Unfortunately a fine day had been succeeded by a night of heavy rain, and the drenched appearance of the early birds, as they shook their feathers, fully sustained the established rule that there are few human amusements without alloy, or, as Sir G. Cornewall Lewis philosophically put it, “Life would be tolerable were it not for its pleasures.” Still, among the Fancy, these vicissitudes were of little moment, and were submitted to with becoming philosophy. The morning was not more propitious than the night, but there was, nevertheless, no lack of bustle in Newmarket; in fact, hundreds were seen in busy preparation for “the start,” and vehicles of every description were called into requisition, while all classes, from the Corinthian to the humble stable-boy, were full of lively anticipation. The troop of equestrians which went forth showed the excitement that prevailed, while the carriages, gigs, and carts which followed produced a cheerful commotion in the direction of the appointed fixture, which was about six miles from the town.

A hostile declaration of a reverend parson of Cheveley, on the Monday, led to an apprehension that an interruption was not unlikely. Indeed, we believe it was intended, but happily his reverence, by some unfortunate accident, was put on the wrong scent, and proceeded in an opposite direction, towards the borders of Suffolk, where, attended by a posse of special constables, he waited with creditable patience for the expected arrival of the “misdoers.” He watched, however, in vain; in the interim the belligerents had settled their differences elsewhere, to his infinite mortification, as well as to the imminent danger of his health, from so long and unprofitable an exposure to the warring elements. On his return to Cheveley, his forlorn aspect induced strong expressions of commiseration; but we are inclined to doubt the sincerity of those by whom they were uttered, who obviously thought the worthy divine should not have forgotten the old maxim, “Charity begins at home,” where, in all probability, he would have found abundant opportunity for the exercise of his Christian virtues without wasting them idly on the “desert air.”

An agreement having been made that both men should be in the ring precisely at eight o’clock, by that hour the lists were completed, and were quickly surrounded by the coming throng, who formed a circle of ample dimensions round the all-important arena, which every moment increased in density, and included in its motley features several foreigners of distinction; a large contribution from the University of Cambridge (who came in style in drags and fours, all “lighted up” in such profusion that many were disposed to think, from the halo of smoke which fumed from their fragrant havannahs, an engine had broken loose from some distant railroad); a vast concourse of the Turf aristocracy, and not a few of the right sort, who had posted from London to participate in the amusements of the day. The remainder, to the extent of 2,000 or 3,000, was of that mingled character which it would be difficult to particularise, many of them being so disguised in their north-westers and storm-defying protectors as to give them the advantage of perfect incognito, combined with personal protection. We did hear of a stray magistrate or two being present, yet for this we cannot vouch; but we must remark, if the fact were so, it showed their good sense. This we do know, that one or two proved by their conduct “none are so blind as those who will not see;” and upon the appearance of the parson of Cheveley at the magisterial divan in Newmarket on the same day, after the fight, to deplore the hoax of which he had been made the victim, his vicissitudes produced a good deal of fun, and not a little commendation of the ingenious concocter of the “secret despatch” to which he had fallen so simple a victim.

Brassey was first on the ground; and as the rain fell in torrents impatience was manifested for the arrival of Caunt. Unhappily, however, he did not reach the cheerless scene till within five minutes of nine. Come he did, however, at last, and the thrill of pleasure soon dissipated the melancholy forebodings of disappointment; for it was feared that Brassey would have been allowed to walk over the course and claim forfeit. An inner circle of the privileged was soon formed by those who chose to “qualify” by taking out “certificates” at 5s. each from the Commissary. For the accommodation of these a quantity of straw had been spread a few yards from the ring, but such was its saturated state, from the continued rain, that it afforded little protection, and carriage seats and gig cushions were in general request, often with little regard to the laws of meum and tuum. Never was the modern invention of waterproof wrappers more prized; and when we witnessed the aristocratic groups thus recklessly reposing on the slimy soil we could not withhold the expression of our delight at finding the spirit of olden times still unsubdued, notwithstanding the inroads of pantilers and teetotallers. We recognised among the mass many old soldiers, who good-humouredly remarked it was but a memento of the past, and reminded their young friends the time might not be far distant when even such inconvenience would be a luxury compared with what they would have to endure in maintaining the fear-nought reputation of John Bull on the “tented field.” Beyond the privileged stood rows of perpendicular spectators, and behind them again were the carriages and other vehicles, covered with not less anxious gazers.

At last, soon after nine o’clock, the heroes of the day made their appearance; Caunt under the care of Peter Crawley, and attended by Dick Curtis and a Liverpool friend as bottle-holder and second; Brassey escorted by Ned Painter, and officially accompanied by Jem Hall and Johnny Broome. On entering the lists Caunt, who wore a large Welsh wig, approached Brassey, and offered to lay him a private bet on the issue of the contest; but Brassey regarded this as a piece of bounce, and turned from him. The umpires and referee having been chosen, the yellowmen—​for both sported the same colours—​were tied to the stake, and all prepared for action. On stripping, the gigantic frame of Caunt struck the uninitiated with surprise. His superior height and weight left no room for nice calculations, and the fate of his adversary was already foretold; his broad back and muscular developments had a most formidable aspect, while his long arms and proportionate supporters showed him as a giant among pigmies, in which light Dick Curtis, and some of his little friends who stood beside him, could alone be regarded. There was, however, something ungainly in his huge frame, and more of awkwardness than symmetry in his configuration. Brassey, although less, was still “a man for a’ that,” and if not in juxtaposition with such a Goliath would have been regarded as an excellent specimen of the Grenadier fraternity. His figure was muscular and his limbs well knit, exhibiting appearances of strength and vigour not to be despised, while his mug displayed fearless determination. The preliminaries having been adjusted, at twenty-five minutes after nine “business” commenced.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​No sooner had the seconds retired to their corners, on leaving the men at the scratch, than Caunt rushed to his man and threw out his arms, left and right, with the quickness and vigour of a just-started windmill; his kind intentions were, however, evaded, and he missed his blows, especially a terrific upper-cut with his right, which, had it reached its destination, would have “told a tale.” Brassey in like manner was wild, and missed his blows, but finding Caunt closing upon him, he hit up with his right, and on closing instantly went down.

2.—​Caunt again hit out left and right, but without precision. He made his right slightly on Brassey’s nob, when the latter rattled in left and right, like Caunt, missing, and again went down. It was pretty obvious that Brassey was fearful of the Russian hug of ursa major, and had made up his mind to the falling system, which, however obnoxious to the spectators, was evidently his only safe game.

3.—​“Steady,” cried Dick, “and hit straight.” Caunt led off right and left, and succeeded in planting his left on Brassey’s forehead, but he had it in return. Brassey got to him and delivered a tremendous left-hander on his cheek, and was as quick with his right on his nozzle; the claret flew in abundance, and the big ’un was posed. He hit out wild, left and right, and missed, while Brassey got down. (Loud cheers for Brassey. The spectators were electrified by the effect of these blows. A gaping wound ornamented Caunt’s right cheek, and his nose emitted the purple fluid, which Dick quickly mopped up with his sponge.) This decided the first event—​first blood for Brassey. (The Cauntites looking queer.)

4.—​Caunt came up by no means improved in beauty. He led on as before, wild left and right; but his deliveries wanted precision. Brassey fought with him, but, like sticks in an Irish row, their arms were the only receivers, and little mischief was done. Brassey got down grinning.