Josevin de Rochefort, whose travels in England were published in 1672, gives a long account of a fencing match:—
“We went to see the Bergiardin, which is a great amphitheatre, where combats are fought between all sorts of animals, and sometimes men, as we once saw. Commonly, when any fencing masters are desirous of shewing their courage and their great skill, they issue mutual challenges, and before they engage, parade the town with drums and trumpets sounding, to inform the public there is a challenge between two brave masters of the science of defence, and that the battle will be fought on such a day. We went to see this combat, which was performed on a stage in the middle of this amphitheatre, where, on the flourishes of trumpets and the beat of drums, the combatants entered, stripped to their shirts. On a signal from the drum, they drew their swords, and immediately began the fight, skirmishing a long time without any wounds. They were both very skilful and courageous. The tallest had the advantage over the least: for, according to the English fashion of fencing, they endeavoured rather to cut than push in the French manner, so that by his height he had the advantage of being able to strike his antagonist on the head, against which the little one was on his guard. He had in his turn an advantage over the great one, in being able to give him the jarnac stroke, by cutting him on his right ham, which he left in a manner quite unguarded. So that, all things considered, they were equally matched. Nevertheless, the tall one struck his antagonist on the wrist, which he almost cut off: but this did not prevent him from continuing the fight, after he had been dressed, and taken a glass of wine or two to give him courage, when he took ample vengeance for his wound: for a little afterwards, making a feint at the ham, the tall man, stooping in order to parry it, laid his whole head open, when the little one gave him a stroke, which took off a slice of his head, and almost all of his ear. For my part I think there is an inhumanity, a barbarity and cruelty, in permitting men to kill each other for diversion. The surgeons immediately dressed them, and bound up their wounds: which being done, they resumed the combat, and both being sensible of their respective disadvantages, they therefore were a long time without giving or receiving a wound, which was the cause that the little one, failing to parry so exactly, being tired with this long battle, received a stroke on his wounded wrist, which dividing the sinews, he remained vanquished, and the tall conqueror received the applause of the spectators. For my part I should have had more pleasure in seeing the battle of the bears and dogs, which was fought the following day on the same theatre.”
Just as, early in the eighteenth century, there was a scare about the Mohocks, so in the reign of Charles II. there was a scare about the so-called “Scowerers.” There were “Roreres,” in the thirteenth century; “Roaring Boys,” in the sixteenth; “Scowerers,” in the seventeenth; Mohocks in the eighteenth; and Corinthian Tom in the nineteenth century. And the facts and achievements of their young bloods are always exaggerated. We are now told that the Scowerers assembled in bands, stormed taverns, broke windows, upset apple carts, and generally showed their indomitable spirit. Shadwell wrote a comedy about them. I record the common belief, but doubt the fact.
Wrestling, and the sight of wrestling, was a favourite amusement of the time:—
“In 1681,” (Manners and Customs) “the King witnessed a wrestling match where the abettors were the Monarch and the Duke of Albemarle: a meadow below the castle was the scene of action, and the match was composed of twelve men on each side: the King’s party wore red waistcoats, and the Duke’s blue: a ring or inclosure was formed, and a space in it admitted the Royal coach: the Queen and her ladies viewed the contest from the terrace, but the Duke mixed with the crowd. The activity displayed on this occasion excited great applause, and only one of the number offered foul play, which the Duke punished by tripping up his heels.
The victory was gained by the blues: and they thus procured their employer 200 guineas, the wager depending: the sum of 10s. each was given to the King’s men, and 20s. to the victors. After which the King’s men challenged the Duke’s at back-sword: in which exercise some being unskilful, others were taken in to complete the number. This was performed with great skill and courage, but not attended with those barbarous circumstances which were usual with the Roman gladiators, who, to shew the Emperor sport, sheathed their swords in one another’s bowels: our most clement and gracious King abominating all acts of cruelty. The issue of this was only some broken pates, and the palm was again given to the blues. The King’s men being heated, and unwilling that the Duke’s should thus carry a victory, resolved to have another trial with them, and challenged them at football, which being accepted, the goals staked out, and the ball placed in the middle, the Duke held up an handkerchief over the ball, the letting fall of which was the signal to give the start, and the handkerchief a reward to him that got the first kick, which was one of the Duke’s men, who (in all three exercises) behaved himself so singularly active, that his Majesty took particular notice of him, and gave him a guinea. And, notwithstanding fortune still appeared on the Duke’s side, his Majesty seemed highly pleased with that day’s divertisement.”
“One of the most curious and ingenious amusements” ever offered to the public ear was contrived in the year 1682, when an elm plank was exhibited to the King and the credulous of London, which, being touched by a hot iron, invariably produced a sound resembling deep groans.
“This sensible and very irritable board received numbers of noble visitors: and other boards, sympathising with their afflicted brother, demonstrated how much affected they might be by similar means. The publicans in different parts of the City immediately applied ignited metal to all the woodwork of their houses, in hopes of finding sensitive timber: but I do not perceive any one so successful as the landlord of the Bowman tavern in Drury Lane, who had a mantle tree so extremely prompt and loud in its responses, that the sagacious observers were nearly unanimous in pronouncing it part of the same trunk which had afforded the original plank.”
The following paragraph is from the Loyal London Mercury, October 4, 1682:—
“Some persons being this week drinking at the Queen’s Arms tavern in St. Martin’s le Grand, in the kitchen, and having laid the fire-fork in the fire to light their pipes, accidentally fell a discoursing of the groaning board, and what might be the cause of it. One in the company having the fork in his hand to light his pipe, would needs make trial of a long dresser that stood there, which, upon the first touch, made a great noise and groaning, more than ever the board that was shewed did, and when they touched it three or four times, and found it far beyond the other. They all having seen it, the house is almost filled with spectators day and night, and any company calling for a glass of wine may see it: which, in the judgment of all, is far louder, and makes a longer groan, than the other, which to report, unless seen, would seem incredible.”