On the morning of the event we found ourselves in Sawley, a village in Derbyshire, eight miles south-west of Nottingham, where we were introduced to Preston, at a “public” on the banks of the Trent, wherein he had taken up his quarters. He spoke confidently of his prospects of success, and treated his reduction of weight as by no means reducing his capabilities. We, however, did not share his opinion; though lighter bodily, his face struck us as more puffy than is consistent with perfect training, and he did not impress us with the idea of a man hardened by his exercises. Of Parker’s whereabouts we could learn nothing; and a warning being given that “a magistrate was in the village with an escort of police,” Preston was hastily disguised and got out of danger; and not a bit too soon, for scarcely was Preston on the road to Appleby, when a clerical “beak,” with a constable and three or four “specials,” armed with a warrant for “three counties,” as we were informed, made their unwelcome appearance. In justice to these officials, however, we must say that they behaved in what poor Jack Scroggins called “a gentlemanlike sort of a way,” and gave all to understand that they should exercise their undoubted powers with moderation, and that if “the peace” of Derbyshire was unmolested, their function would then and there cease. Away, then, for Leicestershire, towards Ashby-de-la-Zouch—renowned in days of old for its tournaments and “passage of arms”—was the word. Now, as fighting Ashby (fifteen miles from Leicester) was about seventeen from where we then were, and as it was already past twelve o’clock, the “fixture” was indeed a damper, many remembering how they were thrown out when Caunt and Bendigo held their first “joust” at Appleby. The cloud, however, passed away when, about a mile and a half beyond Castle Donington, a hint was given that in a field not three hundred yards from the turnpike-road, yet out of view of it, a secluded spot was at the service of the weary wayfarers. A general halt was made; each man was temporarily housed in an adjacent “Tom and Jerry;” and these establishments being each luckily provided with considerable stabling, every stall and shed was at once occupied by vehicles and quadrupeds, while the bipeds consumed every eatable and drinkable, to the last loaf and the last “tilt of the barrel,” in both establishments. These despatched, word was brought that the Birmingham Commissary had pitched his stakes, and all moved off to a pretty dell, where, on a nice bit of turf, surrounded by gentle slopes thickly wooded, the lists were formed; not a few aspiring countrymen and youths ascending the trees nearest the ring, and forming a “rookery” whence a vocal, but not very musical, “cawing” was heard at intervals of the fight.
At two o’clock precisely, Preston made his appearance, and shied his pimple-coverer into the ring; an example immediately followed by Parker, who stepped briskly into the arena, and with a good-humoured smile went up to Preston and shook hands with apparent cordiality. There was a buoyant springiness in Parker, and a confidence in his appearance, which seemed to say “I mean winning, and nothing else.” Preston’s manner was more subdued—he looked serious, but exhibited nothing like distrust in his own powers. Betting was 6 to 4 on Preston, which, in a few instances, was taken, Parker’s partisans seeming doubtful of their man. The colours having been fastened to the stakes, and umpires and a referee chosen, the men stripped. Parker’s condition appeared excellent—he looked as fine as a star, and weighed exactly 11st. 4lbs. Preston looked delicate—his flesh did not appear firm, nor had it the roseate hue of health. At fourteen minutes after two the men came to the scratch—Peter Taylor and Nick Ward seconding Parker; and Dick Davis and Holland, both of Birmingham, performing the same friendly office for Preston. After the usual formalities,
THE FIGHT
Commenced, Preston having the sun shining brilliantly in his face. “It will be a merry fight,” said Taylor, who had been taking the odds of 3 to 2; “but my man is in a merry mood, and means winning, and nothing else.” Preston’s attitude was good; he appeared ready either for the offensive or defensive, and watched his man closely, who was also on the alert; Preston trying to draw him, and making two or three feints, but Parker was wide awake. Preston made a hit, but Parker jumped back, keeping his hands well up. After two or three feints, Preston hit right and left; Parker countered; several exchanges, slightly in favour of Preston. A smartish rally, each trying to give the upper-cut; a short struggle, and both down, Preston under. “First blood” was claimed for Parker, and admitted; it was from a slight blow on the mouth. This round occupied four minutes, and was in favour of Preston; but the Parkerites were uproarious, Tassey having gained the first event.
Round 2.—After sparring for some time, neither man liking to commence operations, Preston put in a tidy one with his left on the ribs without a return; more sparring; Preston got in his left, and Parker countered well. Both on their mettle, and rapid exchanges of compliments passed, each anxiously trying to give the upper-cut. Parker planted a facer, and Preston returned under the left ear. Loud cheering for both men animated them to redouble their exertions; and after a sharp and merry round, in which there was good fighting on both sides, both down, Preston under. Preston had rather the best of this round. This round lasted 16 minutes.
3.—Long sparring; Preston trying to “gammon” his man to begin, but Parker seemed to be down to Preston’s moves. At length Preston led off with his left, which was well stopped; Parker countered smartly, and fought well before him, boring his man, who gave his head away. Preston tried to give the upper-cut, but failed. “Give and take as much and as quickly as you can” appeared to be the motto of each, and they rattled away merrily without any decided lead to either. This was the best-contested round in the fight, and Parker proved himself a better man than many anticipated. He stood well to his gun, and not a few thought Preston began not to fancy his man quite so much. Indeed, Harry found him stick closer to him than he expected, and a much sharper fighter than he had calculated upon; still, the round was, if anything, favourable to Preston. 25 minutes had elapsed.
4.—The effects of the last round and the heat of the day appeared not to suit Preston. He had a slight mouse on the left eye, when he came to the scratch, and hemmed several times, as if a “little” touched in the wind. Preston manœuvring to draw his man; Parker hit short. After sparring for some time, Parker put his hands down as a “ticer.” After a little more sparring, Parker made his one-two without a return, and followed his man briskly. Preston’s face covered with perspiration, both hit together; exchanges, Parker driving his man to the ropes, where he fell, Parker upon him. (Shouts for Parker, and cries of “He’s got Harry; where’s your 6 to 4?”)
5.—This was a short round; Parker took the lead, and hit his man well and smartly, gave him no time for parrying, but bustled away. Preston relished this mode of attack so little that he turned from his man. (“What do you say now? Why it’s Donington Hall to a cowshed!” exclaimed Peter Taylor. “Oh, my man’s got him beautifully—it’ll soon be over.”) Parker stuck to his man; delivering rapidly as he went in, and Preston went down.
6.—Preston looked as if he meant mischief, but was fearful of going in; after he had made a few feints, Parker went boldly in, hitting away right and left, and, to avoid punishment as well as fatigue, Preston went down in a short rally. (“He’s coming it”—the Tassites uproarious, and the layers of odds rather blue.)
7.—Parker found he had got his man, went to work instanter, and drove him before him, and Preston fell outside of the ropes. (“He’s done for!” was the general exclamation of the Parkerites).