Opening…

Introduction

BOXING AND BOXERS AMONG THE ANCIENTS.

The origin of boxing has been assumed by some superficial writers as coeval with the earliest contests of man. This view appears to the writer both crude and unphilosophical. It might be argued with equal probability that the foil was antecedent to the sword, the sword to the dagger, or the singlestick to the club with which the first murder was perpetrated. The clumsiest and, so far as rude and blood-thirsty attack could contrive them, the most deadly weapons were the first used; the sudden destruction of life, not the art of defence, being the brutal instinct of the vengeful, cunning, and cowardly savage, or the treacherous manslayer. This, too, would lead us fairly to infer—as the most dangerous forms of the cæstus are the most ancient, and the naked fist in combat appears nowhere to have been used in the gladiatorial combats of Greece or Rome—that to England and her Anglo-Saxon race is due this fairest and least dangerous of all forms of the duel; and to attribute to a recent period the padded boxing-glove (at present the air or pneumatic glove), by means of which the truly noble art of self-defence can be safely and healthfully practised and illustrated.

The most polished people of antiquity included boxing among their sports. With them it was also a discipline, an exercise, and an art. A discipline, inasmuch as it was taught to pupils; an exercise, as followed in the public games; and an art, on account of the previous trainings and studies it presupposed in those who professed and practised it. Plutarch indeed asserts that the “pugilate” was the most ancient of the three gymnic games performed by the athletæ, who were divided into three classes—the BOXERS, the WRESTLERS, and the RUNNERS. And thus Homer views the subject, and generally follows this order in his descriptions of public celebrations. This, too, is the natural sequence, in what philosopher Square would call “the eternal fitness of things.” First, the man attacks (or defends himself) with the fist; secondly, he closes or wrestles; and should fear, inferior skill, or deficient strength tell him he had better avoid the conflict, he resorts to the third course, and runs.

A word on the derivation of our words, pugilism, pugilist, and boxing, all of which have a common origin. Pugilism comes to us through the Latin pugilatus, the art of fighting with the fist, as also does pugnus, a fight. The Latin again took these words from the Greek πυγμὴ (pugmè), the fist doubled for fighting; whence also they had πύγμάχος (pugmachos), a fist-fighter, and πύγμαχια (pugmachia), a fist-fight. They had also πυγδον (pugdon), a measure of length from the elbow (cubitus) to the end of the hand with the fingers clenched. Another form of the word, the Greek adverb πυξ (pux), pugno vel pugnis, gives us πυξος (puxos, Lat. buxus), in English, BOX; and it is remarkable that this form of the closed hand is the Greek synonyme for anything in the shape of a closed box or receptacle, and so it has passed to the moderns. The πυξ, box or pyx, is the chest in which the sacramental vessels are contained. Thus mine Ancient Pistol pleads for his red-nosed comrade:—

“Fortune is Bardolph’s foe, and frowns on him; For he hath stolen a PYX, and hanged must ’a be. Let gallows gape for dog; let man go free, But Exeter hath given the doom of death, For PYX of little price.” HENRY V., act iii., sc. vi.

The French have also imported le boxe into their dictionaries, where the Germans had it already, as buchs, a box. But enough of etymology; wherever we got the word, the thing itself—fair boxing, as we practise it—is of pure English origin. The Greeks, however, cultivated the science in their fashion, confined it by strict rules, and selected experienced masters and professors, who, by public lessons, delivered gratis in Palestræ and Gymnasiæ, instructed youth in the theory and practice of the art. Kings and princes, as we learn from the poets, laid aside their dignity for a few hours, and exchanged the sceptre for the cæstus; indeed, in Greece, boxing, as a liberal art, was cultivated with ardour, and when (once in three years) the whole nation assembled at Corinth to celebrate their Isthmian games, in honour of Neptune, the generous admiration of an applauding people placed the crown on the brow of the successful pugilist, who, on his return home, was hailed as the supporter of his country’s fame. Even Horace places the pugilist before the poet:—

“Quem tu, Melpomene, semel Nascentem placido lumine videris, Illum non labor Isthmius Clarabit pugilem.” Lib. iv., Ode 3, l. 1‒4.

And in another place:—

“Musa debit fidibus divos, puerosque deorum, Et PUGILEM victorem, et equum certamine primum.” De Arte Poet., l. 83‒84.

The sententious Cicero also says:—“It is certainly a glorious thing to do well for the republic, but also to speak well is not contemptible.”

Having alluded to the poets who have celebrated pugilism, we will take a hasty glance at the demigods and heroes by whom boxing has been illustrated. POLLUX, the twin brother of Castor—sprung from the intrigue of Jupiter with the beauteous Leda, wife of Tyndarus, King of Sparta, and mother of the fair Helen of Troy—presents us with a lofty pedigree as the tutelary deity of the boxers. The twins fought their way to a seat on Mount Olympus, as also did Hercules himself:—

“Hac arte Pollux, et vagus Hercules Innixus arces attigit igneas;”

the sign Gemini in our zodiac representing this pair of “pugs.” As one of the unsuccessful competitors with Pollux, we may here mention AMYCUS. He was a son of Neptune, by Melia, and was king of the Bebryces. When the Argonauts touched at his port, on their voyage to Colchis, he received them with much hospitality. Amycus was renowned for his skill with the cæstus, and he kept up a standing challenge to all strangers for a trial of skill. Pollux accepted his challenge; but we learn from Apollonius that Amycus did not fight fair, and tried by a trick to beat Pollux, whereupon that “out-and-outer” killed him, pour encourager les autres, we presume.[2] There were two other pugilists of the same name among the “school” taken by Æneas into Italy as we shall presently see.

ERYX, also, figures among the heaven-descended pugilists. He was the son of Venus, by Butes, a descendant of Amycus, and very skilful in the use of the cæstus. He, too, kept up a standing challenge to all comers, and so came to grief. For Hercules, who “barred neither weight, country, nor colour,” coming that way, took up the gauntlet, and knocked poor Eryx clean out of time; so they buried him on a hill where he had, like a pious son, built a beautiful temple in honour of his rather too easy mamma. It is but fair, however, in this instance, to state that there is another version of the parentage of Eryx, not quite so lofty, but, to our poor thinking, quite as creditable. It runs thus:—Butes, being on a Mediterranean voyage, touched at the three-cornered island of Sicily (Trinacria), and there, sailor fashion, was hooked by one Lycaste, a beautiful harlot, who was called by the islanders “Venus.” She was the mother of Eryx, and so he was called the son of Venus. (See Virgil, Æneid, b. v., l. 372.) However this may be, the temple of Eryx and the “Erycinian Venus” were most renowned, and Diodorus, the Sicilian, tells us that the Carthaginians revered Venus Erycina as much as the Sicilians themselves, identifying her with the Phœnician Astarte. So much for the genealogy of the fourth boxer.

ANTÆUS here claims a place. We have had a couple from heaven (by Jupiter), and one from the sea (by Neptune), our next shall be from earth and ocean combined. Antæus, though principally renowned as a wrestler, is represented with the cæstus. He was the son of Terra, by Neptune; or, as the stud-book would put it, by Neptune out of Terra. He was certainly dreadfully given to “bounce,” for he threatened to erect a temple to his father with the skulls of his conquered antagonists; but he planned his house before he had procured the materials. The story runs, that whenever he kissed his “mother earth” she renewed his strength, from which we may fairly infer that he was an adept in the art of “getting down,” like many of our modern pugilists. Hercules, however, found out the dodge by which the artful Antæus got “second wind” and renewed strength. He accordingly put on “the squeeze,” and giving him a cross-lift, held him off the ground till he expired, which we take to have been foul play on the part of his Herculean godship.[3] There was another Antæus, a friend of Turnus, killed by Æneas in the Latin wars.

Of the Homeric boxers, EPEUS and EURYALUS are the most renowned. Epeus was king of the Epei, a people of the Peloponnesus; he was son of Endymion, and brother to Pæon and Æolus. As his papa was the paramour of the goddess of chastity, Diana, the family may be said to have moved in high society. The story of Endymion and the goddess of the moon has been a favourite with poets. Epeus was a “big one,” and, like others of Homer’s heroes, a bit of a bully.

In the twenty-third book of the Iliad we find the father of poetry places the games at the funeral of Patroclus in this order:—1, The chariot race; 2, the cæstus fight; 3, the wrestling; 4, the foot race. As it is with the second of these only that Epeus and Euryalus are concerned, we shall confine ourselves to the Homeric description.

“The prizes next are ordered to the field, For the bold champions who the cæstus wield; A stately mule, as yet by toil unbroke, Of six years’ age, unconscious of the yoke, Is to the circus led and firmly bound: Next stands a goblet, massive, large, and round. Achilles, rising, thus: ‘Let Greece excite Two heroes equal to this hardy fight; Who dares the foe with lifted arms provoke, And rush beneath the swift descending stroke, On whom Apollo shall the palm bestow, And whom the Greeks supreme by conquest know, This mule his dauntless labours shall repay: The vanquished bear the massy bowl away.’ This dreadful combat great Epeus chose. High o’er the crowd, enormous bulk! he rose, And seized the beast, and thus began to say: ‘Stand forth some man to bear the bowl away! Price of his ruin; for who dares deny This mule my right, the undoubted victor I? Others, ’tis owned, in fields of battle shine, But the first honours of this fight are mine. For who excels in all? Then let my foe Draw near, but first his certain fortune know, Secure, this hand shall his whole frame confound, Mash all his bones, and all his body pound: So let his friends be nigh, a needful train, To heave the battered carcase off the plain.’ The giant spoke; and in a stupid gaze The host beheld him, silent with amaze! ’Twas thou, Euryalus! who durst aspire To meet his might, and emulate thy sire, The great Megestheus, who, in days of yore, In Theban games the noblest trophy bore— (The games ordain’d dead Œdipus to grace), And singly vanquished the Cadmæan race. Him great Tydides urges to contend, Warm with the hopes of conquest for his friend: Officious with the cincture girds him round; And to his wrists the gloves of death are bound. Amid the circle now each champion stands, And poises high in air his iron hands: With clashing gauntlets now they fiercely close, Their crackling jaws re-echo to the blows, And painful sweat from all their members flows. At length Epeus dealt a weighty blow Full on the cheek of his unwary foe; Beneath the ponderous arm’s resistless sway Down dropp’d he nerveless, and extended lay. As a large fish, when winds and waters roar, By some huge billow dash’d against the shore, Lies panting: not less battered with the wound The bleeding hero pants upon the ground. To rear his fallen foe the victor lends, Scornful, his hand, and gives him to his friends. Whose arms support him reeling through the throng, And dragging his disabled legs along, Nodding, his head hangs down his shoulders o’er; His mouth and nostrils pour the clotted gore: Wrapped round in mists he lies, and lost to thought— His friends receive the bowl too dearly bought.”

So far the first report of a prize fight, which came off 1184 years B.C., in the last year of the siege of Troy, anno mundi, 3530.

There was another EPEUS, son of Panopæus, who was a skilful carpenter, and made the Greek mare, commonly but erroneously called the Trojan horse,[4] in the womb of which the Argive warriors were introduced to the ruin of beleaguered Troy, as related in the second book of the “Æneid.”

EURYALUS will be known by name to newspaper readers of the present day as having given name to the steam frigate in which our sailor Prince Alfred took his earliest voyages to sea: to the scholar he is known as a valiant Greek prince, who went to the Trojan war with eighty ships, at least so says Homer, “Iliad,” b. ii.

“Next move to war the generous Argive train, From high Trœzenè and Maseta’s plain; And fair Ægina circled by the main, Whom strong Tyrinthe’s lofty walls surround, And Epidaure with viny harvest crowned, And where fair Asinen and Hermion show Their cliffs above and ample bay below. These by the brave EURYALUS were led, Great Sthenelus and greater Diomed. But chief Tydides bore the sovereign sway; In fourscore barks they plough their watery way.”

We may here note that Tydides (the family name of Diomed, as the son of Tydeus) was Euryalus’s second in the mill with Epeus, wherein we have just seen him so soundly thrashed by the big and bounceable Epeus. As Virgil generally invents a “continuation” or counterpart of the Homeric heroes for his “Æneid,” we find Euryalus made the hero of an episode, and celebrated for his immortal friendship with Nisus: with him he had a partnership in fighting, and they died together in a night encounter with the troops of the Rutulians, whose camp they had plundered, but were overtaken and slain. (Virg. Æneid, ix., 176.) We will now therefore shift the scene from Greece, and come to Sicily and Italy, and the early boxing matches there.

Æneas’ companions were a “school” of boxers, and met with the like in Italy, among whom ENTELLUS, ERYX, and ANTÆUS (already mentioned), DARES, CLOANTHUS, GYGES, GYAS, etc., may be numbered.

ENTELLUS, the intimate of Eryx, and who conquered Dares at the funeral games of Anchises (father of Æneas) in Sicily, deserves first mention. He was even then an “old ’un,” but, unlike most who have “trusted a battle to a waning age,” comes off gloriously in the encounter; which, as we shall presently see, under Dares, gives an occasion for the second ring report of antiquity, as well as a minute description of the cæstus itself. The lines from the fifth book of the “Æneid” need no preface. After the rowing match (with galleys), in which Cloanthus (see post) is the victor, Æneas thus addresses his assembled companions:—

“‘If there be here whose dauntless courage dare In gauntlet-fight, with back and body bare, His opposite sustain in open view, Stand forth thou, champion, and the games renew: Two prizes I propose, and thus divide— A bull with gilded horns and fillets tied, Shall be the portion of the conq’ring chief; A sword and helm shall cheer the loser’s grief.’ Then haughty Dares in the lists appears; Stalking he strides, his head erected bears; His nervous arms the weighty gauntlets wield And loud applauses echo through the field. Dares alone in combat sued to stand, The match of mighty Paris, hand to hand; The same at Hector’s funerals undertook Gigantic Butes of the Amycian stock, And by the stroke of his resistless hand, Stretched his vast bulk along the yellow sand. Such Dares was, and such he strode along, And drew the wonder of the gazing throng. His brawny bulk and ample breast he shows, His lifted arms around his head he throws, And deals, in whistling air, his empty blows. His match is sought; but through the trembling band Not one dares answer to his proud demand. Presuming of his force, with sparkling eyes, Already he devours the promised prize. He claims the bull with lawless insolence, And, having seized his horns, addressed the prince: ‘If none my matchless valour dares oppose, How long shall Dares wait his dastard foes? Permit me, chief, permit without delay, To lead this uncontested gift away.’ The crowd assents, and, with redoubled cries, For the proud challenger demands the prize.”

Acestes then reproaches Entellus for allowing the prize to be carried off uncontested. Entellus pleads “staleness” and “want of condition,” but accepts the challenge.

“Acestes fired with just disdain to see A plain usurped without a victory, Reproached Entellus thus, who sate beside, And heard and saw, unmoved, the Trojan’s pride. ‘Once, but in vain, a champion of renown, So tamely can you bear the ravished crown, The prize in triumph borne before your sight, And shun for fear the danger of the fight. Where is your Eryx now, the boasted name, The god who taught your thundering arm the game? Where now your baffled honour? where the spoil That filled your house, and fame that filled our isle?’ Entellus thus: ‘My soul is still the same, Unmoved with fears, and moved with martial fame; But my chill blood is curdled in my veins, And scarce the shadow of a man remains. Oh! could I turn to that fair prime again, That prime of which this boaster is so vain, The brave, who this decrepit age defies, Should feel my force without the promised prize.’”

Entellus then throws down the gauntlets of Eryx (engraved under Cæstus, pp. xiii., xiv.), but Dares, declining the ponderous weapons, old Entellus offers to accommodate him, by permission of the umpires, with a round or two with a lighter pair.

“‘But if the challenger these arms refuse, And cannot wield their weight, or dare not use; If great Æneas and Acestes join In his request, these gauntlets I resign: Let us with equal arms perform the fight, And let him learn to fear since I forego my right. This said, Entellus for the fight prepares, Stripped of his quilted coat, his body bares: Composed of mighty bones and brawn he stands, A goodly towering object on the sands. Then just Æneas equal arms supplied, Which round their shoulders to their wrists they tied. Both on the tiptoe stand, at full extent, Their arms aloft, their bodies inly bent; Their heads from aiming blows they bear afar, With clashing gauntlets then provoke the war. One on his youth and pliant limbs relies, One on his sinews and his giant size. This last is stiff with age, his motion slow; He heaves for breath, he staggers to and fro, And clouds of issuing smoke his nostrils loudly blow Yet equal in success, they ward, they strike, Their ways are different, but their art alike. Before, behind, the blows are dealt; around Their hollow sides the rattling thumps resound; A storm of strokes, well meant, with fury flies, And errs about their temples, ears, and eyes— Nor always errs, for oft the gauntlet draws A sweeping stroke along the crackling jaws. Hoary with age Entellus stands his ground, But with his warping body wards the wound. His hand and watchful eye keep even pace, While Dares traverses and shifts his place, And, like a captain who beleaguers round Some strong-built castle on a rising ground, Views all the approaches with observing eyes; This and that other part in vain he tries, And more on industry than force relies. With hands on high Entellus threats the foe; But Dares watched the motion from below, And slipped a-side, and shunned the long-descending blow. Entellus wastes his forces on the wind, And, thus deluded of the stroke designed, Headlong and heavy fell, his ample breast And weighty limbs his ancient mother pressed. So falls a hollow pine that long had stood On Ida’s height or Erymanthus’ wood, Torn from the roots. The differing nations rise, And shouts, with mingled murmurs, rend the skies. Acestes runs with eager haste to raise The fallen companion of his youthful days. Dauntless he rose, and to the fight returned; With shame his glowing cheeks, his eyes with fury burned Disdain and conscious virtue filled his breast, And with redoubled force his foe he pressed. He lays on load with either hand amain And headlong drives the Trojan o’er the plain; Nor stops nor stays nor rests nor breath allows But storms of strokes descend about his brows, A rattling tempest and a hail of blows.”

At this point of the combat—when, after what ought to have closed round 1, by the fall of old Entellus, the latter jumps up and renews the fight, driving Dares in confusion before him—we find that the referee and stakeholder had a judicial discretionary power to stop the fight, the more necessary on account of the deadly gloves in use. Some such power, in cases of closing and attempts at garotting (such as occurred at Farnham and at Wadhurst in 1860 and 1863, and numerous minor battles), should be vested in the referee; but then where is the man who in modern times would be efficiently supported or obeyed in this judicial exercise of authority?

“But now the prince, who saw the wild increase Of wounds, commands the combatants to cease, And bounds Entellus’ wrath, and bids the peace. First to the Trojan, spent with toil, he came, And soothed his sorrow for the suffered shame. ‘What fury seized my friend? The gods,’ said he, ‘To him propitions, are averse to thee, Have given his arm superior force to thine, ’Tis madness to contend with strength divine.’ The gauntlet fight thus ended, from the shore His faithful friends the unhappy Dares bore: His mouth and nostrils poured a purple flood, And pounded teeth came rushing with his blood. Faintly he staggered through the hissing throng, And hung his head and trailed his legs along. The sword and casque are carried by his train, But with his foe the palm and ox remain.”

The reader will doubtless be forcibly struck with the close imitation of Homer by the later epic poet. The length of this account—given, as are those in the ensuing pages, under the name of the winner—will render superfluous a lengthy notice of the vanquished—

DARES, another of the companions of Æneas, who also, like St. Patrick, was “a jontleman, and came of dacent people.” Indeed, we see that he claimed to be descended from King Amycus. Your ancient pugilists seem to have been as anxious about “blood” as a modern horse-breeder. Dares was afterwards slain by Turnus in Italy. See Virg. Æneid, v. 369, xii. 363.

CLOANTHUS, too, fought some good battles; and from him the noble Roman family of the Cluentii boasted their descent. In “Æneid,” v. 122, he wins the rowing match.

