Owing to the low state of the tide when the fight was over, and the narrowness of the causeway to the boats, a great deal of time was lost in embarkation, and not a few of the travellers obtained mud baths at much less price than such a luxury would have cost in Germany. The consequence of the delay was, that the 8 o’clock train was missed, and there being no other until 9.30, the travellers, weary, muddy, and wet, but tolerably well satisfied with their entertainment, did not reach the Metropolis until twelve o’clock.
The following morning the referee took the opportunity of laying the case before a Corinthian patron of the art, who, although no longer a frequenter of the Ring side, was for many years one of the staunchest attendants. That gentleman, after thinking the matter over for a few minutes, said he was of opinion there could be no doubt as to the course of the referee. There had been, he said, no appeal to him to stop the fight—there was no reason for his interference, as he could see both men perfectly, and he had stated there was sufficient daylight for eight or ten more rounds. The men had shaken hands in the ring, and, putting Dismore and his statement out of the question as unnecessary adjuncts to the case, he was of opinion that the men, by voluntarily quitting the ring without any appeal being made by themselves or their umpires, had clearly taken the whole affair out of the referee’s hands, and altogether deprived him of any power in the matter.
At the appointed hour both men and their friends were in attendance—Nat all but scatheless, while Ben had an ugly cut on his nose, and his left peeper was partially closed. He had also other severe marks of punishment on various parts of his dial, and his hands were much puffed. Both men made their statements. Caunt repeated that he fully believed Nat had agreed to draw stakes when he shook hands with him and his uncle, or he should never have consented to leave off fighting, as there was still daylight for ten or a dozen rounds. He was then warm, and felt confident he could have won. He was as strong as ever on his legs, and was convinced that Nat had done all he knew. Langham, in reply, denied that this was the case. He understood that Dismore only proposed a postponement until another day, as it was not likely they could finish that evening. He shook hands with Caunt and his uncle because he did not think he ought to leave the ring without performing that ceremony. Dan Dismore repeated the statement he had already made, adding, that he certainly was not authorised to say they had agreed to draw their money, whatever his own impression might have been. He was of opinion then that it would have been a proper course, and that opinion he still entertained; and he would willingly give £5 or £10 out of his own pocket to see them shake hands and make up their differences. Tom Sayers, who was also present, said he had left the ring with the idea that his principal had agreed to draw the money, and he had no idea until some time afterwards that Nat had contemplated a renewal of hostilities. The referee, after hearing both sides, said that he had thought the matter over very carefully, and had come to a conclusion in his own mind, before consulting the gentleman above referred to, and he was glad to find that conclusion coincided with the opinion of his adviser. The men had taken the matter quite out of his hands. They had made an arrangement between themselves, had shaken hands and left the ring without asking his opinion, or appealing to him in any way, although he stood close to the ropes and stakes at the time they were shaking hands, and what other conclusion could he arrive at than that they had amicably settled their differences? That a misunderstanding had arisen as to future arrangements was to be regretted, but he had no power whatever to name another day. If his advice were asked it would be that they should shake hands, but if they did not choose to do this, they must agree upon another day and place between themselves. Nat at once proposed fighting again on Saturday, to which Caunt objected. He said he was now stiff, and his hands were injured, and required time to get round. He believed a bone in one of his fingers was broken. As he had before said, he could have finished it the same night, but he should decline agreeing to fight again at present. Nat then asked what he proposed, to which Ben said he proposed that on the next occasion Nat should stand up and fight like a man. He could not fight a man who was always on the ground. A good deal of angry discussion followed, Ben Butler again going beyond the bounds of decorum, while Caunt remained perfectly quiet. Nat was, of course, incensed at being baulked of his rights, as he considered them, but still there was no prospect of an arrangement. At length Nat asked Caunt to give him some portion of the stakes, as an inducement to draw, a proposition indignantly scouted by Caunt. This was the last offer. The men were then informed that the referee had given his decision, that he could not interfere, and it remained for them to agree between themselves upon a time and place.
