The rounds which followed, to the 100th, offered but little variety; both men became gradually exhausted, and it required all the care and encouragement of their partisans to rouse them to action. Each was assured that victory smiled upon him, and that it only required another effort to make all safe. Brassey came up manfully round after round; but although he occasionally stopped and hit, the pops of his opponent, who now and then saved him the trouble of falling by hitting him down, told with increasing effect. Caunt repeatedly tried to hold him in the closes, with the view of fibbing; but Brassey was too leary, and got down without this additional proof of kind intention. In some of his tumbles, however, Caunt fell heavily on him, and once more, in trying to evade him, scraped his foot on his nose, a casualty almost unavoidable from his sudden prostrations.
The weakness of Brassey gradually increased, while Caunt evidently got stronger on his legs; and although his right hand was gone, he continued to hit with it. He was entreated to use his left, which he did three times in succession in one round on Brassey’s muzzle, till he dropped him. Such was the prejudice in favour of Brassey, however, from the vigour with which he occasionally rallied, that it was still hoped he might make a turn in his favour, and if encouraging shouts would have effected that object, he was not without stentorian friends. Caunt, too, had his anxious attendants; and all that cheering could do to rouse his spirits was heartily afforded him.
From the 90th to the 100th round poor Brassey came up weak on his legs, and either fell or was hit down, but to the last made a manly struggle against superior strength and weight. In the 100th round Broome said he should fight no more, and Crawley stepped into the ring to claim the battle; he was, however, called out, and Brassey came up once more, but he was incapable of prolonged exertion, and being hit down with a right-handed smack on the head, he reluctantly submitted to the calls of his friends to give in, and all was over. Caunt was proclaimed the conqueror, after fighting one hundred and one rounds, in one hour and thirty minutes.
Remarks.—We have seldom recorded a fight in which we experienced more difficulty to render the details interesting. It will be seen that in ninety minutes one hundred rounds were fought, deducting the half-minute time, often prolonged to nearly a minute by mutual delay in coming to the “scratch” when “time” was called; therefore, the average time occupied by each round did not much exceed twenty seconds. There was no attempt at stopping (except in a few instances by Brassey), nor any of those scientific manœuvres which give interest to such an exhibition. Caunt was invariably the first to fight, but led off with nothing like precision, repeatedly missing his blows and upper cuts, many of which, had they told, might have been conclusive. Brassey seemed to be fully aware of this mode of assault, and generally waited till he got within Caunt’s guard, and thus succeeded in administering heavy punishment. This point once gained he lost no time in getting down, feeling quite confident that in close contact he would not have had a chance. This, although far from a popular mode of contest, is certainly excusable considering the inequality of the men in height and weight, and the only surprise is that the lesser man should have endured so much before he cried “enough.” The repeated visitations to his ribs from Caunt’s right, or “sledge-hammer,” were searching in the extreme, and led to the belief that three of his ribs had been broken, although subsequent examination proved that he was only labouring under the effects of severe contusions and inward bruises. In like manner the right-handed deliveries behind his left ear, on the ear itself, and on the left eye and jaw, as well as the left-handed jobs, were so far from jocular that we were not surprised the vis comica had ceased to be displayed on his “dial,” and when to these visitations are added his repeated falls, with the weight of Caunt occasionally superadded to his own, and this in such rapid succession, the only surprise is he should have held out so long. Caunt in his modus operandi evinced a sad ignorance of the art. Like the yokels of old before the principles of mechanism were discovered, he has to learn the proper application of his strength, of which, did he possess the requisite knowledge, he might bid defiance not only to such a man as Brassey, but even to the caperings of an avalanche. He is not, like most men of his size, slow—on the contrary, he is too quick; and for the want of judicious deliberation, like a runaway steam-engine without a controlling engineer, he over-shoots his mark. This, if it be possible, he ought to correct, and while he husbands his strength, where he does apply it, he should measure not only his distance but the tactics of his opponent. Had he waited for his man, instead of leading off with a rush, he must have brought Brassey down every round, for nothing could resist the force of his heavy metal if properly applied. Strange as it may appear, on examining both men on Wednesday morning, the punishment on the part of Caunt was greater than that of Brassey, and viewing both frontispieces and saying, “Look on this picture, and on this,” our opinion would have been, “Caunt has received the greater and more effective punishment.” Added to this, his hands, and especially the right, were essentially hors de combat, while Brassey’s were uninjured. Upon the whole, therefore, although Caunt is the victor, and entitled to praise, Brassey, as the vanquished, deserves almost an equal degree of credit, if not of profit. That this is the feeling of others was demonstrated at Newmarket after the battle, for there was not only £30 collected for him by voluntary contributions, but a promise of still more liberal consideration was held out, and in the end fulfilled.
On the Monday following, at Peter Crawley’s, “Duke’s Head,” Smithfield, the battle money was paid over to Caunt, in the presence of an overflowing muster of the patrons of British boxing. Brassey was present, and confessed himself fairly conquered. A subscription was made to console him for his honourable defeat, and £40 presented to him as a reward for his valiant conduct, some merriment being excited by one of the donations being announced as from “the parson of Cheveley.”
Caunt, in a short speech, stated that he once again claimed the “Championship of England,” and was ready to make, then and there, a match for £100 a side with any man, to fight within fifty miles of London. Nick Ward, he added, had challenged him, and “he hoped he had pluck enough to prove that his challenge was not mere bounce.”
Jem Ward lost no time in responding to Caunt’s remarks on his brother Nick, as follows:—
“Mr. Editor,—The friends of Nick Ward have consulted, and consider (as his efforts in the Ring have been but few, and as you, whose judgment, from long experience, is entitled to great weight, have expressed an opinion that Nick Ward would never be a first-rate man) that Caunt, who lays claim to the Championship, should, as a set-off to his superiority of weight and position, give odds to make a match. Nick Ward, without bouncing, is willing to fight Caunt if he will deposit £150 to Ward’s £100.
“JAMES WARD.
“Star Hotel, Williamson Square, Liverpool.
“November 12th, 1840.”