Of GYGES’ match we merely learn that Turnus also slew him; and of GYAS, that he greatly distinguished himself by his prowess in the funeral games of Anchises in Sicily. As to the “pious” ÆNEAS himself, another son of Venus, by Anchises, he was a fighting man all his days. First, in the Trojan war, where he engaged in combat with Diomed and with Achilles himself, and afterwards, on his various voyagings in Sicily, Africa, and Italy, where he fought for a wife and a kingdom, and won both by killing his rival Turnus, marrying Lavinia, and succeeding his father-in-law, Latinus. Despite his “piety” in carrying off his old father Anchises from the flames of Troy, and giving him such a grand funeral, Æneas seems to have been a filibustering sort of vagrant; and after getting rid of poor Turnus, not without suspicions of foul play, he was drowned in crossing a river in Etruria, which territory he had invaded on a marauding expedition. We cannot say much against him on the score of “cruelty and desertion” in the matter of Queen Dido, seeing that chronology proves that the Carthaginian Queen was not born until about three hundred years after the fall of Troy, and therefore the whole story is the pure fabrication of the Roman poets, Virgil and Ovid. This, however, is by the way, so we will proceed to give a short account of the implements used in ancient boxing.

These were the CÆSTUS, a formidable gauntlet composed of thongs of raw hide, with the woollen glove covering the hand with its vellus or fringe; and the AMPHOTIDES, a kind of helmet or defensive armour for the head. Four principal forms of the cæstus are known by extant representations. The first is the most tremendous, and was found in bronze at Herculaneum. The original hand is somewhat above the natural size, and appears to have been part of the statue of some armed gladiator. It is formed of several thicknesses of raw hide strongly fastened together, and cut into a circular form. These have holes to admit the four fingers, the thumb being closed on the outer edge to secure the hold, while the whole is bound by thongs round the wrist and forearm, with its inner side on the palm of the hand and its outer edge projecting in front of the knuckles. Our Yankee friends have a small imitation in their modern “knuckle-dusters.” A glove of thick worsted was worn beneath the gauntlet, ending in a fringe or bunch of wool, called vellus. Lactantius says: “Pentedactylos laneos sub cæstibus habent.” The figure given in the Abbé St. Non’s, “Voyage Pittoresque de Naples et de Sicile,” is here copied.

The second form of cæstus, though less deadly at first aspect, is capable of administering the most fatal blows. This sort is represented in a bronze group, engraved in the first volume of the “Bronzi del Museo Kircheriano,” which represents the battle between Amycus and Pollux, already noticed.

This (or the fourth form of glove) would also seem to have been that offered by Entellus to Dares in the fifth book of the Æneid, though the “knobs of brass,” “blunt points of iron,” “plummets of lead,” and other superfluities of barbarity, are not visible. Virgil’s description of the cæstus being the best, we here quote it:—

“He (Entellus) threw Two pond’rous gauntlets down, in open view; Gauntlets, which Eryx wont in fight to wield, And sheathe his hands within the listed field. With fear and wonder seiz’d the crowd beholds The gloves of death,—with sev’n distinguish’d folds Of tough bull’s hides; the space within is spread With iron or with loads of heavy lead. Dares himself was daunted at the sight, Renounc’d his challenge, and refused to fight. Astonish’d at their weight, the hero stands, And pois’d the pond’rous engines in his hands.”

In Smith’s “Antiquities of Greece and Rome,” and in Lenu’s “Costumes des Peuples de l’Antiquité,” are other patterns. The subjoined is from the last named work.

The last form (No. 4) we shall give is also from a bas-relief found at Herculaneum. It is certainly of a less destructive form, the knuckles and back of the hand being covered by the leather, held in its place by a thumbhole, and further secured by two crossed straps to the vellus, which ends half way up the forearm. A similar engraving forms the tail-piece to the fifty-first page of the second volume of the Abbé St. Non’s “Voyage Pittoresque,” already quoted.

The AMPHOTIDES, a helmet or head-guard, to secure the temporal bones and arteries, encompassed the ears with thongs and ligatures, which were buckled either under the chin or behind the head. They bore some resemblance to the head guards used in modern broadsword and stick play, but seem to have fitted close. They were made of hides of bulls, studded with knobs of iron, and thickly quilted inside to dull the concussion of the blows. Though it may be doubted whether the amphotides were introduced until a later period of the pugilistic era, yet as their representation would prevent the faces or heads of the combatants being seen, sculptors and fresco painters would leave them out unhesitatingly, as they do head-dresses, belts, reins, horses’ harness, etc., regardless of reality, and seeking only what they deemed high art in their representations.

The search after traces of boxing among the barbarism of the Middle Ages, with their iron cruelty and deadly warfare—not unredeemed, however, by rude codes of honour, knightly courtesy, and chivalrous gallantry, in defence of the weak and in honour of the fair—would not be worth the while. The higher orders jousted and tilted with lance, mace, and sword, the lower fought with sand-bags and the quarter-staff.

Wrestling, as an art, seems to have only survived among Gothic or Scandinavian peoples. A “punch on the head,” advocated by Mr. Grantley Berkeley as a poacher’s punishment, is, however, spoken of by Ariosto as the result of his romantic hero’s wrath, who gives the offender “un gran punzone sulla testa,” by way of caution. That there were “men before their time,” who saw the best remedy for the fatal abuse of deadly weapons in popular brawls, we have the testimony of no less an authority than St. Bernard. That holy and peace-loving father of the Church, as we are told by Forsyth, and numerous other writers, established boxing as a safety-valve for the pugnacious propensities of the people. He tells us: “The strongest bond of union among the Italians is only a coincidence of hatred. Never were the Tuscans so unanimous as in hating the other States of Italy. The Senesi agreed best in hating all the other Tuscans; the citizens of Siena in hating the rest of the Senesi; and in the city itself the same amiable passion was subdivided among the different wards.

“This last ramification of hatred had formerly exposed the town to very fatal conflicts, till at length, in the year 1200, St. Bernardine instituted BOXING as a more innocent vent to their hot blood, and laid the bruisers under certain laws, which are sacredly observed to this day. As they improved in prowess and skill, the pugilists came forward on every point of national honour: they were sung by poets and recorded in inscriptions. The elegant Savini ranks boxing among the holiday pleasures of Siena.”[5]

These desultory jottings must suffice to bring the history of boxing among the ancients down to the period of its gradual extinction as an art and its public and authorised practice. A few sentences from the pen of the late V. G. Dowling, Esq.[6] will appropriately close this introductory chapter.

“Both among the Greeks and Romans the practice of pugilism, although differing in its main features from our modern and less dangerous combats, was considered essential in the education of their youth, from its manifest utility in ‘strengthening the body, dissipating all fear, and infusing a manly courage into the system.’ The power of punishment, rather than the ‘art of self-defence,’ however, seems to have been the main object of the ancients; and he who dealt the heaviest blow, without regard to protecting his own person, stood foremost in the list of heroes. Not so in modern times; for while the quantum of punishment in the end must decide the question of victory or defeat, yet the true British boxer gains most applause by the degree of science which he displays in defending his own person, while with quickness and precision he returns the intended compliments of his antagonist, and like a skilful chess-player, takes advantage of every opening which chance presents, thereby illustrating the value of coolness and self-possession at the moment when danger is most imminent. The annals of our country from the invasion of the Romans downwards sufficiently demonstrates that the native Briton trusted more to the strength of his arm, the muscular vigour of his frame, and the fearless attributes of his mind in the hour of danger, than to any artificial expedients; and that, whether in attack or defence, the combination of those qualities rendered him at all times formidable in the eyes of his assailants, however skilled in the science or practice of warfare. If illustrations were required to establish this proposition, they are to be found in every page of our history, from the days of Alfred to the battle of Waterloo; and if it be asked how it is that Englishmen stand thus pre-eminent in the eyes of the world, it may be answered that it is to be ascribed to the encouragement given to those manly games (boxing more especially) which are characteristic of their country, and which, while they invigorate the system, sustain and induce that moral courage which experience has shown us to be the result as much of education as of constitution, perhaps more of the former than of the latter. The truth of this conclusion was so strongly impressed on the feelings of our forefathers, even in the most barbarous ages, that we find all their pastimes were tinctured with a desire to acquire superiority in their athletic recreations, thus in peace inculcating those principles which in war became their safest reliance.” Esto perpetua!

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PUGILISTICA

THE HISTORY OF BRITISH BOXING.

PERIOD I.—1719 TO 1791. FROM THE CHAMPIONSHIP OF FIG TO THE APPEARANCE OF DANIEL MENDOZA.

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Chapter I

PREFATORY REMARKS.—FIG—SUTTON—WHITAKER—PEARTREE—PIPES—GRETTING.

We have collected in our Introductory Chapter the few scattered notices of pugilism as practised and understood by the earlier Celtic nations. Despite, however, the proclivity of antiquaries, historians, and scholars to find a Roman or Greek origin for every manner, custom, and tradition—as if we had none originally of our own,—we may safely say that Boxing, in the noble manly forbearing and humane practice of the art, is the indigenous offspring of British hardihood, steady courage, and love of gymnic exercise and feats of bodily strength and skill, not unaccompanied with that amount of risk and severe exertion which lend a zest to sports unappreciated and unknown to more effeminate, more cruel, and more cowardly peoples. Let not this be taken as the hasty expression of insular prejudice. The writer, after deeply considering, and often witnessing, the personal contests of men in his own country and abroad, and dispassionately weighing the manner, accessories, and consequences of such contests, feels it a duty he owes to a half-informed and prejudiced society to express the result of his experience and his reflection, without fear, favour, or affection:—fear of the onslaughts of spiritual and moral quacks; favour for those who have degraded or debased a useful and laudable national exercise and sport; or affection, more than is due to an art which he would fain rescue from the obloquy and condemnation to which blind hostility and canting prejudice have consigned it. He would fain uphold that pugilistic combat which a fair field, no favour, and surrender at all times at the will of either party, distinguishes from every mode of conflict yet devised or practised for the settlement of those “offences” which the highest authority has told us “needs must come.” At a period within the earlier memories of the writer, a school of babblers flooded the press with theories of the perfectibility of man, the ultimate establishment of universal freedom, and the sublimation of the human faculties by general education and popular science; and a period was confidently predicted by these theorising shallowpates, when war would be an “impossibility” as against the “interests” of men and nations. We have lived to see the most sanguinary and ferocious contest in history among the people whom these sciolists set up as the bright example to the “less educated” nations of the Old World. We may, therefore, safely despise the “new light” philosophy, and revert to the eternal truth already cited—“needs must be that offences will come;” and this necessity being inevitable, the next logical step is to consider how these “offences” may be best dealt with and atoned.

So long as man is liable to the imperfections of his nature he will need the art of defending himself from attack and injury, and of redressing wrong or insult that may be offered him. All experience has taught us that the passions of pride and emulation (honourable like every human attribute within limits), and resentment for injury, are the springs of some of our noblest actions. It is to the stifling and too severe repression of the active energies of a resolute and independent spirit that the soul of man as an individual, and of a nation as a whole, sinks into the vengeful cowardice and cruel pusillanimity of the abject yet ferocious slave. As, then, a greater or less portion of evil must be attached to the best system of popular moral or civil restraint, the wisest policy is that which legislates for man as we find him, and not as the perfect or perfectible (?) creature which theorists and bigots pretend that he ought to be.

At the risk of repetition we will return to our argument. Individuals, as well as states, must have their disputes, their quarrels, and then—their battles. This is, there is no denying, the sad but natural—the regrettable but inevitable, condition and tenure on which human life—nay, all animal existence—is held. There must, then, be some mode through which the passions, when aroused, from whatever cause,—

Ambition, love, or greed and thirst of gold,—

may be assuaged, subdued, or extinguished; when the necessity for an appeal to the ultima ratio of conflict is unavoidable. And surely, in this extremity the fists—the symbol of personal courage, of prompt readiness for defence and attack—are the most harmless, the ever-present, and the least fatal weapons. We will leave, gentle or simple reader, the pistol to your higher-born countrymen of the “upper ten thousand,” if it so please them; the fatal fleuret to the fire-eating Gaul (whether soldier, litterateur, or “pekin”); the back-handed stiletto to the stabbing Italian; the sharp, triangular rapier or the dagger to the saturnine Spaniard; the slaughterous schlager to the beer-bemused burschen[7] of dreamy Vaterland; the gash-inflicting knife to the Dutch boor or seaman’s snicker-snee; the death-dealing “bowie,” “Kansas toothpick,” and murderous “six-shooter” to the catawampous citizen of the “univarsal Yankee nation;” the waved kreese, to the muck-running Malay; each tawny savage to his sharp tomahawk, his poisoned arrow, or his barbed assagai; and then we would ask the scribblers of the anti-pugilistic press which of these they are prepared to champion against the fist of the British boxer,—a weapon of defence which, as exemplified in the practice laid down in the latest code of Ring Law, is the perfection of the practice of cool courage, self-reticent combat, restraint, skill, and endurance that can illustrate and adorn the character of an unsophisticated and true-hearted Englishman in the supreme moment of conquest or of defeat.

It has frequently been urged by magistrates, and even ermined judges[8] of quasi-liberal sentiments, that pugilism, as a national practice, and an occasional or fortuitous occurrence, may be winked at by the authorities, or tacitly allowed, and prohibited or punished at discretion, as the occasion may seem to require: but that gymnastic schools where boxing is regularly taught, and pitched battles, are social nuisances which the law should rigorously suppress. Granting the possibility of this utter repression, which we deny, it may well be questioned whether we have not tried to suppress a lesser evil to evolve a greater.[9]

To boxing-schools and regulated combats we owe that noble system of fistic ethics, of fair play, which distinguishes and elevates our common people, and which stern, impartial, unprejudiced and logical minds must hail and foster as one of the proud attributes of our national character. We do not in the least undervalue peaceful pursuits, which constitute and uphold the blessings of peaceful life; yet a nation with no idea or principle beyond commerce would be unworthy, nay, would be impotent for national existence, much more for national power and progress. Subjection, conquest, and hence serfdom and poverty, must be its fate in presence of strong, rapacious, and encroaching neighbours. “The people that possesses steel,” said the ancient assailant of the Lydian Crœsus, “needs not long want for gold.” A portion, then, of a nation must be set apart, whose vocation it will be to secure and to defend the lives, liberties, and properties of the whole. Hence the honourable calling of the soldier and the sailor; and hence, to fit the people for these, and to prevent the too general indulgence of effeminacy, dread of enterprise, and the contagious spread of an enervating and fanatical peace-at-any-price quietism, it is wise and politic to encourage the manly and athletic sports and contests which invigorate the frame, brace the nerves, inspire contempt of personal suffering, and enable man to defend his rights as well as to enjoy them. Englishmen have learned, and we sincerely hope will continue to learn and to practise, fair boxing, as they have learned other arts of defence,—the use of the rifle among others, in which (as their sires of old did with the yeoman’s bow) they have already excelled Swiss, American, and Australian mountaineers and woodmen: men from countries celebrated for their practice of long shots, and constant handling of the weapon. Let them, therefore, see that the fair use of the fist is not sneered down by the craven or the canter. Were every pugilistic school shut up, the practice of boxing discouraged, and the fiat of our modern intolerant saints carried out, the manly spirit of fair play in our combats would disappear, and the people of this country lose one of their fairest characteristics. A retrospect of the last ten years will answer whether these are times to incur such risk; while at home, how-much-soever we may have had of the fist, we have indeed had too much of the loaded bludgeon, the mis-named “life-preserver,” the garotte, the knife, and the revolver.

Pugilistic exhibitions are falsely said to harden the heart, to induce ferocity of character, and that they are generally attended by the dregs of society. The last aspersion, for reasons that lie on the surface, has the most truth in it. The principle only, indeed the utility and necessity of the practice of boxing, is all we here propose to vindicate. Pugilism includes nothing essentially vicious; nothing, in itself, prompting to excess or debauchery. On the contrary, it asks temperance, exercise, and self-denial. If we are to argue and decide from the abuse of a custom or institution, where are we to stop? Men are not to be cured, even of errors, by the mere arbitrary force of laws, or by a cherished pursuit being vilified and contemned, mostly by those who are ignorant or averse to it. Teach men to respect themselves—this is the first step to make them respect others. Let this rule be applied to the Ring; let it be viewed as a popular institution; it may then, and we have warrant from experience, and in the history contained in these pages, become worthy of support and patronage. A series of biographies, which include the names of Cribb, Jackson, Gully, Shaw, Spring, Sayers, etc. (within the memory of men yet living) may be pointed to without a blush; while individual traits of heroism, generosity, forbearance, and humanity, will be found scattered as bright redeeming points through the lives of many of the “rough diamonds” preserved in the “setting” of our pages. We doubt not, were the character of the Ring raised, that successors of as good repute as these worthies would yet be found and arise among the brotherhood of the fist. Should this “consummation devoutly to be wished” ever be realised, our gymnasia, a public necessity, might then be licensed,—a security for their visitors, and adding respectability to their proprietors; for every government possesses the power of making expedient regulations, in the interest of society, even where it may not have the right to absolutely suppress or interdict. If free trade, and unrestricted leave to carry on profession or calling are such fundamental principles with our state economists, why not free boxing? and why not leave the morale of pugilism, as well as the morality of its professors, to find its level in the neglect or the patronage, the esteem or the contempt, of the people at large? Boxing and boxing schools, as free Britons, we must have. Let us, then, consider, how they can be best made to serve the cause of regulated pugilism. On the whole, there is no reason to doubt the practicability, as well as the desirability, of public boxing-schools as a branch of a system of national gymnastics. It is absurd as well as scandalous to assert that they must, ex necessitate, be the resort of profligates and thieves. As to the last named scourges of society, long observation and experience[10] have convinced us that we have our metropolitan and even rural nurseries for them; our “sin and crime gardens” for their special propagation, rearing, and multiplication; and we can conscientiously say, from an equally long observation, that among those thieves’ nurseries and “sin-gardens” the much-vilified Prize Ring has no special claim to be counted.

These remarks have extended to an extreme length, and we will here break off, premising that many opportunities will present themselves in the course of our history to illustrate and enforce the arguments and principles here laid down. Waiving, then, all question as to its origin, the ars pugilistica may be accepted as interwoven for many generations in the manners and habits of the English people; that it has become one of our “popular prejudices,” if you so please to term it; and that we will not abandon it to be suppressed by force or sneered down by cant or sophistry. It has long since, in this favoured country, been purged of its cruelty and barbarism, and restrained within well-considered bounds. No lacerating or stunning additions, such as we see pictured in our sketches of the ancient athletes, have been allowed to Nature’s weapon—the clenched fist. On the contrary, for the practice of the neophyte and the demonstration of the art by the professor, soft wool-padded gloves cover the knuckles and backs of the hands of the sparrers. Finally, foul blows, butting with the head, and deliberate falls, have been particularised and forbidden, and an unimpeachable system of fair play established, to be found in the “New Rules of the Ring.” We have nationally imbibed these principles, and hence among our lower orders the feeling of “fair play” is more remarkably prevalent than among any other people of Europe or the New World. Hence personal safety—the exceptions, though occasionally alarming, prove the rule[11]—is more general in England than in any other country. Here alone the fallen combatant is protected; and here the detestable practices of gouging, biting, kicking in vital parts, practised by Americans, Hiberno-Americans, and other foreigners, are heartily denounced and scouted; and to what do we owe these characteristics? We repeat it, to the PRINCIPLES AND PRACTICE OF PUGILISM.

FIG (CHAMPION)—1719‒1734.

Although, doubtless, brave boxers in every shire of “merrie England” sported their Adam’s livery on the greensward, and stood up toe to toe for “love and a bellyful,” yet the name of James Fig, a native of Thame, in Oxfordshire, is, thanks to the pen of Captain Godfrey and the pencil of the great Hogarth, the first public champion “of the Ring” of whom we have authentic record. Doubtless—

“Vixere fortes ante Agamemnon;”

but their deeds and glories, for want of a chronicler, have lapsed into oblivion (carent quia vates sacro), and—

“Sleep where lie the songs and wars of earth Before Pelides’ death, or Homer’s birth.”

To Captain Godfrey’s spirited and scarce quarto, entitled “A Treatise on the Useful Science of Defence,” we are indebted for the preservation of the names and descriptions of the persons and styles of the athletes who were his contemporaries. It would seem that though Fig has been acknowledged as the Father of the Ring, he was as much, if not more, distinguished as a cudgel and back-sword player then as a pugilist. Captain Godfrey thus speaks of Fig:—“I have purchased my knowledge with many a broken head, and bruises in every part of me. I chose mostly to go to Fig[12] and exercise with him; partly, as I knew him to be the ablest master, and partly, as he was of a rugged temper, and would spare no man, high or low, who took up a stick against him. I bore his rough treatment with determined patience, and followed him so long, that Fig, at last, finding he could not have the beating of me at so cheap a rate as usual, did not show such fondness for my company. This is well known by gentlemen of distinguished rank, who used to be pleased in setting us together.”