Having gone so fully into details of this affair, it will be unnecessary for us to make many remarks either upon the respective styles of the combatants or the untoward result of the battle. Caunt, from first to last, showed not the slightest improvement in his style of fighting; nor was it likely that after a life of ease, and of abstinence from athletic exercises (if from nothing else) the case could have been otherwise. His position was unartistic. He held his arms too high, and never displayed the least head or judgment in his efforts to get at his shifty opponent. He was always too quick and too anxious to be doing something, and thereby threw away many chances, and so put himself at the mercy of the crafty Nat, who seldom or never failed to avail himself of Big Ben’s incautiousness. Unartistic as he was, however, no one will deny that Caunt upheld the character he has invariably borne of a manly upright boxer, disdaining to avail himself of repeated opportunities, which many persons would unscrupulously have adopted, of falling on an opponent when he dropped in the not very manly manner that Nat, on many occasions, certainly did. From first to last Ben never lost his temper. He received all Nat’s props with the greatest sang froid, smiling upon him, and sometimes shaking his head at him for his shiftiness. As to Caunt’s game, there never was, and never can be, a question. He was punished most severely, and yet he never once flinched or showed signs of not liking it. The only remark he condescended to make from time to time in his corner was, that Nat had done all he could, and that he must be getting weak. He did not wish to win by a foul, and on several occasions when his seconds desired to appeal he said he would rather try to win on his merits. In addition to the punishment on his mug, he contrived to seriously injure both hands. Of Nat Langham it is not necessary to say much. As we have before remarked, he was fitter to fight than we thought he ever could be, and was as confident as if all had been settled. There was all the old cunning and extraordinary quickness with his left, and, if possible, he had improved both in his powers of timing his props and his judgment of distance. He, like Caunt, never for a moment flinched from his receipts, which, on many occasions, must have been anything but agreeable; and, so long as he stood on his pins, he faced his man with unruffled indifference.
That he went down on many occasions in a suspicious manner cannot be denied, and that this occurred on some few occasions when he was not in danger is equally true; but he almost invariably kept just within the pale of the law. Several times he was hit, and hit severely, and when Jemmy Shaw appealed to the referee as to his falling, on most such occasions he received a gentle tap, just sufficient to save him; still he persevered in the practice much too constantly to admit of our stating that it was a fair stand-up fight on his part. His friends contend that when a man is opposed to such superior weight and strength he is justified in resorting to such shifts to enable him to withstand his opponent, but this we deny. The rules of the Ring say distinctly “it shall be a fair stand-up fight,” and if a man cannot vanquish an opponent of heavier metal than himself by fair means, he has no business to make a match with him. Nat knew perfectly well Caunt’s superiority in height and weight, and Caunt was perfectly justified in his observation that this knowledge ought to have deterred him from match-making except on the usual terms. That Nat’s shifty tactics arose from cowardice would of course be a ridiculous suggestion. Every one who has seen him fight knows that a braver man never pulled off his shirt, and no one we ever saw enter a ring has impressed us with so just an idea of what may be accomplished by science and judgment; but still we cannot help repeating a remark we have over and over again made—we do not and cannot admire the hit and drop system. It is not consonant with the principles on which, and on which alone, we can uphold British boxing. The fight lasted one hour and twenty-nine minutes.
The floodgates of newspaper letter-writing were opened by this undecided encounter. It is needless to say that the controversy ended in much ink-shedding and a draw of the £400 staked, leaving the debateable question of “getting down to finish the round” much where it previously and subsequently stood.
From this period Caunt may be said to have finally retired from the Ring, though he still kept his house, the “Coach and Horses” (now the “Salisbury Stores”), in St. Martin’s Lane. The parlour here was a general resort of aspirants for pugilistic honours and their patrons, Ben busying himself in bringing forward and occasionally backing or finding backers for men, among whom may be named Bob Caunt,[13] his brother, David Hayes (thrice beaten by Murray), Perry, the Black, who beat Burton, of Leicester (January 20th, 1846), George Gutteridge (beaten by Nat Langham, September 23rd, 1846), and others.
Caunt was also well known as no mean performer at pigeons, on the various club grounds near the Metropolis and in Hertfordshire. Having caught a severe cold in a long day’s match at “the doves,” in the early part of 1860, it settled on his lungs, and coupled with late hours, and the free living inseparable from his calling as a publican, gave the powerful pugilist his final knock-down blow on the tenth day of September, 1861.
“Strength too—thou surly and less gentle boast
Of those that loud laugh round the village ring—