announced himself to be the “mysterious stranger,” prepared to join issue with the ponderous Slasher, and from that evening the match progressed satisfactorily.

In the interim, the Tipton, after a provincial tour, went into training at Hoylake, in Cheshire, under the mentorship of Jem Ward, and the superintendence of Jemmy the Black (Young Molyneaux). Harry was, of course, looked after by his brother, but was unable to do so much work as he required, owing to the necessity that arose of constantly shifting his quarters. This, we may now state, was owing to the embarrassed state of his pecuniary affairs, in connection with the Opera Tavern, in the Haymarket, of which he was then the landlord.

When we last saw Harry in the lists, in his interrupted combat with Ben Terry, he was looked upon as a “middle-weight,” his height 5 feet 9 inches, his weight 10½st.; and from this circumstance, despite the assertion that he had grown nearly two inches in stature, and would go to scale full two stone heavier in muscle and bone, there was an obstinate incredulity on the part of many who thought they knew the man, with respect to the 10½st. Harry and the 13st. Slasher ever facing each other in the Ring.

The stakeholder, upon whom devolved the duty of naming the place of fighting, selected Mildenhall. Johnny Broome had a predilection for Six Mile Bottom, near Newmarket, as suitable for the convenience of the sporting men going to the First October Meeting, but this he subsequently abandoned. The place having been appointed, Johnny Broome and Young Spring, on behalf of the Slasher, engaged a special train on the Eastern Counties Line, which, it was notified, would start at half-past eight. There was little excitement abroad, for the eve of so important an event as that which was to decide the vexata quæstio as to who was to be Champion of England. It is true, the houses of the two Broomes, and the Castle Tavern, were thronged, but we did not hear of a bet being made, and a strong impression prevailed up to the very day that something would occur to prevent the issue of the battle. On reaching the platform whence the train was to start we found the assemblage was limited, and we should calculate that not more than one hundred took their places in the carriages, so that these who speculated on gain were on the wrong side of the post. With the exception of Peter Crawley and Old Tom Oliver, we recognised none of the representatives of the old school.

The travellers having taken their seats—​the Tipton, accompanied by Nobby Clarke and Molyneaux, being among them—​the whistle sounded, and off went the party. A good deal of consternation was expressed by some persons at the non-appearance of Broome; but, on the train arriving at Bishop Stortford, all doubt was set at rest by his presence on the platform. The train once more got under weigh, and shortly the goal was reached. Pursuing a winding lane, the veteran Commissary led the way to the field where Bendigo won his parting laurel from Paddock, in 1850. This ground, however, was found to be under plough, and the travellers had to go further afield; nevertheless, all was soon in apple-pie order for business. The London train band was reinforced by a few of the Norfolk and Suffolk Militiamen, and a cavalry contingent from Newmarket, and by one o’clock there was a tolerable muster round the roped arena. At ten minutes after that hour the Tipton hero advanced to the ring-side, and, removing his nob-cover, tossed it gaily within the magic circle. Harry was not long in answering the Tipton’s call for him to come forth, and was loudly cheered on presenting himself. After shaking hands, the difficult point of choosing a referee came on the tapis. This knotty question seemed likely to occupy the whole day, for to each proposition a negative was offered, chiefly by the Tipton and his friends. One hour and forty minutes were thus cut to waste, but at twenty-five minutes past two the differences ended by the selection of Peter Crawley, and the men commenced their toilettes. Crawley had been previously rejected by the Tipton, from an apprehension that his predilections were in favour of Broome; and it was not until Harry offered to fight without a referee that he at last consented. The choice made, the Slasher approached Crawley, and said all he desired was a fair fight and no favour. If he did anything foul he must abide by the consequences, and if his antagonist did wrong he hoped an equal measure of justice would be meted out to him. Crawley said he might rely on his performing his duty strictly and impartially. All he desired was to see a fair and manly contest, and to see it fairly and manfully fought out.

The attendants on the Slasher were Nobby Clarke and Jem Molyneaux. The bold Harry was esquired by Callaghan, of Derby, and Bob Castles, Johnny, of course, being in the corner. A little interlude, in the shape of a shindy between Molyneaux and Callaghan, enlivened the interval of suspense, but, on everything being ready, they were soon quieted down. The ring was admirably kept throughout, Tom Callas, Jerry Noon, Mallet, and others lending a helping hand. The betting at the commencement was 2 to 1 on the Slasher; and at forty-five minutes past two business began.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​And so the men stood up, and all doubts, fears, and suspicions as to whether there would or would not be a fight were at an end, and the question was now to be set at rest as to what sort of a fight those present were to witness, and we were to record. No sooner had the youthful Harry struck his canvass, and exhibited himself in Nature’s buff suit, than an almost audible buzz of surprise and admiration broke from the spectators. Never did gladiator of old offer a finer study for the chisel of the sculptor or the pencil of the painter. 5ft. 10½in. in stature, his height was only fairly proportioned to his weight, 12st. 10lbs. on the morning of the battle, which, by-the-bye, was 10lbs. too much. His chest and scapulæ, with their masses of prominent and rigid muscle, were almost preternaturally developed; and as he swung his long, round arms, with the motion of one practising with the dumb-bells, closing and unclosing his hands (black with the astringent juices applied to them), to supple his joints for the impending encounter, all seemed to agree that he was up to the standard of weight and measure which the veteran Captain Barclay said “was big enough to fight any two-legged creature that ever walked.” There is much, however, in “a name”—​despite Juliet’s declaration to the contrary, which, coming from a green young Miss, don’t carry much authority—​and, accordingly, the old ring-goers were half inclined to a belief in the Slasher’s invincibility, and doubted whether the audacious “boy,” as the Tipton contemptuously called him in our hearing, would stand up to his ancient friend and fellow-trainer in bygone days. That this was a mistake was soon apparent. Throwing up his hands with smiling confidence, Harry toed the scratch, saying, as he did so, “Here I am, old boy, and I mean to win to-day.” The Tipton grinned—​the absence of his incisors imparting that expression to his laugh. On the present occasion, though he looked brown, hardy, and sunburnt, there was somewhat of an antiquated cut about his figure-head which was not observable on his last public appearance, which, as we have already recorded, was with Paddock, in December, 1850. His frame, however, showed no waste or diminution of its formidable proportions. Poised upon his letter K-like pedestals, his huge upper works, broad shoulders, immense blade-bones, wide loins and well-ribbed carcase showed the ponderous athlete, though the bloom and freshness of youth had faded from his skin. It was clear he meant to give no rest, and as little room and opportunity, to his antagonist as he could help. Harry offered with his left high up, in the direction of the Slasher’s nob; it was a sort of measuring, and he stepped aside, breaking ground with graceful agility. Slasher followed him, when he stepped aside laughing, closing and unclosing his hands, playing about out of reach, and sparring. “Go to him, Tipton,” cried Jemmy Wharton; “he’s afraid of you.” The Tipton did as he was bid, and Harry retreated until near the ropes. The Tipton let go his right, and just reached Harry’s ribs, who rapidly caught him a cross-counter with the left on the face. A couple of rather hasty exchanges brought the men together; they separated, and Broome delivered an upper cut on the Slasher’s face, who retaliated on Harry’s body so effectively that he slipped in jumping back, and fell, throwing up his feet as he reached the ground, to prevent the Tipton falling on him, and, when he found himself safely landed, bringing his heels over his head with a spring, and turning a complete somersault. A claim for a knock-down; but it was anything but that. Four minutes. (6 to 4 on the Tipton, and no takers.)