The reputation of Fig having induced him to open an academy (A.D. 1719), known as “Fig’s Amphitheatre,” in Tottenham Court Road, the place became shortly a great attraction, and was crowded with spectators. It was here that Captain Godfrey (the Barclay of his time) displayed his skill and elegance in manly sports with the most determined competitors, the sports being witnessed by royal and noble personages, who supported the science as tending to endue the people with hardihood and intrepidity. About 1720 Fig resided in Oxford Road, now Oxford-street, and at the period of the curious fac-simile, here for the first time engraved, we find him still in the same neighbourhood.

The science of pugilism, as we now understand it, was certainly in its infancy; the system of “give and take” was adopted, and he who could hit the hardest, or submit to punishment with the best grace, seems to have been in highest favour with the amateurs. Yet Fig’s placards profess to teach “defence scientifically,” and his fame for “stops and parries” was so great, that we find him mentioned in the Tatler, Guardian, and Craftsman, the foremost miscellanies of the time.[13] Fig, like modern managers, added to the attractions of his amphitheatre by “stars;” among these were NED SUTTON, the Pipemaker of Gravesend, Timothy Buck, Thomas Stokes, and others, of whom only the names remain. Bill Flanders, or Flinders, “a noted scholar of Fig’s,” fought at the amphitheatre, in 1723, with one Chris. Clarkson, known as “the Old Soldier.” The battle is highly spoken of for determined courage in the “diurnals” of the period.

Smithfield, Moorfields, St. George’s Fields, Southwark, and Hyde Park,[14] during this period also had “booths” and “rings” for the display of boxing and stick play. In Hogarth’s celebrated picture of “Southwark Fair” our hero prominently figures, in a caricatured exaggeration, challenging any of the crowd to enter the lists with him for “money, love, or a bellyful.” This picture we have also chosen as an interesting illustration of the great English painter,—a record of manners in a rude period. As one of the bills relating to this fair (which was suppressed in 1763) is extant, we subjoin it:

AT FIG’S GREAT TIL’D BOOTH, On the Bowling Green, Southwark, During the Time of the FAIR, (Which begins on SATURDAY, the 18th of SEPTEMBER), The TOWN will be entertained with the MANLY ARTS OF Foil-play, Back-sword, Cudgelling, and Boxing, in which

The noted PARKS, from Coventry, and the celebrated gentleman prize-fighter, Mr. MILLAR, will display their skill in a tilting-bout, showing the advantages of Time and Measure:

ALSO

Mr. JOHNSON, the great Swordsman, superior to any man in the world for his unrivalled display of the hanging-guard, in a grand attack of SELF-DEFENCE, against the all-powerful arm of the renowned SUTTON.

DELFORCE, the finished Cudgeller, will likewise exhibit his uncommon feats with the single-stick; and who challenges any man in the kingdom to enter the lists with him for a broken-head or a belly-full!

BUCKHORSE, and several other Pugilists, will show the Art of Boxing.

To conclude With a GRAND PARADE by the Valiant FIG, who will exhibit his knowledge in various Combats—with the Foil, Back-sword, Cudgel, and Fist. To begin each Day at Twelve o’clock, and close at Ten.

Vivat Rex.

N.B. The Booth is fitted up in a most commodious manner, for the better reception of Gentlemen, &c. &c.

Besides this nobly patronised amphitheatre of Fig, there were several booths and rings strongly supported. That in Smithfield, we have it upon good authority, was presided over by one “Mr. Andrew Johnson,” asserted to be an uncle of the great lexicographer,[15] There was also that in Moorfields, called at times “the booth,” at others “the ring.” The “ring” was kept by an eccentric character known as “Old Vinegar,” the “booth” by Rimmington, whose sobriquet was “Long Charles.” This, it appears, had a curious emblazonment,—a skull and cross-bones on a black ground, inscribed “Death or Victory.” During the high tide of Fig’s prosperity (1733) occurred the battle between Bob Whitaker and the Venetian Gondolier, narrated under the head of “WHITAKER.”

Let it not be thought that Fig, among his many antagonists, was without a rival. Sutton, the Gravesend Pipemaker, already mentioned, publicly dared the mighty Fig to the combat, and met him with alternate success, till a third trial “proved the fact” of Fig’s superiority. These contests, though given in all the “Chronologies” and “Histories” of the Ring, were neither more nor less than cudgel-matches, as will be seen by the subjoined contemporary verses by Dr. John Byrom. They are printed in “Dodsley’s Collection,” vol. vi., p. 312, under the title of—

EXTEMPORE VERSES UPON A TRIAL OF SKILL BETWEEN THOSE TWO GREAT MASTERS OF DEFENCE, MESSIEURS FIG AND SUTTON.

I.

Long was the great Fig, by the prize-fighting swains, Sole monarch acknowledged of Marybone plains, To the towns far and near did his glory extend, And swam down the river from Thame to Gravesend, Where lived Mister Sutton, pipemaker by trade, Who hearing that Fig was thought such a stout blade, Resolved to go in for a share of his fame, And so sent a challenge to the Champion of Thame.

II.

With alternate advantage two trials had past, When they fought out the rubber on Wednesday last; To see such a contest, the house was quite full, There hardly was room to thrust in your skull. With a prelude of cudgels we first were saluted, And two or three shoulders were handsomely fluted, Till, weary at last with inferior disasters, All the company cried, “The Masters! the Masters!”

III.

Whereupon the bold Sutton first mounted the stage, Made his honours as usual, and yearned to engage; When Fig, with a visage so fierce, yet sedate, Came and entered the lists with his fresh shaven pate; Their arms were encircled with armigers too, With a red ribbon Sutton’s, and Fig’s with a blue. Thus advanced the two heroes, ’tween shoulder and elbow, Shook hands, and went to’t, and the word it was, “Bilbo!”

Stanzas iv. to viii. describe the back-sword play, in which both men broke their weapons, and Fig has blood drawn by his own broken blade, whereon he appeals and another bout is granted. Fig then wounds Sutton in the arm and the sword play is over. Stanzas ix. and x. wind up the match (with cudgels), as follows:—

Then after that bout they went on to another, But the matter must end in some fashion or other, So Jove told the gods he had made a decree, That Fig should hit Sutton a stroke on the knee; Though Sutton, disabled as soon as he hit him, Would still have fought on, strength would not permit him; ’Twas his fate, not his fault, that constrained him to yield And thus the great Fig remained Lord of the Field.

At length the time arrived when “the valiant Fig’s” “cunning o’ the fence” no longer availed him. On December 8th, 1734,[16] grim death gave him his final knock down, as appears from a notice in the Gentleman’s Magazine for the month of January, 1735.

“In Fig,” says his pupil and admirer Captain Godfrey (in his “Characters of the Masters,” p. 40, ed. 1747), “strength, resolution, and unparalleled judgment, conspired to form a matchless master. There was a majesty shone in his countenance, and blazed in all his actions, beyond all I ever saw. His right leg bold and firm, and his left, which could hardly ever be disturbed, gave him the surprising advantage already proved, and struck his adversary with despair and panic.”

BOB WHITAKER—1733.

Two only of Whitaker’s battles have survived the tooth of old Tempus edax rerum: his victory over the Venetian Gondolier and his defeat by Ned Peartree.

In the year 1733 a gigantic Venetian came to this country in the suite of one of our travelling nobility, whose name not being recorded we may set down this part of the story as apocryphal; in fact, as a managerial trick to attract aristocratic patronage. Be that as it may, this immense fellow, who was known by the name of “The Gondolier,” was celebrated for feats of strength: his fame ran before him, and his length of arm and jaw-breaking power of fist were loudly trumpeted. Indeed, a challenge having been issued by the backers of the Venetian, Fig was applied to to find a man to meet this Goliath. The sequel shall be told in Captain Godfrey’s own words:—

“Bob Whitaker was the man pitched upon to fight the big Venetian. I was at Slaughter’s Coffee-house when the match was made by a gentleman of advanced station: he sent for Fig to procure a proper man for him. He told him to take care of his man, because it was for a large sum; and the Venetian was of wonderful strength, and famous for breaking the jawbone in boxing. Fig replied, in his rough manner, ‘I do not know, master, but he may break one of his countrymen’s jawbones with his fist; but I’ll bring him a man, and he shall not be able to break his jawbone with a sledge hammer.’

“The battle was fought at Fig’s amphitheatre, before a splendid company, the politest house of that kind I ever saw. While the Gondolier was stripping my heart yearned for my countryman. His arm took up all observation; it was surprisingly large, long, and muscular. He pitched himself forward with his right leg, and his arm full extended; and, as Whitaker approached, caught him a blow at the side of the head which knocked him quite off the stage, which was remarkable for its height. Whitaker’s misfortune in his fall was the grandeur of the company, on which account they suffered no common people in, that usually sat on the ground, and lined the stage all round. It was thus all clear, and Whitaker had nothing to stop him but the bottom. There was a general foreign huzza on the side of the Venetian, as proclaiming our countryman’s downfall; but Whitaker took no more time than was required to get up again, when, finding his fault in standing out to the length of the other’s arm, he, with a little stoop, dashed boldly in beyond the heavy mallet, and with one English peg in the stomach,” by which the captain in another place explains he means what is called “the mark,”—“quite a new thing to foreigners, brought him on his breech. The blow carried too much of the English rudeness with it for him to bear, and finding himself so unmannerly used, he scorned to have any more doings with such a slovenly fist.” We could not resist transcribing this graphic, terse, and natural account of a prize-fight; the rarity of Captain Godfrey’s book, and the bald, diluted, silly amplification of it in “Boxiana,” pp. 22‒25, vol. i., being the moving reasons thereto.

“So fine a house,” says Captain Godfrey, alluding to the company which assembled to see Whitaker fight the Gondolier, “was too engaging to Fig not to court another. He therefore stepped up, and told the gentlemen that they might think he had picked out the best man in London on this occasion; but to convince them to the contrary, he said, that if they would come on that day se’nnight, he would bring a man who should beat this Whitaker in ten minutes by fair hitting. This brought near as great and fine a company as the week before. The ‘man’ was Nathaniel Peartree, who, knowing the other’s bottom, and his deadly way of flinging, took a most judicious manner to beat him. Let his character come in here.—He was an admirable boxer, and I do not know one he was not a match for, before he lost his finger. He was famous, like Pipes, for fighting at the face, but was stronger in his blows. He knew Whitaker’s hardiness, and, being doubtful of beating him, cunningly determined to fight at his eyes. His judgment carried his arm so well, that, in about six minutes, both Whitaker’s eyes were shut; when, groping about a while for his man, and finding him not, he wisely gave out (modernicè, gave in), with these odd words—‘Damme, I’m not beat; but what signifies my fighting when I can’t see my man?’”

The columns of the Flying Post and Daily News Letter have many advertisements of “battles royal,” but none of sufficient merit to deserve a place in this history.

TOM PIPES AND GEORGE GRETTING—1724‒1734.

Two other pugilists only of the school of Fig claim our notice, and these are Pipes and Gretting. “Pipes was the neatest boxer I remember. He put in his blows about the face (which he fought at most) with surprising time and judgment. He maintained his battles for many years with extraordinary skill, against men of far superior strength. Pipes was but weakly made: his appearance bespoke activity, but his hand, arm, and body were small; though by that acquired spring of his arm he hit prodigious blows; and at last, when he was beat out of his championship, it was more owing to his debauchery than the merit of those who beat him.”

There is a moral in the downfall of Gretting, as tersely given by Captain Godfrey:—“Gretting was a strong antagonist to Pipes. They contended together for some time, and were almost alternate victors. Gretting had the nearest way of going to the stomach (which is what they call the ‘mark’) of any man I knew. He was a most artful boxer, much stronger made than Pipes, and dealt the straightest blows. But what made Pipes a match for him, was his rare bottom spirit, which would bear a great deal of beating; and this, in my mind, Gretting was not sufficiently furnished with; for after he was beaten twice by Pipes, a mere sloven of a boxer, and everybody that fought him afterwards beat him. I must, notwithstanding, do that justice to Gretting’s memory to own that his debauchery contributed to spoil a great boxer; yet, I think, he had not the bottom of the other.”

It was the opinion throughout Europe, at this period, that the English nation were more expert than any other, not only in boxing, but in the use of the back-sword; and sorry should we be were it not so at this day. The amphitheatre, boxing, foil-play, and cudgelling-schools, were openly advertised, and the amusements made known, like any of the regular theatres; the audiences were equally fashionable, and they were patronised by the noble and great, and not disturbed by the magistrates. Although it was admitted that these amphitheatrical practices were productive of some ill, as offering encouragement to idleness and extravagance among the vulgar, yet there is hardly any useful thing that does not present some opening for mischief, or is not liable to abuse.

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

II. GEORGE TAYLOR—1734‒1758

PRINCE BOSWELL—JAMES—HARRIS—SMALLWOOD—SLACK—BUCKHORSE—TOM FAULKNER.

On the decease of Fig the immediate patrons of pugilism seem to have cooled in their ardour, as we hear but little of the doings at the amphitheatre. For four years George Taylor was his successor, and in 1740 we find him assuming the title of “Champion,” and proprietor of the “Great Booth in Tottenham Court Road.” With regard to the title of “Champion,” at this period, and for nearly a century subsequent, it was assumed by and applied to almost every boxer who challenged publicly. We make this remark to clear the way for some observations we shall make upon George Taylor’s defeat by the renowned Broughton. There is some curious blundering about the date of the first fight between George Taylor and Broughton; indeed, we should feel inclined to say that his first defeat was much earlier than the date of 1740, which is given in all the Chronologies, John Bee’s “Fistiana” and “Boxiana” included. He was proprietor of the “Great Booth” from 1734, and we have Captain Godfrey’s authority for saying that “he was not, when he fought Broughton, more than twenty years old,” and comments on the imprudence of such “a first attempt.” It will be seen, too, in the Life of Broughton, that the Captain speaks (writing in 1746‒7) thus of Broughton—“for seventeen or eighteen years he has fought, etc., and never been beaten.” From this we may fairly infer that it was some years prior to 1740 that Broughton first defeated George Taylor. Taylor, whose portrait is certainly good-humoured and prepossessing, is described as being a “strong, able pugilist,” according to the fashion of those times, but shifty and “deficient in bottom.” George’s skill in the “cross-buttock fall” is also recorded, and his cleverness in the “hanging-guard” and “back-sword” favourably spoken of. With these qualifications he entered Fig’s amphitheatre, and seems almost immediately to have become its proprietor. His advertisements invite “champions” of the different branches of “self-defence” to come and display their skill. The terms were that the proprietor should take one-third of the door-money, and the remaining two-thirds be divided among the “champions,” at the rate of one-third to the loser and two-thirds to the winner. We are told the entrance-money often reached £150, and occasionally it was more. Among the more noted boxers who illustrated the art at George Taylor’s “great booth,” were the renowned Jack Broughton the waterman, the Father of the English P.R., who beat all opposed to him, especially George Taylor himself; Prince Boswell, Stevenson the coachman, Will Willis, Tom Smallwood, Buckhorse, Jack James, Field the sailor, Pipes and Gretting already mentioned, and others of the school of Fig.

One of the most remarkable battles at Taylor’s booth was that of Broughton and Stevenson, April 24, 1741 (see LIFE of BROUGHTON, post, p. 22).

On the 16th of June, 1741, George Taylor met a formidable gipsy, known as Prince Boswell. He appears to have been a tricky fighter, and, like most such over-clever pugilists, deficient in pluck. He had, we are told, a terrific hit with his left (when he could plant it), but this being forbid by George’s skill, he made but a poor fight of it. Captain Godfrey says of this Bohemian, who is stated in “Pancratia” to have been son to the king of that wandering people, “Praise be to his power of fighting, his excellent choice of time and measure, his superior judgment despatching forth his executing arm! But fie upon his dastard heart, that mars it all! As I knew that fellow’s abilities, and his worm-dread soul, I never saw him beat but I wished him to be beaten. Though I am charmed with the idea of his power and manner of fighting, I am sick at the thoughts of his nurse-wanting courage. Farewell to him, with this fair acknowledgment, that, if he had true English bottom (the best fighting epithet for a man of spirit), he would carry all before him, and be a match even for Broughton himself.” Despite of all these qualifications, the Gipsy lost heart at finding Taylor so difficult to get at, and surrendered after a few sharp rounds.

On the 19th of July, 1741, we find recorded the name of Jack James, as beating one Chicken Harris, a poulterer, after a severe though short battle.

TOM SMALLWOOD, too, was one of Taylor’s team. On the 23rd of November, 1741, one of the severest boxing matches that had taken place for years was fought between Tom Smallwood and Richard Harris, a backmaker, for fifty guineas. The fight lasted an hour, with many alternations of success, Smallwood proving the winner. Smallwood was a mere stripling, as we shall note hereafter.

On the same day we find a very good bye-battle was fought between Buckhorse and Harry Gray, the clogmaker (see BUCKHORSE, post).

The advertisements and challenges of the boxers of this period are matters of curiosity, as illustrating the manners of another age; we therefore insert a few which have been preserved in connexion with this period of Taylor’s career

From the DAILY ADVERTISER, April 26th, 1742.

“At the Great Booth, Tottenham Court, on Wednesday next, the 28th instant, will be a trial of manhood, between the two following champions:

“Whereas I, WILLIAM WILLIS, commonly known by the name of “the fighting Quaker,” have fought Mr. SMALLWOOD about twelve months since, and held him the tightest to it, and bruised and battered him more than any one he ever encountered, though I had the ill-fortune to be beat by an accidental fall; the said SMALLWOOD, flushed with the success blind Fortune then gave him, and the weak attempts of a few vain Irishmen and boys, that have of late fought him for a minute or two, makes him think himself unconquerable; to convince him of the falsity of which, I invite him to fight me for ONE HUNDRED POUNDS, at the time and place above-mentioned, when I doubt not but I shall prove the truth of what I have asserted by pegs, darts, hard blows, falls, and cross-buttocks.

“WILLIAM WILLIS.”

“I, THOMAS SMALLWOOD, known for my intrepid manhood and bravery on and off the stage, accept the challenge of this puffing Quaker, and will shew him that he is led by a false spirit, that means him no other good than that he should be chastised for offering to take upon him the arm of the flesh.

“THOMAS SMALLWOOD.”

“Note.—The Doors will be opened at Ten, and the Combatants mount at Twelve.

“There will be several bye-battles, as usual; and particularly one between JOHN DIVINE and JOHN TIPPING, for Five Pounds each.”

The next notice is at the lapse of a month, and runs thus:—

“May 4th, 1742.

“At George Taylor’s Booth, Tottenham Court Road.

“There will be a trial of manhood here to-morrow, between the following champions, viz.:

“Whereas I, JOHN FRANCIS, commonly known by the name of the JUMPING SOLDIER, who have always had the reputation of a good fellow, and have fought several bruisers in the street, etc., nor am I ashamed to mount the stage when my manhood is called in question by an Irish braggadocio, whom I fought some time ago, in a bye-battle, for twelve minutes, and though I had not the success due to my courage and ability in the art of boxing, I now invite him to fight me for two guineas, at the time and place above-mentioned, where I doubt not I shall give him the truth of a good beating.

“JOHN FRANCIS.”

THE IRISHMAN’S ANSWER.

“I, PATRICK HENLEY, known to every one for the truth of a good fellow, who never refused any one on or off the stage, and fight as often for the diversion of gentlemen as for money, do accept the challenge of this JUMPING JACK; and shall, if he don’t take care, give him one of my bothering blows, which will convince him of his ignorance in the art of boxing.

“PATRICK HENLEY.”

Pierce Egan says, “Paddy kept his promise, for he so bothered the gig of the Jumping Sailor, that he was not able to move, much more to jump, for some time. Paddy gave him a Tipperary fling, which so completely shook all his recollection out of him, that he never troubled the town afterwards with any of his epistolary challenges!” For all which Hibernian perfervidum ingenium we have no authority on record. The “Chronologies” say “Henley bt. Francis (J.),” we suppose on the faith of the accuracy of “Boxiana.”

In the year 1742 differences arose between Broughton, now in the highest favour with the Duke William of Cumberland (afterwards so fatally known at Culloden in the year ’46), and other distinguished patrons of the Ring. The schism, which was fatal to George Taylor’s establishment, will be noticed in our LIFE of BROUGHTON, and ended in Taylor’s joining Broughton’s company of “champions” in 1744‒5, after a sounding challenge to that boxer.

From this period George Taylor appears to have held his own in numerous displays, but nothing of importance occurred till his memorable battle with SLACK (see SLACK), a butcher from Norwich, afterwards so renowned for his conquest of the great Broughton. Taylor’s battle with Slack has come down with no details, farther than that it lasted twenty-five minutes, and was a display of steady coolness and science over rushing impetuosity. Slack proved an awkward fellow to keep off, but George was too wary, and in less than half-an-hour the butcher was beaten to a stand-still.

Among the patrons of “the noble art,” during the period of George Taylor’s proprietorship of the Great Booth, may be numbered Frederick, Prince of Wales, the father of George the Third, before whom we may fairly infer Taylor many times exhibited. It was not then the custom, except incidentally, to give the people anything like our present “Court Circular,” thus keeping the general public au courant to the movements of royalty and its branches. We find, however, among the works of Paul Whitehead, the poet, who is styled by Captain Thompson, his biographer, “The Champion and Bard of Leicester House,”[17] a poem entitled, “The Gymnasiad, or Boxing Match.” It is printed entire in the edition of his collected works. Dodsley, London, 1777.

Taylor, when he retired from the stage, became landlord of the Fountain Inn at Deptford. But as the old war-horse is said to prick his ears at the sound of the trumpet, so, although declining in the vale of years, he replied to the challenge of Tom Faulkner, “the noted cricketer.” Tom, it appears, had twice been worsted by Taylor, in bygone days; yet he felt so confident he could reverse the verdict, that he challenged George for 200 guineas and “the gate money.” They met on August the 5th, 1758, at a mile and a-half from St. Alban’s, Herts. The betting was three to one on Taylor, who is called in the account “the old successor of Fig.” It would appear that there was “no love lost” between the combatants. It was a complete hammering set-to. For the first twelve or thirteen rounds, Faulkner was dreadfully punished and floored several times. The fourteenth round proved a proper trial of skill and strength; at length, Faulkner levelled Taylor, when the odds began to drop a little, and Faulkner was getting into favour. George, finding that his man gained upon him, began to shift, and fell now and then without a blow, which occasioned considerable murmuring, and the friends of Faulkner insisted that he had won the battle; but Faulkner was above taking any advantage and wished to fight it out. The combatants set-to more furiously than ever.

Taylor, inspired with the thought of his fame and former victories, stood up like a hero; and Faulkner, recollecting that it must either make or break him, fought like a lion. After a terrible conflict of an hour and fifteen minutes, the veteran George Taylor acknowledged he was conquered. Greater courage and skill could not be displayed; and it was supposed, that had not Taylor laboured under the manifest disadvantage of an eye of which he had been blind for some time, Faulkner could not have beaten him; as the contest was only put an end to by Taylor having the other eye closed from a blow. The veteran hero thus added another to the list of great men who have “lingered too long upon the stage,” or returned to exhibit those powers in their decadence which were admired in their prime. “We shall have many occasions in the course of this history to show the unconsciousness of decaying powers among the heroes of the ring. George Taylor did not recover the shock of this defeat, and died in the December following (1758) at his house at Deptford.”

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

III. JACK BROUGHTON (CHAMPION)—1734‒1750

Broughton is indisputably entitled to be regarded as the founder of the modern art of self-defence. The successor of Fig in popularity, he far exceeded that stalwart cudgeller in fistic science, and in the application of those principles which stripped the practice of boxing of many of those features of ruffianism and barbarity with which the unregulated contests of mere bruisers had invested it. There was a neatness and quickness in his style which far distanced his competitors, and drew crowds to witness his exhibitions. He appears first to have introduced stopping and barring blows, then hitting and getting away; before him it appears to have been toe-to-toe work, or downright hammering; at any rate, his method appears to have had the novelty of a discovery with his spectators and his antagonists. He stopped the blows aimed at any part of him by his adversaries with so much skill, and hit his man away with so much ease, that he astonished and daunted his opponents, and those persons who had the temerity to enter the lists with Broughton, were soon convinced of his superior knowledge and athletic prowess: while most of his competitors, who were compelled to give in from their exhausted and beaten state, had the mortification to behold Broughton scarcely touched, displaying as much cheerfulness and indifference as if he had scarcely been engaged in a set-to.

He was indebted to nature for a good person; his countenance was manly and open, possessing a sharp and penetrating eye, that almost looked through the object before him, which gave animation to his face. His form was athletic and commanding, and denoted uncommon strength. Every spectator felt impressed who beheld him. Six feet, wanting an inch, in height, and fourteen stone, or thereabouts, in weight.

Broughton became as a fixed star in the pugilistic hemisphere, His talents as a boxer gained him many admirers and patrons; but his good temper, generosity of disposition, and gentleness of manners, ensured him numerous friends. He was intelligent, communicative, and not destitute of wit. The system he laid down was plain, and easy to be understood; and, under his instruction, several of his pupils arrived at pugilistic eminence, and gave distinguished proofs of the acquirements they had gained under so great a master.

Broughton was still, up to 1742, an exhibitor at the Great Booth of George Taylor; we shall, therefore, before giving an account of his adventures “on his own hook,” turn to his exploits at the Tottenham Court Road establishment.

Like all great masters, Broughton, we learn, always exhibited something new in his several contests; and those pugilists who had seen him fight, and supposed they had observed his method, were awfully deceived when they entered the lists with him, and expected to “nail” him on “the old suit.”

Contrary to most other boxers, he did not depend upon any particular blow, although he was distinguished for giving some remarkable hits, which were not easily forgotten. Broughton, when necessary in the conflict, by putting in “his stomach blow,” often decided the battle; and his lunge under the ear generally produced terrible consequences to his opponent. The eye of Broughton was lively, piercing, and acute, soon perceiving the weakness of any adversary; his arm, keeping pace with that valuable assistant, protected him from the most destructive blows; and his quick penetration made him always aware of any direct intent pursued by his adversary, so as immediately to render it unavailing. His guard was so complete, that his frame appeared secured as if in a fence, uncommon strength and bottom often fell before him, and his expertness in the cross-buttock was great. His various attitudes in the fight were fine and impressive, and his countenance always animated and cheerful.

Pipes and Gretting, already named, both distinguished pugilists—the former of whom hardily maintained the title of a “Champion” for a number of years—appeared nothing in the hands of Broughton, who gave them several chances to recover their lost laurels; these each proved beatings to them, and tended to increase his growing fame.

George Taylor, of whom honourable mention has been made, fell as a conquest to Broughton.

“George Stevenson, the coachman,” says our perpetual resource, Captain Godfrey, whose thin quarto we must almost plead guilty to reprinting piecemeal, “stood up for the length of forty minutes in a most heroic style to Broughton. It was a hasty match, and although Broughton was extremely unwell, sooner than make any excuse, he agreed to fight Stevenson without having that regard for his preparation which he afterwards found he ought to have had. But here his true bottom was proved, and his conduct shone and admired. The battle was fought in one of the fair booths at Tottenham Court Road, railed at the end towards the pit. After a most desperate conflict of thirty-five minutes, being both against the rails, and the coachman endeavouring to get the whip-hand of Broughton, the latter, by his superior genius, got such a lock upon Stevenson as no mathematician could have devised a better. There he held him by this artificial lock, depriving him of all power of rising or falling, till resting his head for about three or four minutes upon his back, he found himself recovering, then loosed his hold. By this manœuvre Broughton became as a new man, and, on setting-to again, he gave the coachman a tremendous blow, as hard as any he had given him in the whole battle, so that he could no longer stand, and his brave contending heart, though with reluctance, was forced to yield. Stevenson was a beautiful hitter; he put in his blows faster than Broughton, but then one of the latter’s told for three of the former’s. Stevenson had a most daring spirit, but his strength could not keep pace with it.”

Broughton expressed a very high opinion of Stevenson as a pugilist.

Jack James, a dashing boxer, who ranked high in the annals of pugilism as a thorough-bred man, was compelled to acknowledge that he had found his master in Broughton. James’s wrist, which in other contests had been considered so remarkably “handsome,” lost its attraction when in contact with the athletic arm of Broughton.

We need not proceed further with an enumeration of his earlier contests, but come at once to his appearance at his own theatre, in the character of CHAMPION OF ENGLAND.

We have noticed his differences with George Taylor. Broughton was promised liberal support and patronage if he would open a theatre for the better accommodation of the admirers of boxing.

Under the patronage we have already spoken of, Broughton seceded from the Tottenham Court Road establishment, rapidly completing a new building adjoining the Oxford Road, near the spot where Hanway Street, Oxford Street, now stands, and opened it on March 10th, 1743, with the subjoined advertisement in the Daily Advertiser. From prints yet existing in the British Museum, it appears that this edifice was somewhat similar to Astley’s original circus and riding school, in the Westminster Road, or rather the large temporary and removable theatres, which have of late travelled with equestrian exhibitions round our principal provincial towns. There were boxes, pit, and a gallery; a stage for the combatants in the centre of the ring, and the tout ensemble bore some resemblance to the pictures of the Old Fives Court, in Windmill Street. The following is a copy of the announcement:—

AT BROUGHTON’S NEW AMPHITHEATRE, OXFORD-STREET, The back of the late Mr. FIG’S, On Tuesday next, the 13th instant, Will be exhibited THE TRUE ART OF BOXING, By the eight famed following men, viz.,

ABRAHAM EVANS, | —— ROGER, —— SWEEP, | —— ALLEN, —— BELAS, | ROBERT SPIKES, and —— GLOVER, | HARRY GRAY, the Clogmaker.

The above eight men to be brought on the stage, and to be matched according to the approbation of the gentlemen who shall be pleased to honour them with their company.

N.B.—There will be a BATTLE ROYAL between the NOTED BUCKHORSE,

And SEVEN or EIGHT more; after which there will be several BYE-BATTLES by others.

Gentlemen are therefore desired to come by times. The doors will be open at nine; the champions mount at eleven: and no person is to pay more than A SHILLING.

The appearance of this rival was a cruel blow to George Taylor, who saw the ruinous results which must ensue to his “booth” from Broughton’s popularity: he, therefore, as a counter hit, instantly let fly in the following terms:—

TO THE PATRONS AND ENCOURAGERS OF THE MANLY ART OF BOXING.

Whereas, Mr. Broughton, well knowing that I was to fight Mr. Field on Tuesday next, the 13th of March, 1743, in order to injure me, has maliciously advertised to open his Amphitheatre on that day, and where several battles are then to be fought. To prevent the public from being deceived, I feel it my duty to inform them, that the principal part of the persons mentioned were never made acquainted with such circumstances, and have no intention of so doing. Mr. Broughton wishes to make it appear that he never imposed upon any of the pugilists who had been concerned with him in any transaction whatever; but his imposition shall soon be made manifest to the world. And to show Mr. Broughton that I have no animosity against him as a pugilist, or any jealousy concerning his amphitheatre, I am willing to fight him, as soon as he may think proper, wherever it may please him, not regarding, as he loudly sets forth, the strength of his arm.

GEORGE TAYLOR.

We are inclined to suspect that there was a little “gag” in the names of the pugilists set forth by Broughton, from subsequent occurrences; be that as it may, Taylor had already fallen beneath his conquering fist, and his challenge was viewed as nothing more than mere bounce, to detract from the triumph of the rival manager.

The charges of Taylor, made from time to time, led to a sort of paper war. Taylor charged Broughton with appropriating to himself the “Lion’s Share” of the door-money, to the injury of the other pugilists. This accusation Broughton replied to by showing to the satisfaction of his patrons that he had not received one hundred pounds; that his amphitheatre had cost him upwards of £400; that he had appropriated but a third part of the door-money for his own individual emolument, and that the rest had been shared among the pugilists. This account proving satisfactory, firmly established Broughton; and Taylor, perceiving that it would be useless to oppose so powerful an opponent, relinquished his booth, and was engaged at the Amphitheatre, where the most noted of his “merry men” followed him, under an engagement to fight on no stage but his.

We now come to one of the most important epochs in the history of boxing, namely the promulgation of a “Code” for the guidance of the combatants, and the satisfaction of the judges. These rules were “produced by Mr. Broughton, for the better regulation of the Amphitheatre, and approved of by the gentlemen, and agreed to by the pugilists, August 18th, 1743.” The code promulgated by this Fistic Napoleon, whose law-making and fall were much like those of his great successor, had a much longer duration than the “Code Napoleon!” for they lasted in perfect integrity from the period of their date until 1838, when, after the fight between Owen Swift and Brighton Bill, the “New Rules of the Ring” superseded Broughton’s. We here give the original—

BROUGHTON’S RULES.

1. That a square of a yard be chalked in the middle of the stage; and every fresh set-to after a fall, or being parted from the rails, each second is to bring his man to the side of the square, and place him opposite to the other; and till they are fairly set-to at the lines, it shall not be lawful for the one to strike the other.

2. That, in order to prevent any disputes as to the time a man lies after a fall, if the second does not bring his man to the side of the square, within the space of half a minute, he shall be deemed a beaten man.

3. That, in every main battle, no person whatever shall be upon the stage, except the principals and their seconds; the same rule to be observed in bye-battles, except that in the latter, Mr. Broughton is allowed to be upon the stage to keep decorum, and to assist gentlemen in getting to their places; provided always, he does not interfere in the battle; and whoever presumes to infringe these rules, to be turned immediately out of the house. Everybody is to quit the stage as soon as the champions are stripped, before they set-to.

4. That no champion be deemed beaten, unless he fails coming up to the line in the limited time; or that his own second declares him beaten. No second is to be allowed to ask his man’s adversary any questions or advise him to give out.

5. That, in bye-battles, the winning man to have two-thirds of the money given, which shall be publicly divided upon the stage, notwithstanding any private agreement to the contrary.

6. That to prevent disputes, in every main battle, the principals shall, on the coming on the stage, choose from among the gentlemen present two umpires, who shall absolutely decide all disputes that may arise about the battle; and if the two umpires cannot agree, the said umpires to choose a third, who is to determine it.

7. That no person is to hit his adversary when he is down, or seize him by the ham, the breeches, or any part below the waist: a man on his knees to be reckoned down.

These rules may be called the groundwork of fair play and manly boxing, and no man, from his experience, was better able to frame such a code than Broughton. “It is to be observed,” says the talented author of ‘Fistiana’ (V. G. Dowling, Esq.), “that to them we greatly owe that spirit of fair play which offers so wide a contrast to the practices of barbarous ages, when every advantage was admissible when brute strength or accidental casualties placed a combatant in the power of his antagonist. It is to be lamented that, even in modern times, the inhuman practices of uncivilised periods have subsisted to a disgraceful extent, and hence we have heard of gouging, that is to say, forcing out the eye of an antagonist with the thumbs or fingers—purring, kicking a man with nailed shoes as he lies on the ground, striking him in vital parts below the waistband, seizing him when on his knees, and administering punishment till life be extinct, and a variety of other savage expedients by which revenge or passion has been gratified; and it is remarkable that in those counties in which pugilism or prize-fights have been least encouraged, these horrors have been most frequent. We refer to Lancashire in particular, where, even to this day, that species of contest called up-and-down fighting—that is, when a man is got down he is kept down and punished till incapable of motion—is permitted with impunity, unless indeed the death of the victim leads to the apprehension and trial of the survivor.”

The adoption of Broughton’s rules in the metropolis soon led to their extensive dissemination in the provinces, and public boxing was thereby stripped of half its evils; while in the adjustment of private quarrels, the settlement of the simple issue of “which was the better man” after “a fair stand up fight,” put an end to all bad feeling, and the conqueror or the conquered submitted with a good grace to “the fate of war;” the strongest proof of the effects of cultivation, and the best test of a manly and honourable feeling.

“To Broughton, then,” continues Mr. Dowling, “is to be ascribed the credit of two great reforms in the practice of pugilism, namely, the introduction of science and humanity; and by the moral effects these inculcated, more has been done to establish the high character of Englishmen for honour and fair play, than by all the eloquence of the pulpit or the senate.” To Broughton also do we owe the introduction of gloves, or mufflers, for conducting mock combats or sparring matches, as they are now called, by which men receive lessons without injury, or display the art of self-defence without those painful consequences to which Captain Godfrey so willingly submitted, and which he so feelingly describes, but which deterred young aspirants from entering those arenas in which, after harmless initiation, they often became distinguished adepts, or were prepared to take their own parts in unavoidable encounters. Broughton thus announces his new invention in the Daily Advertiser of February, 1747:—

“Mr. Broughton proposes, with proper assistance, to open an academy at his house in the Haymarket, for the instruction of those who are willing to be initiated in the mystery of boxing, where the whole theory and practice of that truly British art, with all the various stops, blows, cross-buttocks, etc., incident to combatants, will be fully taught and explained; and that persons of quality and distinction may not be debarred from entering into a course of those lectures, they will be given with the utmost tenderness and regard to the delicacy of the frame and constitution of the pupil; for which reason mufflers are provided, that will effectually secure them from the inconveniency of black eyes, broken jaws, and bloody noses.”

We have said that Broughton’s original calling was that of a waterman; it appears that the interest of his royal patron made him one of the Yeomen of the Guard to the King. He also accompanied the Duke of Cumberland on a tour to the Continent, of which an anecdote is preserved, of which we may say, si non è vero è ben trovato. “At Berlin he saw the fine regiment of Grenadiers raised by Frederick the Great. The champion was asked by his patron what he thought of any of them for a set-to, when Broughton, with a smile, instantly replied, ‘Why, your Royal Highness, I should have no objection to fight the whole regiment, only be kind enough to allow me a breakfast between each battle.’” Thomas Carlyle has omitted this.

Thus far, Broughton appears to have sailed on the wave of triumph. His patrons were numerous and aristocratic; but the confidence which good fortune begets was to prove to him a snare, as it has to many before and since. Slack, a butcher, and a pugilist of some note, but who had already succumbed to George Taylor, had, it appears, a quarrel with Broughton on a race-course, which led to a threat on the part of the champion that he would horsewhip Slack. The result was a challenge: Slack obtained friends, a match was made for £200 a-side, and as the door money was included in the sum contended for, it was estimated at £600 clear. Although properly falling under the biography of Slack, we here give the battle, for the purpose of rendering as complete as possible the history of the Father of Scientific Pugilism.

Broughton’s overweening confidence proved his ruin; for, as we learn from a contemporary authority, “he refused to take training preparation,” although “he had not fought for a long time.” Let others take warning by his fall.

On the evening previous to the battle (Tuesday, April 10, 1750) Broughton, who had invited his patrons and numerous friends to witness the battle, was rather apprehensive that Slack would not fight, and for fear any disappointment should take place, made the latter a present of ten guineas not to break his engagement.

For the first five minutes, Broughton’s superiority over Slack was so evident, that the odds were ten to one in his favour; when Slack, recovering a little from the effects of his antagonist’s blows, made a sudden and unexpected jump, planting a desperate hit between the champion’s eyes, which immediately closed them up. Broughton now appeared stupefied; and as it was two or three minutes before the effects of this fatal blow were manifest, the spectators were at a loss to account for the unusual movements of Broughton, who appeared to feel for, instead of boldly facing and attacking his man. At length his patron, the Duke of Cumberland, exclaimed, “What are you about, Broughton?—you can’t fight!—you’re beat!” To which Broughton instantly replied, “I can’t see my man, your highness—I’m blind, but not beat: only let me see my man, and he shall not gain the day yet.” Broughton’s situation was truly distressing; and Slack, following up this singular advantage, obtained a victory in fourteen minutes!

The Duke appears to have been most unworthily angered at his loss, which has been (we suspect extravagantly) stated to have amounted to £10,000. He always declared he had been “sold.” There seems no cause for such an assertion.

This defeat proved Broughton’s ruin. The Duke of Cumberland could never speak of this contest with any degree of temper, and turned his back on the beaten man. The legislature interfered, the amphitheatre was closed, and Broughton never fought more. Previous to this battle, it is said he had grown plethoric; if so, it requires no great acumen to opine the cause of the sudden swelling which temporarily blinded him.

The best monument to the memory of Broughton is the character and description of his pupil and admirer, the gallant Captain, which eulogy, like that of Lord Byron on the “eminent” Mr. John Jackson, remain permanent answers to the slanderers of pugilists and pugilism.

“Advance, brave Broughton!” exclaims Captain Godfrey. “Thee I pronounce captain of the boxers. As far as I can look back, I think I ought to open the ‘characters’ with him: I know none so fit, so able to lead up the van. This is giving him the living preference to the rest; but I hope I have not given any cause to say that there has appeared in any of my characters a partial tincture. I have thoroughly consulted nothing but my unbiassed mind, and my heart has known no call but merit. Wherever I have praised, I have no desire of pleasing; wherever decried, no fear of offending. Broughton, by his manly merit, has bid the highest, therefore has my heart. I really think all will poll with me, who poll with the same principle. Sure there is some standing reason for this preference: what can be stronger than to say that, for seventeen or eighteen years, he has fought every able boxer that appeared against him, and has never yet been beat? This being the case, we may venture to conclude from it; but not to build alone on this, let us examine farther into his merits. What is it that he wants? Has he not all that others want, and all the best can have? Strength equal to what is human, skill and judgment equal to what can be acquired, undebauched wind, and a bottom spirit never to pronounce the word ‘enough.’ He fights the stick as well as most men, and understands a good deal of the small sword. This practice has given him the distinction of time and measure beyond the rest. He stops as regularly as the swordsman, and carries his blows truly in the line; he steps not back, distrusting of himself, to stop a blow, and puddle in the return, with an arm unaided by his body, producing but fly-flap blows, such as pastrycooks use to beat those insects from their tarts and cheese-cakes. No! Broughton steps bold and firmly in, bids a welcome to the coming blow; receives it with his guardian arm; then, with a general summons of his swelling muscles, and his firm body seconding his arm, and supplying it with all its weight, pours the pile-driving force upon his man.

“That I may not be thought particular in dwelling long upon Broughton, I leave him with this assertion, that as he, I believe, will scarce trust a battle to a waning age, I never shall think he is to be beat till I see him beaten.”[18]

Broughton retired into private life. In his later days he resided in Walcot Place, Lambeth. He was for many years seen as a constant frequenter of sales of private property, where he purchased out-of-the-way things, curiosities, and articles of vertu, and adhered to the costume of the period of the Second George. Of these habits the author of “Recollections of an Octogenarian,” gives us the following information:—“He appeared to me,” says the writer, “a heavy, thick, round-made, large-boned man, about the height of Humphries.[19] To be sure when I saw him last he was in the vale of years, and had acquired some corpulency. It might be about the year 1785, when attending a lady, to look at some household goods, which were to be sold by auction in Walcot Place, Lambeth, a catalogue could not be procured, and seeing Broughton with one in his hand, I civilly requested the favour of him to permit the lady to look at a certain article in it. The old man replied with a sullen asperity of countenance, ‘I want it myself,’ turning his back upon me. At the instant, up started a little, pert, natty, humorous Jew broker, who, with real politeness, made the lady an offer of his catalogue, and casting an arch look at the testy old champion, who was still close to us, ‘Ah!’ said he, ‘Master Broughton, then you are a bear to-day,’ alluding to the bulls and bears of Change Alley, where Broughton was well known to be daily jobbing with his property.”

The “Octogenarian” confirms the statement given below from the Annual Register:—“He (Broughton) had long before left the ring, and lived independently on the property he had saved, and on an annuity which he enjoyed from his Royal Master, the old, or Culloden, Duke of Cumberland, whom, by the bye, he used in former days to style ‘Duke William.’” Boxiana says he died January the 8th, 1789, but this can hardly be the correct date. In the Annual Register for 1789, Chronicle for January, we read as follows:—“Died, at his house, at Walcot Place, Lambeth, in his 85th year, the celebrated John Broughton, whose skill in boxing is well known, and will ever be recorded in the annals of that science. He was originally bred a waterman. His patron, the late Duke of Cumberland, got him appointed one of the yeomen of the guard, which place he enjoyed till his death. He was buried in Lambeth Church on the 21st instant, and his funeral procession was adorned with the presence of the several capital professors of boxing. He is supposed to have died worth £7,000.”

His enjoyment of his place and pension till death seems to qualify the “utter desertion” of his patron, and falsify the “ruin” which is related in Boxiana apparently to “adorn a tale,” if not “to point a moral.”

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

IV. JACK SLACK (CHAMPION)—1750‒1760

STEVENS—SMALLWOOD—EDWARD HUNT—BUCKHORSE—TOM FAULKNER—BILL DARTS—LYONS (THE WATERMAN)—PETER CORCORAN—HARRY SELLERS—JOE HOOD—STEPHEN OLIVER (DEATH)—SAM PETERS—ELISHA CRABBE—SMALL.

Though the prestige of Broughton has gone far to illustrate the name of his conqueror, this lucky, rather than skilful, achievement will not give him the place he deserves among boxers with those with whom success is not “the be-all and end-all” in war or in worldly fortune. Slack fought better battles than that in which he tore the laurel from the brow of the veteran Broughton. We read of him in a contemporary journal:—“Slack is a butcher from Norwich; his height is five feet eight inches and a half, and his weight nearly fourteen stone. He is remarkably compact” (we should think so at fourteen stone for so short a man), “superior to the generality of men in strength, and of excellent bottom. His method of hitting is not regular, and he seldom fights on a preconcerted plan; but his style being suited to the man contending with him, few were able to resist him, when he resolved on victory. His blows were usually given with such force, that his name ‘Slack’ passed into a slang expression, and ‘a slack’un’ meant a smashing hit. His attitude was remarkably upright, legs little separated, the right hand covering the pit of the stomach, and the left placed immediately before the mouth.”[20] It is not possible to distinguish much science in such an attitude, and had he not been more resolute in attack, and more game in taking punishment than his opponents, he might have missed the proud title of champion. We are told, “with the greatest resolution he disputed every inch of ground, and was so averse to shifting or retreating, that he has risked and received a knock-down blow rather than give up his position. Slack frequently used the chopper,[21] and generally with success (this says little for his opponents’ defence), in a return. Bringing his fist to his breast, and projecting his elbow, he threw off a blow describing a segment of a circle(!), the centre of which was the elbow, unexpectedly striking his antagonist in the face with the back of his hand. This mode was completely his own, but has since been adopted by many.” (“Pancratia,” p. 40). We do not know that we have ever read more nonsense in as many lines; but this is not the place for a treatise on the art.

Slack, after numerous victories in the provinces, came up to Broughton’s booth, about 1748, to try his fortune. It may interest some of our readers to see a challenge of the day in which John Slack figures as the respondent. The advertisement is curious.

October 30, 1744.—At the Castle, in Framlingham, in Suffolk, on Monday, the 12th day of November next ensuing, there will be a severe trial of manhood between the following Champions, viz.,

I, DANIEL SMITH, the Suffolk Champion, do once more invite Mr. John Slack, the Norfolk Champion, to meet and fight me at the time and place above said, for the sum of forty guineas: and though I had the misfortune to be defeated by him before, am sure I am much superior in the art of boxing, and doubt not but I shall give him and the company entire satisfaction.

DANIEL SMITH.

I, JOHN SLACK, the Norfolk Champion, do accept the above challenge, and will be certain to meet and fight the above hero for the said sum, at the time and place above mentioned; and don’t doubt but I shall support the character I have hitherto maintained.

JOHN SLACK.

N.B. They are to fight upon a stage, and galleries will be erected for the reception of gentlemen, &c.

The doors will be opened at nine o’clock, and the champions mount the stage at one.

It will be seen from this that Daniel Smith had already fallen before Slack’s ponderous arm. When and where we have found no record. That on this occasion he again made the Suffolk champion strike his colours, may be fairly assumed from the fact that when, after some successes over inferior boxers, he had the audacity to challenge George Taylor himself, it is recorded as Slack’s first defeat. “He had not been hitherto beaten.” The battle, as already narrated, took place on the last day of January, 1750, at Broughton’s amphitheatre, and was a desperate contest on the part of Slack, who rushed in till he was punished to helplessness.

Shortly after this defeat Slack was present at Hounslow Races. Here a dispute arose, in the course of which Broughton, considering Slack’s conduct insolent, assumed a high tone of superiority, threatening to horsewhip “the butcher” on the spot. With the merits of the quarrel we have nothing to do. Slack, in whose composition there was certainly no fear of man, at once challenged the redoubted and highly patronised waterman, who upon the spot accepted the defiance. Some of the preliminary incidents of this remarkable battle have been already touched upon in the memoir of Broughton. That skilful boxer appears to have viewed the challenge of Slack with a fatal self-confidence. Indeed, considering that Slack had recently surrendered to Taylor, whose qualifications none knew better than Broughton, who had long since defeated him, probably more than once, there was some ground for confidence, and we have it on authority that he considered there was no necessity for regular training, imperfectly as that process was carried out at that period. We prefer copying an account from a paper of the day, to the embellished apocrypha of later histories.

“On Wednesday, April 11 (1750), was fought the grand boxing match between the celebrated Broughton, hitherto invincible, and John Slack, the Norfolk butcher. Before the battle began Broughton gave Slack ten guineas to fight him, according to a previous promise, which Slack immediately betted against one hundred guineas offered as odds against him. The first two minutes the odds were ten to one in favour of Broughton; but Slack, recovering himself, struck a blow which blinded his adversary, and following up his advantage, obtained a complete victory in fourteen minutes, to the great mortification of the knowing ones, including a peer of the first rank, who, betting ten to one, lost £10,000. The money received at the doors was £130, besides 200 tickets at a guinea and a half each; and as the battle was for the whole house, it is supposed the victor cleared £600.”

We have already said that the downfal of Broughton was the downfal of public pugilism in the metropolis; whatever there was of good in the art to a great extent perishing at the caprice of a prince and the power of a few aristocrats. If these are necessary concomitants to its existence, it would not have been worth preserving, but it has survived the frowns of power, and had a better support in the favour of the people. If Broughton’s theatre was closed, the ars pugnandi dwelt in the provinces, and we find our hero engaged in 1751 at Harlston, in Norfolk, with a gigantic Frenchman, whose name, Petit or Pettit, almost savours of a jest. Pettit appears to have been an exhibitor in a circus as a “strong man,” and was noted for immense muscular powers. Of his boxing capabilities, like those of the Gondolier, we cannot form a high estimate. The following letter appeared in the papers of the time:—

“Harlston, Norfolk, July 30th, 1751.

“Yesterday, in the afternoon, Slack and Pettit met and fought. At the first set-to Pettit seized Slack by the throat, held him up against the rails, and grained[22] him so much as to make him extremely black. This continued for half a minute, before Slack could break from Pettit’s hold; after which, for near ten minutes, Pettit kept fighting and driving hard at Slack, when at length Slack closed with his antagonist, and gave him a severe fall, after that a second and a third, but between these falls, Pettit threw Slack twice off the stage; indeed Pettit so much dreaded Slack’s falls, that he ran directly at his hams, and tumbled him down,[23] and by that means gave Slack an opportunity of making the falls easy. When they had been fighting 18 minutes the odds run against Slack, a guinea to a shilling; whereas, on first setting out, it was three or four to one on his head; but after this time Slack shortened Pettit so as to disable him from running and throwing him down in the manner he had done before, but obliged him to stand to close fighting. Slack then closed one of his eyes, and beat him very much about the face; at twenty minutes Pettit grew weaker and Slack stronger. This was occasioned by Slack’s straight way of fighting. At twenty-two minutes the best judges allowed Slack to have the advantage over Pettit very considerably, as he was then recovering his wind, owing to his game qualities. When they had boxed twenty-four minutes, Pettit once more threw Slack over the rails. This indeed Slack allowed him to do, for as he got his hold, Slack fired a blow under Pettit’s ribs that hurt severely. While Slack was again getting upon the stage (it was not half a minute before he remounted), Pettit had so much the fear of his antagonist before his eyes, that he walked off without so much as civilly taking leave of the spectators. The cockers call this rogueing it, for it is generally thought that Pettit ran away full strong. The whole time of their fighting was twenty-five minutes, and this morning the battle was judged to Slack, who drew the first ten guineas out of the box.”

From the last sentence it would seem that there was a subscribed fund, and principal and secondary prizes for the winners.

We read in “Pancratia,” that “the name of Slack was, and not unjustly, a terror to fightable rustics.” “At a country fair a ‘native,’ depending on his natural prowess, gave Slack a blow in the face. We may presume it was returned, and ‘a ring’ being called, a sharp set-to began. It is said the countryman had the advantage, until Slack exclaimed with fervour, ‘What! shall it be said a ploughman beat Jack Slack?’ The very name appalled the countryman, who, imagining his antagonist had been playing with him, said, ‘Have I been fightin’ wi’ Slack? I’ll ha’ no more on’t.’ And he was as good as his word, donning his clothes and leaving the field to the veteran professional.”

The next recorded battle of Slack was for 100 guineas with Cornelius Harris, a collier of Kingswood, near Bristol. It took place on the 13th of March, 1755. The skill and tactics of Slack were severely tried, Harris fighting desperately in Slack’s own early style for twenty minutes, when he gave in.

On October 20th, 1759, Slack is again recorded as victor in a fight for £50 aside with one Moreton, who had issued a challenge to the champion. It came off at Acton Wells. Moreton proved himself a courageous, if not a good boxer; but at the end of thirty-five minutes he acknowledged his mistake.

Ten years had now elapsed since Slack had vanquished the renowned Broughton, and held the title of champion—but the honour was dazzling, and another hero put in his claim for the towering prize. Slack’s fame was well established; and here royalty once more appeared on the pugilistic scene; for Broughton’s old patron, the Duke of Cumberland, stepped forward and backed Slack for £100 against Bill Stevens, the Nailer, whom the Duke of York took under his patronage. The Haymarket was the scene of action, and a stage was erected in the Tennis Court, James Street, on the day of the 17th of June, 1760. Slack entered the field with all the confidence of a veteran, and was acknowledged to have the advantage in the first part of the battle; but the Nailer, with an arm like iron, received the ponderous blows of his antagonist on his left with ease, while with his right arm he so punished the champion’s nob, that he knocked off the title, picked it up, and wore it. Thus fell the hitherto invincible Slack.

This second great mistake of William of Cumberland seems to have disgusted him with the ring, and we hear no more of him. The Duke of York here spoken of was one of the uncles of George III., whose father, Frederick, Prince of Wales, died in George II.’s lifetime.

Slack now quitted the pugilistic profession, and returned to his old trade, opening a butcher’s shop in Chandos Street, Covent Garden. Here he carried on a good business, but still mixed himself in fistic matters. He backed and trained George Meggs, of whom more anon, to fight Bill Stevens, his conqueror, for the championship and 200 guineas. The fight came off on the 2nd of March, 1761, at the Tennis Court, St. James’ Street. The reporter says, “At the first onset Stevens missed his blow, and Meggs struck him that instant on the side of the head and knocked him down. This error seems to have lost him the battle. After this the battle lasted seventeen minutes, with scarcely a blow struck, when Stevens gave in.” We regret to say that this disgraceful affair was clearly traced to Slack, who gave Stevens 50 guineas and his stake. “Pancratia” says: “An old supporter of Stevens, meeting him one day, expressed his surprise at this defeat, when Bill drily answered him, ‘Why, Lord bless you, the day I fought Jack Slack I got 90 guineas; but I got 50 guineas more than I should otherwise have done by letting Georgy beat me; and, damme, ain’t I the same man still?’” The Nailer and Slack both fell into disrepute; but the latter stuck to his business, and appears to have prospered until his death in 1778.

BILL STEVENS THE NAILER (CHAMPION)—1760.

This tremendous boxer, whose courage found no counterpart in his honesty, will aptly come in here. It would be tedious, could they even be dug up, to give an outline of his many battles before his crowning victory over Slack, with the exception of one, that with Jacob Taplin, the coal-eaver.

The winter of 1760 was rendered memorable in the annals of pugilism by a desperately contested battle, “fought in the month of February between William Stevens the Nailer and Jacob Taplin. The site fixed on for deciding the boxing match was the hollow known as Marylebone Basin, which held about 3,000 spectators. A ring was formed in its centre, and the champions commenced the combat. Taplin in the first rounds seemed to have much the best of the Nailer, who received some tremendous blows in the ‘bread-basket,’ which had several times knocked him down. The last time Stevens seemed to rise with the fury of a lion roused from slowness and placidity into excessive irritation. He faced his antagonist and let fly, levelling him at his feet. The odds, which had been in favour of Taplin, now became four to one on Stevens. In the next round he repeated his knock-down by a tremendous blow below the left breast. When Taplin rose next time, he closed on him suddenly and both fell. The next round decided the battle in favour of Stevens, who struck Taplin on the left eye with his left hand, while with the other he followed it by a blow on the temple, which laid him senseless. Taplin not being prepared in time to resume the contest, Stevens was declared the victor.”—Daily Advertiser, Feb. 20, 1760.

And now the fame of Stevens running abroad he received the highest patronage, and was matched for 100 guineas aside against the veteran champion Slack. The result has been already told. He disabled Slack’s guard by repeated and heavy blows on his left forearm, and followed them by a right hand lunge at the head, accompanied by a trip at his left foot, which disturbed the champion’s balance. In the words of the report, “he with his right hand beat him about the head, while at the same time tripping him off his centre with his foot.” The champion’s title fell to Stevens, but he did not long wear it, through his own misconduct. The battle, or rather sham fight at the Tennis Court with George Meggs, the collier, has been already noticed. Stevens, after seventeen minutes of trickery, scarcely knowing how to make a fight of it, gave in.[24]

Stevens’ later fights were few. His backers had, of course, deserted him. On July 4, 1769, we find as follows: “William Stevens, the Nailer, who dexterously played the cross with George Meggs, fought a battle with M’Guire, an Irish pugilist, on the green stage at the back of Montague House. M’Guire was beaten.”

Stevens was also defeated by one Turner, but the date and circumstances are not recorded. We learn this fact from the account of Turner’s victory over Peter Corcoran, the Irish champion (Sept. 24, 1769).

Stevens’ career closed in defeat and disgrace. Eighteen years after his victory over Slack, he entered the ring with the rising Harry Sellers (see SELLERS, post). Stevens added another illustration to the ring proverb—“Youth will be served.” Had Stevens kept the straight course, he might have emulated Taylor, Broughton, and Slack. The date of his death is uncertain.

THOMAS SMALLWOOD—1741‒1757.

Among the luminaries of George Taylor’s Great Booth, and subsequently of Broughton’s Amphitheatre, Tom Smallwood, though never opposed to the very foremost men of his time, was a ready and resolute boxer of no small pretensions. Captain Godfrey has enshrined him in his curious pages, so that entire omission of him would be inexcusable in these sketches of the early heroes of the ring. “Had he but possessed weight (whence we may infer he was what we should now call a ‘middle weight,’ say 11 stone), he was capable of standing against any man.” It must be remembered that “rushing,” and “hammering,” and “driving against the rails,” seem to have been much in vogue in the stage encounters of the period; and the preposterous weight of thirteen stone and a half and fourteen stone was thought advantageous for a man of five feet eight or nine inches! Smallwood’s battles were numerous and creditable, whether in defeat or success. His first battle recorded in the “Diurnals” was with one Dimmocks, a powerful carman, at Taylor’s Booth, in May, 1741, the month after Broughton had defeated Stevenson, the coachman. It was a desperate affair, and well contested by Smallwood, then a youth. After three-quarters of an hour of severe fighting, Smallwood was beaten by the superior strength of his opponent.

In the following November Tom Smallwood again entered the lists with Richard Harris, a brick-maker, for 50 guineas. It is described as “one of the severest boxing matches that had taken place for many years,” and “contested with alternate successes, with the greatest hardihood and intrepidity, for one hour, when victory decided in favour of Smallwood.” Broughton expressed a high opinion of the courage and skill of Smallwood. The day was also noted for the first appearance of “Buckhorse” (John Smith) upon this stage, who fought “a draw” with Harry Gray, the clogmaker. See BUCKHORSE, post.

In the notice of GEORGE TAYLOR will be found a couple of specimens of his booth advertisements. They contain the names of Tom Smallwood and Will Willis (the Fighting Quaker). On this occasion (April 28, 1742) our hero despised Willis, who derived his nickname from a remarkably plain and formal appearance, and a sedateness of manner not common among “knights of the fives,” with whom fun and flash appear to have been ever prevalent. At this point, after an imaginary account of Smallwood’s victory, stuffed with the slang of the first quarter of the present century, and bald attempts at facetiousness, the “Historian” adds, “Tom Smallwood fought several other battles, in all of which he proved victorious; but the combatants were not of sufficient importance to claim mention.”—Boxiana, vol. i., p. 33. He then proceeds, p. 67, to give a memoir of Edward Hunt, on whom he lavishes just praises, and records his defeat by Smallwood, as one out of the many specimens of method with which his hash is concocted.

Smallwood, after the closing of Taylor’s Booth in 1744, does not appear to have belonged to Broughton’s company, for we find him fighting one King, a butcher, at Stanton Green, who beat him, in January, 1746. The particulars of this battle are not recorded, but King is said to have also “fought several good battles at the Booth.” There is something obscure about this battle, as Captain Godfrey, writing in 1747, a constant visitor at Broughton’s, and au courant with every man in the fistic world, says, “If I was to choose a boxer for my money, and could but purchase him strength equal to his resolution, Smallwood should be the man.”

The most remarkable of Smallwood’s triumphs was his victory over Broughton’s favourite pupil and protegé, Edward Hunt, whose defeat of Hawksley, the Life-guardsman, had made him the talk of the town. The battle had been long talked of, and was fought on a stage at Hounslow, July 14, 1757. The stake was 150 guineas. For thirty minutes the combat was carried on with equal resolution, and without any leading advantage. “For the first 35 minutes the odds were alternately on each man. After this time, Tom, who was the heavier man, closed with Hunt more frequently, and by superior strength followed it up with such advantage, that in 50 minutes the battle was decided in his favour.” Hunt is said to have weighed but nine stone. Smallwood was seconded by “Old George Taylor,” and Hunt by the champion, Jack Slack.

Smallwood, who had now been at least seventeen years before the public, seems to have retired a conqueror, as we have no further mention of his name.

EDWARD HUNT—1746‒1758.

This favourite pupil of Broughton continually appears in his master’s advertisements. He was a boxer of first-rate science, as then practised, with unquestionable courage, extreme hardihood, and remarkable activity. Though barely five feet five inches, and weighing but nine stone, he often fought and defeated men of large stature, and vastly his superiors in weight. “Being constantly overmatched, he had more difficulties to encounter than any other boxer on the list, and of the few instances of ‘shifting’ which occurred in his time, he is the most singular, for he conquered the stoutest men by his admirable art. With strength so much beyond his own opposed to him he might have been allowed to drop, but he seldom fell without a blow. He never confined himself to one attitude, for, being extremely active, he found he could more effectually confuse his antagonist by continually changing his guard. He endeavoured to avoid blows aimed at his body by stepping aside, and then took an opportunity of dexterously ‘winding’ his man, who was driven forward by his own force. If a blow was aimed at his head, he stooped to let his adversary’s arm pass over him, and then succeeded in general in planting a good body blow. These manœuvres proved highly advantageous to Hunt in his pugilistic career, for his opponents became aware of these practices, and accordingly fought on the defensive, by which means he became the assailant, and avoided being overwhelmed by their superior power.” This is the description of a consummate boxer by a master hand; quoted in “Pancratia,” pp. 50, 51. “What a picture of a combination of the styles of Young Dutch Sam and Bendigo! With this before you read Pierce Egan’s stuff about Hunt’s not “fearing the disparagement (sic) between him and his lofty opponent,” and “stood up to Hawksley prime as a game cock,” etc. The contemporary account of Hunt’s battle with Hawksley is brief:—

“On June 11th (1746) a very severe battle was contested at the Amphitheatre between Edward Hunt, a pupil of Mr. Broughton’s, weighing only nine stone,[25] and one Hawksley a Life-guardsman, who weighed seventeen stone. The odds before fighting were ten to one in favour of Hawksley. The battle lasted only ten minutes, during which the odds changed in favour of Hunt, who was declared the victor.” This affair is most unaccountable; shifting, and the “planting” of a nine stone man, could hardly have beaten Hawksley in ten minutes, unless he was out of condition, drunk, or a coward.

His next great battle was with Smallwood (1757), already narrated; and his last recorded appearance was with Richard Mills, a game boxer, known by the name of “the Onion Boy,” May 17, 1758, at Islington. After an hour’s severe fighting, Hunt, upon whom large odds were betted, was compelled to surrender.

BUCKHORSE (JOHN SMITH)—1732‒1746.

There was one pugilist of this period, whose name we rather introduce as a remarkable lusus naturæ than as an illustrator of the noble art. This individual was John Smith, more commonly known as BUCKHORSE. The following particulars are chiefly derived from a memoir which appeared in the “Eccentric Magazine.”

“BUCKHORSE, whose real name is said to have been John Smith, first saw the light in the house of a sinner, in that part of London known by the name of Lewkner’s Lane, a place notorious in the extreme for the eccentricity of the characters it contained: here the disciples of Bamfylde Moore Carew were to be found in crowds, and cadgers of all descriptions resorted to regale themselves upon the good things of this life, laughing at the credulity of the public in being so easily duped by their impositions; and here the juvenile prig was soon taught to become an adept in the profession, by taking out a handkerchief or a snuff-box, from the pocket of a coat covered with bells, without ringing any of them. In these slums the finished thief roosted from the prying eyes of society, and laid plans for his future depredations.

“It appears, then, that few places could boast of more originality of character than that from which BUCKHORSE sprang; and, from the variety of talents here displayed, there is little doubt he did not remain long a novice. As we have never been troubled with any account to what good-natured personage he owed his origin, we cannot determine; but suffice it to observe, that little BUCKHORSE and his mother were turned out upon the wide world, long before he knew its slippery qualities, by the cruel publican, their landlord, which inhuman circumstance took place about the year 1720.

“This freak of nature, it would seem, was indebted to his mother for what little instruction he received, the principal of which was an extraordinary volubility of speech; and from his early acquaintance with the streets he picked up the rest of his qualifications.

“Buckhorse’s composition, however rude and unsightly, was not without harmony; and although his fist might not appear musical to his antagonist by its potent touch, yet when applied to his own chin, was capable of producing a variety of popular tunes, to the astonishment of all those who heard and saw him, and by which peculiar trait he mostly subsisted, added to selling little switches for a halfpenny a-piece, his cry of which was so singular, that Shuter, the celebrated comedian, among his other imitations, was more than successful in his mimicry of Buckhorse, which was repeatedly called for a second time.

“As a pugilist, BUCKHORSE ranked high for strength and endurance among the boxers of the day, and displayed great muscular power in the battles he contested.”

“Boxiana” says, under date 1742, after the fight of Smallwood and Willis, “About this time the noted Buckhorse fought Harry Gray, when the latter got severely punished by this ugly customer.” It is true that this battle took place in 1742, but if Mr. Egan had read Fig’s bill, which he prints at p. 44, vol. i., he would have seen there that, ten years previous (Sept. 18, 1732), it is announced that “BUCKHORSE and several other pugilists will show the art of boxing.” Unless the infant was eight years old in 1720, he must have been “noted” enough to be specially underlined in capital letters at twelve years old! Fig died in 1734 (see p. 12, ante). Buckhorse continues, too, it will be seen, in Broughton’s bill for his “New Amphitheatre,” on the 13th of March, 1743 (p. 24, ante), and is there advertised, not for a match among the eight men specially named as to be paired, but in a singular manner, indicative of a mêlée rather than a boxing match. Thus: “N.B. There will be a battle royal by the NOTED BUCKHORSE and seven or eight others, after which there will be several bye-battles with others.” Buckhorse seems to have fought previously in these bye-battles, e.g., that with Harry Gray (who here appears among the men to be matched), two years previously (23rd Nov., 1741), after Tom Smallwood had defeated Harris. (See ante, p. 38.)

There is something truly Hogarthian in the portrait handed down to us; and as he was a contemporary of “the valiant Fig,” it is no strained supposition that it came originally from the great English master’s pencil, as well as that of the champion himself.

“As ugly as Buckhorse” was for a long time the uncomplimentary expression for a remarkably ugly man. This singular being is said to have been in the custom of allowing himself to be knocked down for a trifling gratuity by any one who might fancy a trial of the strength of his own arm.

TOM FAULKNER, THE CRICKETER—1758‒1791.

One of the best men of his day, and who divided his attention between the two great English games, cricket and boxing, both, in a scientific form, nearly contemporaneous, was Tom Faulkner. Twice, fired with the ambition of holding the champion’s title, did he enter the lists with the renowned George Taylor, and twice, after a good fight, he succumbed to his master in skill. But Tom feared not an uphill game. He felt that he had the key to the secret of his former defeats, and a third time, in 1758, challenged Taylor to the field. Taylor had now retired, and, as already stated, kept the Fountain at Deptford. The “old ’un” accepted the challenge without hesitation, and in Hertfordshire, one mile and a half from St. Alban’s, on the 13th of August, 1758, the heroes met, the stakes being 200 guineas and the door money. Faulkner, it is said, with the odds of three to one against him, risked all he possessed upon the event. Faulkner, knowing his man, determined to keep him to fighting. “He began the attack with astonishing courage, amounting almost to ferocity. For several of the earlier rounds Faulkner was either knocked down or thrown. About the fifteenth, Taylor was blowing, but in a rally each put in a dozen hard blows before Faulkner levelled his opponent. Taylor now began to shift, and several times fell without a blow.[26] This created much disapprobation and confusion, but Faulkner easily consented to proceed. Afterwards they set to more resolutely, if possible, than before, when after a severe contest of one hour and a quarter, Taylor acknowledged himself beaten. They were both carried off the ground, and it was the general opinion that more skill and courage never was displayed by any pugilist in this country. Taylor’s loss of an eye and a blow at the close of the fight on the other were the aiding excuses of his defeat.”

In the next year (1759) Tom Faulkner was in turn challenged by Joe James. Joe came of a fighting family, and his brother Jack James, “the bruiser at Broughton’s Amphitheatre,” with his father, “old Jockey James, of Newmarket,” seconded young Joe. The battle came off at Putney, Surrey, on April 8, 1759, for 100 guineas. “A stage was erected near the White Lion Inn, and they set-to about two o’clock. Before a blow was struck the odds were two to one (they betted preposterously tempting odds in those green and early days) in favour of James, and after the third round five to one. Joe knocked Faulkner down several times (here was piling up the agony), when, in the last round, which was not more than ten minutes from the commencement of the contest, Faulkner, by a well-aimed blow, brought down James (!), on which, though apparently not hurt or even fatigued, he gave in.” We should think so: it would have been mere tempting fortune to go on. The chronicler adds, “the indignation of the spectators was very highly expressed by their hissing him off the ground,”[27] which did not, it seems, prevent the bets going with the battle-money. Verily, as Bildad the Shuhite said of the man of Uz, so may we say of this ancient ring-scribe, “Behold, he is yet in his greenness.” “Old Jockey James” seems to have known when to give “the office” that the “book was full.”

Tom appears now to have betaken himself to attacking his opponents’ stumps, and bowling them out with “underhand twisters,” for as yet the hand above the elbow was not, the curve-bladed bat was like a butter-knife, and two stumps with a cross-piece gave every chance that a straight ball would go harmlessly through the wicket. Yet were there skill and enjoyment in those days of our forefathers, and the village green and its May-pole were institutions of “Merrie England.” The May-pole is as extinct as the megatherium, and what has modern science given us in its place? Among those who—

“At foot-ball or at cricket, At prison-base or touching-chase Right featly then could prick it,”

Tom Faulkner was long remembered. Yet does his name again occur in 1789. The bruisers of Birmingham challenged those of the best note in London. Isaac Perrins challenged Tom Johnson, the champion (See life of JOHNSON, post.) Jacombs challenged Bryan (Big Ben); Pickard, George Ingleston, the brewer; and these fights came off, as we shall see, in favour of the metropolis. Fired with the idea, Tom FAULKNER (at 53 years of age!) challenged Watson, and Thornhill threw down the gauntlet to Hooper, the tinman. These two last matches went off; a proof, we think, that the Birmingham backers were not without judgment, though they did lose the first three events.

Tom Faulkner was certainly an evergreen of amazing sap and pith. Early in 1791 he was challenged by Thornhill (called in the report “the Warwickshire bruiser”), who had been disappointed in his match with Hooper, the tinman. The veteran Tom accepted the cartel, and they met at Studley, in Warwickshire, March 21, 1791. “Ryan seconded Faulkner, and Williams was his bottleholder. Jack Lea waited upon Thornhill, with Biggs his bottleholder.” We copy the report. “At two o’clock the combatants set-to, and throughout the battle Tom’s superiority in judgment and distance was manifestly evident. Thornhill was much the stronger man, and only fell by one knock-down blow during the contest, except the last, which Tom struck him in the neck, too forcibly to be withstood, and Thornhill gave in. The conflict was extremely severe, and lasted fifty minutes. The door money amounted to upwards of £80, two-thirds of which became the property of the winner, and the remainder to the unsuccessful combatant.” Faulkner was one of those lucky men who closed a career of exceptional length with the garland of victory on his grey head. Tom was living in 1798.

BILL DARTS (CHAMPION)—1764‒1771.

Among the boxers of his day, Bill Darts, the dyer, held a high reputation for steady courage and hard hitting, and by no means a contemptible amount of science. One of the most remarkable of his battles was with Tom Juchau,[28] at Guildford, Surrey, in May, 1766. It was a famous fight for forty minutes, when Juchau was beaten out of time. The stakes were 1,000 guineas.

Dogget, the West Country Bargeman, had secured so high a name among the “twoads” that an invite was given to Bill Darts to come down to Marlborough to be thrashed. With the first part of the invitation Bill complied; the second he not only declined, but, per contra, gave Mr. Dogget such a thrashing, that he carried off the honours of the day and the irate countryman’s 100 guineas staked upon the event.

Swansey, the butcher, found friends to back him for 50 guineas, and he and Darts met, Oct. 13, 1767, on Epping Forest. The butcher was soon knocked down and thoroughly cut up.

Bill Darts now invited all comers for the championship, which he had held for five years, when Lyons,[29] a waterman of Kingston-upon-Thames, disputed his title. They met, and Darts, for the first time, was defeated in forty-five minutes, on the 27th of June, 1769.

Bill Darts next entered the lists with a competitor of formidable name—Death (Stephen Oliver). Oliver was certainly “stale,” as he had been one of Broughton’s favourite pupils. (See DEATH.) It was a well-contested fight, Oliver proving extremely game and skilful; but the superior strength and weight of Darts’ hits overcame the darts of Death, and the namesake of the universal conqueror fell before Bill’s victorious arm. This battle was fought at Putney, on a stage, March 25th, 1770. “Boxiana” has not given a single date to any of Darts’ fights; accordingly, “Fights for the Championship,” 1855, informs its readers that, “the dates of these battles,” as well as those of George Meggs, Millsom, etc., “are not recorded!”

On the 18th of May, 1771, during Epsom races, Bill Darts fought Peter Corcoran, an Irish bruiser of vast pretensions, about whom Pierce Egan has indited his usual amount of rhodomontade, which we shall correct under his name. The match was made for £100 aside, by the notorious black-leg and bully, Captain O’Kelly, the lucky owner of Eclipse, who, “before the fight gave Bill Darts 100 guineas to play cross.”[30] The rest of this nefarious swindle we will give, according to our plan, under the notice of the so-called victor Corcoran. Bill had now sold his reputation, and was a lost man; his seducer, the greater scoundrel, fared, like woman’s seducer, none the worse

“Through tattered clothes small vices do appear— Robes and furred gowns hide all.”

Perhaps one of the funniest pieces of historical perversion on record is Pierce Egan’s account (without a date) of this scandalous affair. It would be injustice to mutilate it. “The famous Bill Darts now mounted the stage with Corcoran for £200, to give additional sport to Epsom races. The set-to commenced with cautious sparring on the part of Darts, who soon discovered that he could not win (!), and in a short time gave in. A singular report crept into circulation, accounting for Darts losing the battle, that Colonel O’Kelly (one of the most celebrated sportsmen on the turf) backed his countryman to a large amount; but to make his bets dead sure, on the night previous to the fight, he presented Darts with £100 not to win the battle, but positively to lose it. Surely no thoroughbred sportsman could commit so barefaced a robbery!” This is rather modest, considering the Colonel’s character; what follows, however, distances it by lengths. “And upon the best information, we are assured that Darts in his prime was never half man enough for Peter Corcoran!” The notes of admiration are Pierce’s: we have omitted his emphasised italics and small capitals. The reader may form his own conclusion by reading Corcoran’s actual battles.

Darts appears several times as a second during 1771 and the following years; notedly in a fight between Sam Peters, of Birmingham, and Rossemus Gregory, an Irishman, in which Darts seconded the Hibernian, but behaved so unfairly to save his man that Peters refused to fight on. The result will be found under PETERS.

PETER CORCORAN

We may as well here dispatch Peter Corcoran, to whom Pierce Egan has devoted several pages of fabrication in honour of “ould Ireland.” First he thrashed all the potato diggers in the vicinity of his father’s mud edifice; then he, and perhaps another, beat an English butcher who refused to let him and a friend have a shoulder of mutton at their own price: Pierce almost hints they had no money. It seems that Paddy not only thrashed the butcher “Master Steel” in a few minutes, but “shortly afterwards enjoyed his mutton (is the reader or the mutton roasted?) with as keen an appetite as if nothing had happened (which we suppose was the case), and next day pursued his journey to London.”[31] At Portsmouth, after a trip to sea, he performed a number of feats of strength; one among them was “beating a whole press gang, and breaking the lieutenant’s sword over his head.” Here’s a scene for a new “Black-eyed Susan.” The promotion of Billy Taylor’s sweetheart did not, however, fall to the lot of Peter, and “on leaving the navy, he came to London,” etc.

The first authenticated notice of his name we find under the date of,

“Sept. 4th (1769). A boxing match was decided between Turner, a pugilist who had beaten Bill Stevens, and Peter Corcoran, an Irishman, for £20 aside, which was won by the former.” The battle took place in Hyde Park, and is correctly given in “Fistiana,” though without a date. Now let us turn to “Boxiana,” p. 59, vol. i. “Peter beat one Turner, who fought him for £20, and although the latter had beaten the Nailer, yet, in the hands of Corcoran, he was soon disposed of.” Three others, “good men,” Dalton and Davis and “Smiler, the bricklayer,” were also, according to the same veracious chronicler, “beaten dreadfully.” These exploits bring us to Corcoran’s two “crosses” and his final thrashing. That with Bill Darts we have said enough about. Of this we read in a contemporary print—“After a little sparring, Corcoran gave Darts a blow on the side of the head, which drove him against the rail of the stage, when he immediately gave in. It was said that Darts had played booty, and none of the sporting men would afterwards back him; thus by one dirty action Darts lost all the fame he had been for so many years acquiring.” This reflection has a peculiar moral squint, as we have already said. “What about the Colonel who bought the poor fellow?”

Whether his next battle with Peters was a victory we will just leave to the reader of the report. “The long expected match between Sam Peters and Peter Corcoran took place at Waltham Abbey, Essex, in June, 1774. At setting-to the bets were three to one in favour of Peters (this, we should say, was a good thing), who, though he maintained the superiority, gave in without any apparent cause at the expiry of fifteen minutes, greatly to the disappointment of the sporting ones.” We should think so. Here is the account from “Boxiana,” p. 86, “Sam Peters was the best man, according to Corcoran’s account, that ever set-to with him. It was a complete hammering fight (!), and at the expiration of ten minutes Peters declared he was satisfied, and Corcoran’s body for several days afterwards was entirely black, the bruises being extremely severe.” Heavy work on both sides for ten minutes. The fastest moderns cannot go this pace. The account of Corcoran’s battle with Harry Sellers, October 16th, 1776, will be found under HARRY SELLERS. As Peter was thrashed, it was of course “a sell,” though it looks like a victory on its merits, and “Boxiana” “points a moral,” which is applicable to this as to all other cases of betrayal of backers by pugilists, who should never forget—

“’Tis not in mortals to command success,”

but “do more, deserve it,” is very good—if the case warranted it.

The favourable notice in “Pancratia,” whence Pierce drew the staple he has spun out so absurdly, thus speaks of Corcoran: “Peter, as a pugilist of his period, stands first rank as a fair fighter; being generally engaged with powerful pugilists, he was unfortunate in the events of his contests, and indeed he had little reason to triumph when victorious, for as he never shifted or fell, unless accidentally, without a blow, he seldom escaped a severe drubbing.” These are the words of truth and soberness, and place Corcoran’s courage and game on a fair footing, despite the extravagant eulogies of his compatriot. Perhaps, however, Mr. Vincent Dowling, in his “Fistiana,” has exercised the wisest discretion; finding the accounts too discrepant for reconciling, he has left the name of Corcoran out of the letter C altogether.

HARRY SELLERS (CHAMPION)—1776‒1785.

Harry Sellers, a west country boxer of deserved provincial reputation, was chosen by some friends as a likely young fellow to reduce the braggadocia of Corcoran, whose challenges were of the true Hibernian cut of some hedge-schoolmaster transplanted to the Seven Dials. The match was made for 100 guineas “and a bet of £500 or £600 on the event,”—we do not profess to know what the last phrase means—and the combatants met at the Crown Inn, Staines, October 10, 1776. The attendance appears to have been remarkably good. Corcoran, with the “gift of the gab,” was the landlord of the Blakeney’s Head, St. Giles’s, and was a sort of “Stunning Joe Banks” of his day: what he was good for as a pugilist we cannot say. “At the first onset,” says the report, “Corcoran gave his antagonist a violent blow, which threw him to the farthest end of the stage, and the odds increased from three to four to one in Peter’s favour. Sellers now fought very shy for about eighteen minutes, in order to wind his antagonist, which having accomplished, he advanced boldly and beat him by straight-forward hitting in ten minutes.” Did any one ever read a more “plain unvarnished tale” of how a natural fighter and good boxer beat a bounceable publican? What need of the farrago we find at pages 86, 87, 88, vol. i. of “Boxiana,” to explain that which needs no explanation? Corcoran was thrashed, and, we believe, couldn’t help it. Pierce tells us a story of his house in St. Giles’s flowing with “all sorts of spirits, plenty of new pots, etc., inside and outside painted, and got up in superior style to what it was ever witnessed before,” etc. Moreover—and here is the detail that clinches it—“Peter was playing skittles next morning with all the activity and cheerfulness of a man who had never been engaged in pugilism.”

As Pierce about this period was a Dublin “gossoon,” he must have had an exact knowledge of the decorations, interior and exterior, of Peter’s hostelrie, and a reliable tradition of his morning’s amusements. For ourselves, a much more careful search than that of the inventor of “Boxiana” (who made none, by the way), fails to tell us more than we have hereinbefore set down.

On the 4th of June, 1777, at Ascot Heath races, Joe Hood,[32] a hardy and successful boxer, fought Harry Sellers for 50 guineas aside. Joe fought with great courage and skill, but the science and activity of Sellers secured the victory. Hood fought Sellers again, four weeks afterwards (June 2), and was again beaten.

In June, 1778, Harry Sellers met the once formidable champion, Bill Stevens, the Nailer. It was a one-sided affair. Stevens, still courageous, could not stand against the rapidity, skill, and freshness of Harry, and was defeated. The stake was but £25, which shows how the mighty Stevens had fallen.

The Crown, at Slough, a favourite rendezvous of the swell patrons of pugilism, was the scene, on the 25th of September, 1780, of a boxing match between Harry Sellers and Duggan Fearns, an Irish boatswain (called Jack Fearns in “Boxiana”). The accounts read very like a cross, though we can hardly say that there is clear evidence. “The battle lasted one minute and a half, when victory was declared in favour of Duggan.” We are not told how the event was brought about, but the reporter adds his own opinion: “the amateurs were swindled to a large amount,” and certainly very clumsily.

On the 7th of June (1785), we find that Harry Sellers contested a battle with William Harvey, an Irishman, in the Ass Field, near Holywell Mount, Grays Inn Road, “in which, notwithstanding he exerted himself to the utmost, he was conquered by dint of the Irishman’s strength in twenty minutes.” The reader will observe the date is the 7th of June. This may give him sufficient insight to value accordingly the story of “St. Patrick’s evening” (17th March), the “insult to Mr. Harvey’s shamrock in his hat,” the “leg of mutton and trimmings,” offered by Sellers to be let off a thrashing, and the wretched rubbish in “Boxiana,” pp. 88, 89, “for the greater glory of ould Ireland.” The red hot ire of Mr. Harvey remained to cool from March 17th to the 7th of the following June, if there be any truth in the periodical contemporary press.

The appearance of Humphries, Big Ben (Brain), and the rise of the great Tom Johnson, seem to have quite extinguished the minor pugilistic stars, and so occupied the whole attention of the patrons and historians of the ring, that Sellers disappears from the scene. In “Pancratia,” p. 63, we read, “It has been reported that Sellers actually died with grief, on account of his friends refusing to match him with the celebrated pugilist Tom Johnson when first he rose into fame.” This proves, at any rate, that Sellers was what the west countrymen call “a good woolled one:” there was no deficiency in breed, whatever there might be in his probity or judgment.

STEPHEN OLIVER (NICKNAMED DEATH).—1770‒1788.

OF Stephen Oliver, whose singular sobriquet, “Death,” had a less terrible derivation than it might suggest, we have but scant contemporary notices, yet these have been neglected, and “Boxiana” dismisses him with an incidental mention in the notice under DARTS (see p. 45, ante), and four lines in reference to his battle with Small. Oliver seems, by general consent of the best judges, to have been a remarkably skilful, steady, and formidable boxer. The deadly paleness of his visage during his pugilistic contests procured him the nickname of “Death.” Oliver, as one of Broughton’s pupils, stood high on the list of his favourites. The veteran often commended him as the best teacher and exponent of his system. “He was a well made man, and light (as they reckoned it then), never exceeding twelve stone; he did not possess great strength, but this he fully compensated by his astonishing agility. Oliver fought more battles than any man in England, and though frequently overmatched, often conquered against odds. But his sparring,” adds the author of “Historical Sketches,”[33] “notwithstanding it was thought excellent some years back, is now equalled by any pupil of Mendoza and Humphries. This indisputably shows we moderns have improved in science.”

We pass over a long interval of Stephen Oliver’s performances to come to his great fight with Bill Darts, March 25, 1770, wherein he was defeated by youth, length, weight, and strength.

Six years afterwards, July 3rd, 1776, Death fought a short battle at Barnet for £20 with a butcher of the name of William Small, a name by no means corresponding with his bulk. A diurnal print tried a small piece of wit in the form of what it called “an epigram.” Here it is—

“Ah! foolish wight, why strive to conquer Death? When he, thou know’st, can stop thy vital breath; That ruthless tyrant rules the lives of all, And vanquishes the Great, as well as SMALL.”

The renowned Tom Johnson, of whom anon, had already beaten several commoners, and especially Jarvis, “the fighting carman.” Stephen accepted his general challenge, and, though stale and old, made a creditable fight, at Blackheath, in 1784. (See JOHNSON, post.) Though Jack Towers (brother of William, the bricklayer) is called the “conqueror of the celebrated DEATH,” we cannot find the record of his victory.

Oliver still lingered on the stage till 1788, in which year, on April 17th, “he fought one Elisha Crabbe,[34] a Jew, on the turf, at Blackheath.” It was observed in the course of the contest that Death had the lead in fair boxing, but that Crabbe got the best in closing, when he was generally successful in flinging his adversary so as to pitch him on his head. Although Crabbe had received many sharp blows, they did not impair his strength, but Death was wounded badly in the face by a fall, and had a severe gash over his right eyebrow. This obstructed his sight, and very much contributed to lose him the battle. At the end of thirty-five minutes Crabbe succeeded in giving Death a knock-down blow, and the Jew was declared the conqueror. (“Pancratia,” p. 78.) The Prince of Wales (afterwards George IV.), Colonel Hanger (Lord Coleraine), and the leading patrons of the ring, were present on this occasion. A bye-battle between Doyle, a well known pugilist, and a sawyer from Deptford, which followed, ended in the anonymous sawyer beating the professional in twenty minutes.

SAM PETERS, OF BIRMINGHAM—1771‒1774.

SAM PETERS, of Birmingham, is one of the second rates demanding notice previous to closing this chapter. After many victories in Warwickshire and the midland counties, Sam made his way to the metropolis, and was backed for £20 against Trainer, a stalwart Irish chairman. They met at Epping Forest, June 7, 1771, but Sam was so overmatched that, after a clever fight of thirty-seven minutes, he fell before the heavier metal of his antagonist.

The next month, on the 13th of July, Sam entered the ring at Fair Mead Bottom, near Epping, with Rossemus Gregory, another Hibernian pugilist. Bill Darts seconded Gregory, and Peters gave in on the ground of Darts interfering unfairly in favour of his man. Another match was accordingly made, and came off in the Riding School at the Three Hats, Islington.[35] Here Master Gregory found he had better not have “bitten his thumb” at Sam, for he got a most undeniable thrashing in half an hour. Sam Peters’ “sell” with Corcoran, in 1774, has been already commented on. From this time he ceased to find backers.

JOE HOOD—1773‒1780.

JOE HOOD, a weaver, fought some good battles between 1773 and 1780. His first important contest was with the noted Jem Parrot, on the 9th of November, 1773, in White Conduit Fields, Islington, for a stake of 20 guineas. Rossemus Gregory (see SAM PETERS, of Birmingham, ante) seconded Parrot, and Sam Peters attended upon Joe Hood. The fight was obstinately contested for thirty-five minutes, when a dispute arose between the seconds as to a foul blow. Rossy Gregory would not allow his man to fight longer, and Parrot left the ground, refusing to return. The battle, upon a reference, was awarded to Hood.

On the 31st of March, 1775, Joe Hood met and conquered Dennis Kellyhorn, “a famous Irish bruiser.” The battle was for 50 guineas, and took place at Chingford Hatch, Essex.

Macdonald, a sawyer, of great strength and stature, issued a challenge to Joe for £10. The set-to is described by the reporter as “furious on the part of Macdonald.” Joe fought on the defensive for half an hour, when the rush of Macdonald having slackened, Joe completely turned the tables, and milled the sawyer all over the ring. Macdonald fought obstinately: “he was beaten so dreadfully before he gave in, that both eyes were closed, and it was found that his jaw was broken.”

Joe’s next battle with the champion, Harry Sellers, June 4, 1777, ended in a defeat, though “Hood displayed astonishing judgment and bottom.” This important battle is not mentioned in “Boxiana” (JOE HOOD, p. 81), nor in “Fistiana,” under HOOD (p. 58, edit. 1864); nor does Hood’s second defeat (July 2, 1774) appear under his name in either authority.

A noted Birmingham pugilist (the “Hardware Village” has always been renowned for boxers) hight Joe Higgins, “who had fought fifteen battles, in all of which he had been the conqueror,”[36] challenged Hood. He had miscalculated his skill. They met July 23, 1778, when Hood gave him so severe a beating as, says the authority just quoted, “taught him the proper respect due to a scientific pugilist.”

The tide of battle now turned against Hood. On the 8th of September, 1778, after a severe attack of illness, Joe met “the Bristol Boy,” Peter Bath, at Maidenhead races, for £50 a-side. “The bets were two to one in Joe’s favour, notwithstanding his indifferent health.” Joe soon “found himself entirely unable to cope with his opponent, and gave in after fighting twenty minutes, when Bath[37] was hailed the conqueror.”

On the 4th of September, 1779, Hood was again unsuccessful in a pitched battle in Smithfield with William Day, an active and game pugilist. This seems to have been Joe’s last appearance as a principal, his constitution being impaired.

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

Chapter V

TOM JOHNSON (THOMAS JACKLING). CHAMPION OF ENGLAND—1783‒1791.

Tom Johnson, whose real name was Jackling, was a native of Derby, although a general claim of Yorkshire extraction has been made for him, and “Boxiana” so states it; followed, of course, by “Fights for the Championship,” London, 1855. However, as he signs himself “Thomas Jackling, of Derby,” in a printed letter, the point is not worth disputing. He surely could himself have no motive for such a misrepresentation.

Johnson, for we shall retain his popular name, was certainly a hero among heroes; and if Tom was inferior to Broughton in science, he came certainly nearest of any man that had hitherto appeared to that phœnix of pugilistic skill. Nature had endowed him with unusual strength of body, and he was universally admitted to possess a careful and precise style of hitting. His courage was of the highest order, and he possessed a constitutional coolness of disposition and temper. Johnson was born in 1750, the very year that Jack Slack defeated his prototype, the champion Broughton, and at an early age repaired to London, where he followed the laborious occupation of a corn-porter, on a wharf near Old Swan Stairs. His surprising strength was paralleled by his kindness of heart; and while in this employment an anecdote is recorded of him which deserves preservation. Johnson’s fellow porter was taken ill, and being burdened with a wife and a numerous family, dependent on his labour for support, they were likely to be reduced to want, had not Johnson immediately undertaken (unknown to them) to do his fellow porter’s work, as well as his own. The warehouses where the corn was deposited were situated at some distance from the wharf, at the end of a court, denominated, from its steepness, “Labour-in-vain Court,” and to which place Tom carried every journey two sacks of corn instead of one, and gave the money to his family, till his fellow porter was able to return to his work. We would recommend this anecdote for extract in the next number of the “Evangelical Magazine;” it can be much better authenticated than most of the “lose-nothing” benevolences of their portrait-loving “labourers in the vineyard.”

As we prefer truth unadorned to clumsy rhetoric we have here merely paraphrased what we find in contemporaries, and, where advisable, resorted to acknowledged quotations. “After he (Johnson) had assumed the profession of the gymnasium (somewhat pedantic this, but the writer as he goes on becomes more natural), he soon proved the most effective among the whole race of modern athletæ. His strength, science, and astonishing bottom gave him rank superior to all his contemporaries, but his greatest excellence was his surprising coolness and judgment. It may appear somewhat ridiculous to the inconsiderate, and those prejudiced against the art, to attempt panegyric upon the mental gifts of a pugilist, but where such a merit did or does exist, it is a duty incumbent on those who are just and impartial to record it. The natural powers of Johnson’s mind, although not developed by the care of what the schoolmaster calls fostering education, were remarkably extensive and capable of the accomplishment of great difficulties. Unlike many pugilists, who seldom form any rules for their guidance in emergencies until they find themselves on the stage, he invariably, long before, determined on a system of conduct adapted to his own advantage, and calculated to defeat the style of his adversary. To effect this, he calmly balanced the respective abilities of his opponents, their tempers, power, and mode of attack, and particularly noted the constitution and disposition of his opponent. His grand principle in fighting was never unnecessarily to expose himself to danger, nor hazard anything which could be obtained with certainty by waiting. By acting on this plan, he frequently at the conclusion of a battle, was nearly in as good condition as at its commencement; for though confident when first setting-to of an easy conquest, his prudence led him to protract an engagement, which perhaps he could not speedily terminate, unless by endangering himself. He usually, therefore, acted on the defensive, and never made a blow but when confident of getting home. If his opponent was cool, he was cooler; if warm and precipitate, he endeavoured to make him still more so, by using every justifiable measure to disappoint and baffle him; but he never took advantage of his man by unfair manœuvres.”[38] This description, despite a certain stiffness of the old school, is written by a master, and an appreciator of the art.

A few casual turns-up had shown the bent of Johnson’s natural genius for fistic fame; and at 23 years of age, in June, 1783, he met a carman of the name of Jarvis in Lock’s Fields, Walworth. The skill of Johnson, a supposed novice opposed to a practised boxer, astonished the spectators. Jarvis was severely thrashed, and Tom’s fame spread abroad.

A desperate rough, known as “the Croydon Drover,” next challenged Johnson, and they fought on Kennington Common, in March, 1784. The Drover was completely polished off in twenty-seven minutes.

Stephen Oliver (Death), though a decided “ould ’un,” would not believe in Johnson’s vast superiority until he tried him, on Blackheath, in June, 1784, when he had ocular demonstration by being beaten blind in thirty-five minutes.

Johnson now seems to have reposed on his laurels without a competitor till 1786. On the 11th of January in that year, Bill Love,[39] a butcher, fancied Tom for 50 guineas a-side. Johnson disposed of Bill Love’s pretensions in a few minutes.

Jack Towers, “the celebrated conqueror of Death,” says the reporter, though we have not met with the record, met Johnson (for a stake not stated), at Barnet, in February, 1786, and was soundly beaten without a chance of retrieving his fame.

About this period, 1786, Humphries, Martin, the Bath butcher, and Mendoza appeared. These celebrated men will be found duly chronicled “in their right place.”

Fry, a big, heavy, and powerful man, next challenged Johnson for 50 guineas, and they fought at Kingston, in June, 1786, but in less than half an hour Fry got so much broiled as to be very glad to put an end to the contest; and Tom walked off the ground almost without a scratch.

Johnson, about this period (1787) beat every one that was opposed to him, and the sporting world was almost nonplussed to find a man who might stand something like a chance with him. As the metropolis could produce no such character, Bristol was searched (the parsley-bed of pugilists), when Bill Warr[40] was selected as an article that could be depended upon. He was backed to fight Johnson for 200 guineas, on a stage, at Oakingham, in Berkshire, on January 18, 1787.

In the first round Warr found out he had got a trump to deal with, by receiving a doubler from Johnson. He immediately assumed the defensive. In fact, it was scarcely worthy of being called a fight, and the amateurs were not only disappointed but much displeased. Warr was convinced that he could not beat Johnson by standing up to him, and therefore determined to try whether he could not tire him out by shifting and falling; accordingly, whenever Tom seemed likely to make a blow, Bill Warr was on his knees praying for pluck, à la Tass Parker and Nick Ward of more modern days. This humbugging lasted for nearly an hour and a half, Johnson’s intentions being continually frustrated by Warr’s dropping. At length an ugly hit nailed him as he was falling. He insisted on a “foul!” which not being admitted, he instantly bolted, notwithstanding the remonstrances of his seconds to come back and finish the fight. In the words of the report: “Warr jumped up from his knees, crying ‘foul!’ and jumped from the stage. His second called him several times to return, but he ‘mizzled’ clean off.” Johnson was now firmly established as the champion; his fame ran before him, and it was some months before any person could be found hardy enough to dispute his well-earned title; at length, a brave Hibernian chief, who, like Tom Johnson, had milled all his opponents, came forward, and soon found backers.

How this came about must be told by an episode. On November 22, 1787, a severe contest was decided, in Stepney Fields, between W. Savage and Doyle. Tom Johnson seconded Savage, and Ryan, his countryman Doyle. After a sharp battle of forty-five minutes, Doyle was defeated, and Ryan in some heat challenged Johnson.

Michael Ryan, the Irish champion’s skill and courage stood so high, that the odds were six to four before the fight, which took place at Wradisbury, in Buckinghamshire, on December 19, 1787, for 300 guineas a-side. The seconds were chosen from the first-rate pugilists, Humphries for Johnson, and Dunn for Ryan; and even the bottle-holders were of fistic eminence, being Tom Tring for the latter, and Mendoza for the former. The spectators were numerous. The celebrated Mr. Windham, Sir Richard Symonds, Colonel Hanger, Colonel Hamilton, Mr. Bradyl, General Fitzpatrick, etc., were more than spectators on this occasion.

The contest long hung doubtful, though, at the commencement, the odds were in favour of Ryan. What follows is from “Boxiana.” “After the fight had continued nearly twenty minutes, and at the close of a most tremendous round, Ryan put in a blow upon Johnson’s temple, which so completely stunned him that his arms fell by his side, and was following up this advantage with another hit, which must have decided the contest, when Humphries ran in to save Johnson, and caught Ryan in his arms. Cries of ‘Foul! foul!’ resounded from all parts, and the friends of Ryan instantly demanded the money, by observing that, as long as Johnson had not fallen, it was perfectly fair on the part of Ryan to strike him, and that the latter had won the battle. Here a general clamour took place, during which Ryan, with the warmth peculiar to his country, indignantly told his second, Dunn, that he had not done his duty by him as a man, in suffering such conduct to take place without resenting it, and, had he not been prevented, he would have milled Dunn upon the spot, his rage was so great. Considerable time having now elapsed, Johnson was recovered, and challenged Ryan to renew the combat: the latter, like a man, notwithstanding it was considered there was no necessity for so doing, agreed to it, thinking he could beat Johnson.

“The battle was at length renewed; but it was soon perceived that Ryan’s strength was exhausted by passion, and he now, in about ten minutes, became an easy conquest to Johnson, by giving away the chance. Ryan’s conduct in the battle was so noble, and his manly courage and science so truly apparent, that the amateurs were still left in doubt to decide accurately which was the best man” (“Boxiana,” pp. 94, 95).

In consequence of this opinion, a second battle was determined upon, and fought upon a stage in the Rabbit Dell in Cashiobury Park, near Rickmansworth, in Hertfordshire, for 300 guineas a-side, on February 11, 1789. This was a contest of great anxiety, and the whole sporting world was there, from the Corinthian to the costermonger.

Johnson, who had for his second, Humphries, and Jackson as his bottleholder, mounted the stage at three o’clock, and were immediately followed by Ryan, who was seconded by Mr. Rolfe, a baker, and Nowlan his bottleholder. The set-to was one of the finest ever witnessed, and much science was displayed; the parries and feints eliciting general admiration. At length Ryan put in a severe blow on Johnson’s chest, which floored him.

The second round, which continued about two minutes, was terrible beyond description—science seemed forgotten—when Ryan received a knock-down blow. The battle was well sustained on both sides for some time; but Ryan’s passion getting the better of him, he began to lose ground. “Johnson,” says “Pancratia,” p. 83, “stopped Ryan’s blows with the greatest dexterity, and, hitting over his guard, cut him under the eyes.” Ryan’s head and eyes made a dreadful appearance. The contest lasted for thirty-three minutes, when Ryan gave in. A hat, ornamented with blue ribbons was placed upon the conqueror’s head; and Johnson gained a considerable sum of money, as, besides the 300 guineas stakes, and £512 door money, equally divided between the combatants, Mr. Hollingsworth, a cornfactor, and a former master of Johnson, settled £20 a year upon him for life, in consideration of the money he had won by backing him.

Brain, better known as Big Ben (see post), was now considered the only man capable of meeting Johnson, and a match was made for £1,000; but Ben, being taken ill at the appointed time, forfeited the deposit, which was £100.

We now approach one of the most interesting and remarkable contests in the annals of pugilism. The various coloured accounts of more modern writers cannot be excused of exaggerating the incidents of this fight, yet, as our object is rather authenticity than “sensation,” we shall simply transcribe the report from the old Sporting Magazine, for the month of September, 1789.

Birmingham having challenged London to produce its most noted men to meet their best pugilists, the matter has been put in train, and the combatants paired thus:—Isaac Perrins[41] challenges Tom Johnson, the champion; Jacombs will fight Bryan (Big Ben); Pickard, George Ingleston (the brewer); Tom Faulkner (the cricketer), Watson; and Thornhill, Hooper (the tinman). The challenges of the three first heroes were accepted, and the terms proposed by “the bruisers” agreed to.

The meeting of Johnson and Perrins was arranged for the first October meeting at Newmarket, to be fought on the turf, for 250 guineas a-side, and two-thirds of the door money to the winner, one-third to the defeated combatant. We continue from the contemporary report:—

“Perrins was an uncommonly strong man, gigantic in height and weight, with force adapted to his form, and, for his size, of astonishing activity. He stood six feet two inches in his stocking feet, and weighed seventeen stone, three stone heavier than Johnson. Perrins is stated to have lifted eight hundred weight of iron into a waggon, and to have performed other feats of strength almost beyond credibility. He was universally allowed to possess much skill in boxing, and excellent bottom. He had won many battles with ease, beating every competitor in Warwickshire, Staffordshire, and Worcestershire, and undoubtedly thought himself superior to every athlete, as is shown by his advertisement, challenging to fight any man in England for 500 guineas. His Birmingham friends considered him invincible, and backed him in the contest for many thousands of pounds, at two, and even three, to one against Johnson.

“The combatants, however, were not permitted to fight at Newmarket, and Banbury, in Oxfordshire, was then fixed upon, where they accordingly met on the 22nd of October, 1789. The battle was fought on a turfed stage, raised five feet from the ground, twenty-four feet square, and railed in. Johnson’s second was Will Ward (Warr), and his bottle-holder Joe Ward; Pickard seconded Perrins, and his brother was his bottle-holder. Colonel Tarleton was umpire for Johnson, and Mr. Meadows, of Birmingham, for Perrins.

“At a little before one the combatants set-to, and Johnson’s friends, who before had flattered themselves with certain success, when they viewed the wonderful difference of size between the bruisers, began to tremble for the event.

“For five minutes all was anxious expectation; Perrins then with great force aimed a blow, which Johnson very dexterously eluded, and gave the first blow, by which Perrins fell. The three next rounds terminated also in Johnson’s favour, who confused his antagonist by dancing round him, and occasionally planting an unexpected hit. Perrins became excessively irritated at this conduct, and throwing off the caution he had shown at the beginning, followed Johnson with vast resolution, and appearing to treat his manœuvres with contempt, he, despite of several sharp hits, at last got in a successful knock-down blow, which success he followed up for several rounds, in one of which he brought blood by a severe cut on Johnson’s lip.

“Johnson watched his opportunity, and in reply to a taunt from the Birmingham Goliath jumped in, and planting a blow over Perrins’ left eye, cut the eyebrow, and completely closed it up. This blow, and the failure of Perrins’ wind, which was now very visible, raised the bets amazingly in Johnson’s favour; the odds, however, again changed upon Perrins closing one of Johnson’s eyes; after this Johnson began once more to fight cunning, and having skilfully parried a violent attack of Perrins, he caught him so severe and swift a blow in the face as laid his nose completely open. Odds now rose 100 to 10 on Johnson.

“Perrins recovered his breath, and with great vigour and resolution attacked Johnson, who retreated parrying, but Perrins got in a blow over Johnson’s right eye that again brought down the odds, but not to even. Forty rounds of resolute boxing had now taken place.

“In the following round Johnson fell when not struck, and Perrins claimed the victory, but the umpires decided it was allowable,[42] as the articles did not specify to the contrary.” We suspect the Birmingham men, for Perrins was as brave a boxer as ever pulled off a shirt, were trying to “snatch a verdict,” as the day was clearly going against them.

“Perrins, in turn, seemed now to lose much of his strength. He tried to imitate his antagonist’s mode of fighting, with which he was totally unacquainted.[43] He fought low, and had recourse to chopping back-handed strokes, which at first drove back Johnson and disconcerted him, but against which he soon guarded himself very collectedly; often getting home a sharp return.

“Johnson seemed to improve in strength as the battle went on, never beginning the attack. Perrins, in aiming several heavy blows, fell, as if from weakness. Johnson watched his falling, and hit him in the face, generally falling at the same time. He seemed now to hit Perrins whenever he tried. At the end of one hour and a quarter Johnson gathered himself for a blow, and it took effect directly, in the centre of the face,[44] and finished as severe a contest as stands recorded in the annals of pugilism; the combatants having fought sixty-two rounds of fair hard boxing.”

Mr. Bullock won £20,000 by the battle. He backed Johnson, taking high odds, and afterwards made him a present of £1000 (and he deserved the generous gift). The door-money amounted to £800, of which Johnson had £533, after expenses deducted. As the song says,

“Shall we ever, shall we ever; Shall we ever see the like again?”

The remarkable print from which our engraving is furnished, is certainly, when we compare it with most of the art-productions of the day, a most creditable production. The descriptions which we have quoted from witnesses of the fight, and from persons who well knew the combatants, are fully realised. Although the stoop of Johnson certainly exaggerated the vast proportion of Perrins, the disparity, upon closer examination, is not so extreme. The faces, you feel, must be portraits.

The fights which followed will be found under BRAIN (Big Ben) and GEORGE INGLESTON (note to JOHN JACKSON).

Johnson now seemed to be without a rival to dispute his supremacy; but about the year 1790, the Duke of Hamilton, who had been the firm friend and patron of Ben Brain of Bristol (Big Ben), was extremely anxious to back his protégé against the renowned, and as yet invincible Johnson. A challenge was accordingly published, the Duke backing Ben for 500 guineas.

“Johnson,” says “Pancratia,” “who the year before possessed the amount of £5000 acquired by his astonishing success in the battles he had fought, by an unlucky ‘leter’ of shaking the elbow, found himself obliged, in order to replenish the exchequer, to accept Ben’s offer. The conditions were agreed upon, and the day fixed for January 17th, 1791. Never was public curiosity more on tiptoe;” but as this battle belongs by our system to the memoir of the victor, it will be found in the memoir of BIG BEN. This was the last fight of both these celebrated pugilists.

Johnson’s name appears from time to time as second to Hooper, the tinman, “Gentleman Jackson,” and other pugilists, but no more as principal. We find Bell soon after his victory over Stanyard, the Birmingham boxer, (in December 1792) challenging Johnson to “mill for a guinea;” whereon the reporter remarks: “Tom, however, has lost too many of the yellow-boys lately to trouble himself to win a single one, and left the stage.” A sufficient allusion to Tom’s improvidence.

Johnson, becoming a Boniface, took the “Grapes” in Lincoln’s-Inn-Fields. Here he failed in business, owing to his gambling propensities, which also caused the loss of his license. He then became the proprietor of an EO table at races, etc. This, too, failing, he migrated to Ireland. In Dublin he kept, as we see by advertisements, a public house in Cooper-Alley: but here again the gaming practices and frequenters incensed the magistrates, and he was deprived of his license. He next is found in Cork, where he advertised for pupils in the art of boxing, and where, on the 21st of January, 1797, aged forty-seven years, the Champion fell before the arm of the great leveller—death.

“Johnson’s appearance,” says a contemporary, “indicated, when stripped, more of strength than beauty of form. He was in height nearly five feet nine inches, and about fourteen stone in weight; a remarkably round-made man, with very fine chest and shoulders, and displaying immensely strong loins. He was by no means a showy fighter, and his guard was generally considered inelegant, and his attitudes more defensive than otherwise. In the fight he was peculiarly steady, watching every movement of his antagonist with a coolness unequalled, receiving the attack unappalled, and scarcely ever failing in the return of planting a most desperate hit. The head was his favourite object, and if his adversary did not possess considerable science, he was in extreme danger of being put in the dark. Johnson walked round his antagonist in a way peculiar to himself, that so puzzled his adversary to find out his intent, that he was frequently thrown off his guard, by which manœuvring Johnson often gained the most important advantages. Tom was thorough game, and showed the utmost contempt for retreating; at the same time careful to avoid exposing his person too much to the attacks of his antagonist. One pugilist,” continues the author of “Pancratia,” “may be superior in strength, a second in science, a third in endurance, but in Johnson have been more fully combined the requisites of a complete boxer than in any pugilist up to this day.”

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VI. BENJAMIN BRAIN (BIG BEN). CHAMPION—1786‒1791

Benjamin Brain (called in the chronologies Brian and Bryan) was a native of Bristol, where he was born in the year 1753. His familiar nickname, “Big Ben,” was scarcely justified by his size, his weight being rather under that of Johnson (14 stone), and his height 5 feet 10 inches. Brain was a powerful pugilist, celebrated for his straight and severe right-handed deliveries, though remarkably good with both hands. Ben’s early years were passed as a collier at Kingswood, near his native place; and it was here that the future champion first signalised himself by a battle with Clayton, “the Shropshire champion.” A fellow collier, also of Kingswood, called Bob Harris, who had earned a provincial reputation in that nursery for pugilists, Bristol, also succumbed to Ben, after a game and determined conquest.

Brain arrived in London in 1774, shortly after these battles, and passed several years as a coal-porter, at a wharf in the Strand. He was a good-looking man, and when out of his business always appeared clean and respectable, mild and sociable in his demeanour, and never ridiculously presuming upon his qualities as a boxer.

Ben’s first set-to in London was with “the Fighting Grenadier,” in the Long Fields, Bloomsbury, on October 31, 1786, in which, had it not been for the assistance of a medical man, who witnessed the contest, Ben must have been defeated. The soldier was a first-rate punisher, and Ben’s eyes were so swelled, from the heavy blows he received, that he could not see, when just at this juncture the ring was broken, during which accident the swellings were skilfully lanced by a surgeon, and Ben restored to vision. A fresh ring was made, and the combat renewed; and in the course of a few minutes the Grenadier gave in.

Corbally, an Irish chairman, fought Ben, upon a stage, twenty-five feet square, at Navestock in Essex, on December 31, 1788, after Bill Warr had defeated Wood, the coachman. Notwithstanding the weather was extremely severe, the combatants stripped with the most perfect indifference, and the fight was carried on with determined courage on both sides; Corbally was eventually defeated. Mr. John Jackson seconded Ben on this occasion.

In 1789 he forfeited £100 to Johnson, as already noticed, which sum was deposited in part of £500, Brain being in a bad state of health.

Ben received a challenge from Jacombs, a Birmingham pugilist, which he accepted (See JOHNSON and PERRINS), and the battle came off at Banbury, in Oxfordshire, on a twenty-four feet square stage, October 23, 1789. Jacombs[45] was a stout made man, of high courage, and not without science. In the early part of the combat, Jacombs exhibited determined resolution, and went into Brain in a style that would take no denial. Whether Ben felt any doubt about the battle, he did not conduct himself after his accustomed method, but fought on the retreat, shifting often to avoid Jacombs’ blows, and fell frequently. Jacombs, on the contrary, received Ben’s attacks undauntedly. Considerable disapprobation was expressed by the spectators, particularly the Warwickshire men, who were getting outrageous at Ben’s manœuvring. Brain at length stood to his adversary, and showed what he was capable of performing by putting in a tremendous floorer, which quickly convinced the spectators of his quality. First-rate courage was displayed upon both sides; but after a most dreadful battle of one hour and twenty-six minutes, the brave Jacombs was conquered.

Tom Tring (the Big Porter at Carlton House) was matched, as a sort of bye-battle, with Ben, who, as we gather from contemporary prints, had so very “little” opinion of his really “big” opponent’s boxing qualifications, that he met him at Dartford, for the paltry stake of 10 guineas a-side. Pierce Egan has invented a dreadful battle, in which “Ben was nearly blind,” “the blows that passed between them were tremendous in the extreme,” and that Big Ben “refused to enter the lists with Tom Tring a second time, but declared before his death that his constitution had suffered most materially from the severe blows which he had encountered at Dartford,” etc. (see “Boxiana,” vol i., pp. 298, 299, TOM TRING). The fact is, Tom could not hit his man, and was thoroughly beaten in twelve rounds, occupying under twenty minutes.[46]

In the following year (1790), the battle, long anxiously looked for between Big Ben and Hooper, the tinman (see HOOPER’S other battles in Period II.) at Chapel Row Revel, near Newbury, Berkshire, on August 30, for 100 guineas.

Hooper’s patron had completely miscalculated his man’s powers. The affair could not be called a fight. Ben treated his opponent with perfect contempt. In a close at the end of the first round Ben hit Hooper so heavily in the body, that he could not be induced again to come within distance. He fell every time Ben’s hand reached him, and even before; ran all over the stage, filled his mouth with water and spirted it in Ben’s face, accompanied by provoking and blackguard epithets to irritate Ben and throw him off his guard. It is true Hooper got in some few “facers” by his trickery and activity, and he was on the ground before Ben could get in a return. At length Ben determined not to follow him, and none of the stratagems of the tinman could induce him to break ground. He stood firmly at the scratch, in the middle of the stage, and called upon Hooper to face him: this the latter did for a few seconds, and was then off and away. This piece of diversion took place on August 30, 1790, at Chapel Row Revel, near Newbury, in Berkshire, and continued for three hours and a half. The night coming on fast, several of the amateurs asked Ben if he should be able to finish the battle that day? He jocularly replied, “That it entirely depended upon his antagonist;” and observed, “they had better begin the next morning at six o’clock, and have the whole day before them.” The Fancy were completely disgusted with such treatment. After what was termed one hundred and eighty rounds had taken place, and it being nearly dark, it was declared a drawn battle, and Ben walked off without receiving any particular hurt.[47]

And now came Ben’s crowning victory over the renowned, brave, and skilful, but imprudent and reckless champion, Tom Johnson.

Towards the close of the year 1790, the Duke of Hamilton, the patron and firm supporter of Ben Brain in all his matches, was anxious to match him against the hitherto invincible Johnson, and offered to back his man for 500 guineas. We have already noticed Tom’s reckless prodigality and gambling, and necessity spurred him not to let pass the chance of such a golden prize. “Public expectation,” says the Oracle newspaper, “never was raised so high by any pugilistic contest; great bets were laid, and it is estimated £20,000 was wagered on this occasion.”

On a stage twenty feet square,[48] at Wrotham, in Kent, on January the 17th, 1791, the two best boxers in England met to decide the Championship. Punctually at one o’clock, the time named in the articles, Johnson ascended the theatre of combat, followed by Joe Ward, as second, and Dan Munday as his bottle-holder. He bore an aspect of steady composure and modest confidence. Big Ben immediately followed, with a cheerful countenance, having Will Warr as his second,[49] and Humphries as his bottle-holder. “The betting, from the first making of the match,” says the reporter, “was seven to four in favour of Johnson.” Truly our grandfathers were bold, nay reckless, layers of odds. What follows is a verbatim transcript of the contemporary report.

“The combatants being prepared, set to, and in the first round, which was much more violent and quickly terminated than usual, Johnson fell upon his forehead, from a violent blow on the nose. This blow determined the fate of the battle, for Johnson never was capable of recovering himself.

“In the second round he also fell by a severe blow; bets became even.

“Third round he knocked Ben down, and odds again increased in his favour.

“After this, Ben reassumed his advantage, and kept it to the end. In this round (the fourth) both combatants seemed to throw aside skill, and, entering upon a rally, totally depended on strength and courage. At the expiration of twenty minutes, Johnson drew back, and springing in with a desperate blow at Ben, which the latter evaded, broke the metacarpal bone of his middle finger by striking the rail of the stage. At first this severe accident did not seem to affect his spirits and he manœuvred actively; but shortly afterwards Ben put in two successive blows which decided the turn of battle. One struck him in the ribs, another dreadfully cut his lip.” Another account describes Johnson as “holding Ben by the hair to prevent his striking, so unlike his conduct in former fights.” All, however, did not avail; the die was cast, and Ben Brain was the undisputed conqueror in eighteen rounds, occupying no more than twenty-one minutes. We resume the report:—“Johnson, in this battle, did not preserve that coolness and regularity of temper which hitherto have caused him to be considered so admirably pre-eminent as a safe boxer. His wind was good, but the first knock-down blow so much disconcerted him that he frequently shifted, and went back. Ben, however, seldom advanced, at least not at the instant, and when he did, he kept up good guard, and penned Johnson in without room to manœuvre, compelling him to fight out of it if he could. Though Johnson was so heavily punished, in appearance Ben seemed little hurt, and on the Monday following he displayed great agility in a sparring match at the Grecian Theatre, in the Strand.”[50]

After four years’ interval, during which Ben appears now and then as a second, our hero accepted a challenge from Will Wood, the coachman, to fight on the 24th of February, 1794. Though Ben’s health had been in a precarious state, the odds were largely in his favour. But a more formidable adversary declared himself: a scirrhous liver deranged Ben’s vital functions; his disease ran on rapidly, and on the 8th of April, 1794, the Champion died in full possession of the honour, at his dwelling in Gray’s-Inn-Road. On the Friday following (the 11th) we find him among the burials in St. Sepulchre’s churchyard. His funeral, which was conducted with the solemnity such occasions demand, was attended by his old friends and professional brothers, Johnson, Warr, Wood, Symonds, and several others of inferior note.

A pugilist wrote the following epitaph for his tombstone:—

“Farewell, ye honours of my brow, Victorious wreaths, farewell! One blow from Death has laid me low, By whom such brave ones fell.

Yet bravely I’ll dispute the prize, Nor yield, though out of breath, ’Tis not a fall—I yet shall rise, And conquer even Death!”

Of which rhymes we can conscientiously say the anonymous “brother pugilist” of Ben need not have been ashamed; for far worse have been written on marble by “unco’ guid folk” who would scorn to bestow a glance on the grave of a boxer.

END OF PERIOD I.

PERIOD II.—1784‒1798. FROM THE APPEARANCE OF DANIEL MENDOZA TO THE FIRST BATTLE OF JEM BELCHER.

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