VII. DAN DONNELLY, CHAMPION OF IRELAND (part 1 of 3)

VII. DAN DONNELLY, CHAMPION OF IRELAND (part 1 of 3)

“Our worthy Regent was so delighted With the great valour he did evince, That Dan was cited, aye, and invited To come be-knighted by his own Prince.”

This renowned “knight of the knuckle,” whose fistic exploits and capabilities, though indisputable, are rather matter of oral tradition than of written record (like the glorious deeds of Charlemagne, Roland, the British Arthur, or his own countryman, Brian Boroihme), first saw the light in Townshend Street, Dublin, in March, 1788. He was a carpenter by trade, and, although undoubtedly possessed of milling requisites of the first order, by no means thirsted for fame in the ring, until circumstances drew forth his talents and made him, for a brief period, “the observed of all observers” in the boxing world. His first recorded appearance in the roped arena was with Tom Hall (known as Isle of Wight Hall), who was then on a sparring tour in Ireland. The battle was for a subscription purse of 100 guineas, and took place on the Curragh of Kildare, on the 14th of September, 1814. Hall, who had beaten George Cribb, and other men, stood high in the estimation of his friends, seeing that Dan was looked upon as a mere novice, or rough, by the knowing ones.

The concourse of persons that flocked to witness this combat was greater than was remembered upon any similar occasion. It seemed as if Dublin had emptied itself, not less than 20,000 spectators are stated to have been present. The vehicles on the road were beyond calculation, from the barouche, jaunting cars, and jingles, down to the most humble description, and the footpaths were covered with pedestrians. Donnelly first entered the ring, and was greeted with thunders of applause. Hall was also well received. The battle did not answer the expectations previously formed; in fact Hall was overmatched considerably in length, and therefore compelled to act on the defensive. It was far from a stand-up fight. Donnelly received no injury, except one trifling cut on his lip, which drew first blood, and he slipped down once. His superiority of strength was evident, and he was throughout the first in leading off. Hall did not acknowledge defeat, and retired from the ring by order of the umpires after the fifteenth round, exclaiming “Foul,” declaring he was hit three times when down. Little betting occurred during the fight, but previously it was sixty to forty upon Hall, and on the ground twenty-five to twenty. Bonfires were made in several of the streets of Dublin by the jubilant countrymen of Donnelly, who was under the training of Captain Kelly. He was also seconded by that gentleman and Captain Barclay, brother to the celebrated pedestrian. Hall was attended by Painter and Carter. During the fight Donnelly kept his temper, closed every round, and put in some heavy blows. Hall was well known as a game man; but it was urged by the partisans of the Irish champion that Hall fell three times without a blow, and Donnelly, in his eagerness to catch him, before he could execute this manœuvre, hit Hall desperately on his ear while sitting on the ground. The most independent and candid opinion upon the subject, from the best judges of pugilism who witnessed the battle, appears to be that both combatants lost it.[22]

George Cooper, who was teaching the art of self-defence in Ireland with much approbation, and whose fame as a boxer in England was well known to the Irish amateurs, was selected as a competitor for Donnelly. They fought for a purse of £60.

On Monday, the 13th of December, 1815, they met on the Curragh of Kildare, at a few minutes after ten o’clock in the morning. At an early hour thousands of persons left Dublin to witness the fight, and the road to the scene of action was crowded with vehicles of every description. Donnelly, followed by Coady, received loud greetings upon making his appearance; Cooper also, on entering the ring, was loudly cheered by the spectators. The combatants shook hands, and immediately began to prepare for action. Coady seconded Donnelly; Ned Painter attended upon Cooper.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The boys of the sod were all upon the alert in favour of their countryman: Donnelly must win, and nothing else, was the general cry. Every eye was fixed as the men set-to. Some little time elapsed in sparring, when Donnelly planted a sharp blow on the neck of Cooper; the latter returned in a neat manner on the body. Desperate milling then took place, when the round was finished by Donnelly, who floored his antagonist in first rate style. It would be impossible to describe the shout that accompanied this feat; it was not unlike a discharge of artillery, and the faces of the Paddies beamed with exultation.

2.—Considerable science was displayed before a hit was made, when Donnelly put in a sharp facer. He also drew blood from one of Cooper’s ears, and his strength prevailed to the extent of driving Cooper to the ropes, where he went down.

3.—Had it not been on the Curragh of Kildare, it was presumed that the fine fighting of Cooper would have told with better effect. He evidently laboured under fear, from the prejudice of the numerous spectators in favour of his opponent. Donnelly exhibited great improvement, and completely took the lead this round. After some tremendous hitting Cooper went down. (Another uproarious burst of applause.)

4.—This was altogether a good round. Cooper convinced Donnelly that he was a troublesome customer, and, in spite of his overwhelming strength, he could not protect himself from punishment. In closing, both down, Cooper undermost. (Donnelly was now decidedly the favourite, and six to four was the general betting.)

5.—The gaiety of Donnelly was hastily stopped, after an exchange of a few blows. Cooper, with much adroitness, floored him in a scientific style, but the latter instantly got upon his legs without any help. (The odds changed, and even betting was the truth.)

6.—Cooper’s mode of fighting extorted the admiration of the Hibernian amateurs, from the easy and natural manner he contended with his big opponent. Donnelly was kept to his work, and had no little difficulty in getting Cooper off his legs.

7.—In this round Donnelly was seen to much advantage, and he resolutely went in as if to beat his opponent off-hand. He drove Cooper to all parts of the ring till they closed, when the strength of Donnelly almost proved decisive. Cooper received one of the most dreadful cross-buttocks ever witnessed, and by way of rendering it conclusive, Donnelly fell on Cooper with all his weight.

8.—From the severity of the last fall, Cooper appeared much distressed on setting-to. Donnelly, with some judgment, turned the weakness of his opponent to good account; and, after having the best of his adversary, Dan put in so tremendous a left-hander that Cooper was hit off his legs. (The loud cheering from all parts of the ring beggared description, and, in the pride of the moment, a guinea to a tenpenny-bit was offered on Dan.)

9.—Cooper commenced this round in the most gallant style, and the milling was truly desperate on both sides. In making a hit, Donnelly over-reached himself and slipped down.

10.—The strength of Donnelly was too great for Cooper, notwithstanding the latter fought him upon equal terms of confidence. Cooper was, however, again floored. (High odds, but no takers.)

11 and last.—It was evident Cooper could not win; nevertheless, this round was fought with as much resolution and science as if the battle had just commenced. Donnelly at length put in two tremendous blows that put an end to the contest, particularly one on the mouth, which knocked Cooper off his feet. On victory being declared in favour of Donnelly, the applause lasted more than a minute. The battle occupied about twenty-two minutes. Donnelly appeared quite elate with victory, and shook hands with Cooper and his friends.

REMARKS.—Dan displayed improvement both in science and in temper, which, added to superior strength, enabled him to beat down the guard of Cooper with ease and effect. He was also in better condition than when he fought Hall. It was urged that Cooper was half beaten before he entered the ring, from the prejudices which existed against him. The sum originally offered to the combatants was a purse of £120, and the loser to have £20; but, on the morning of fighting, after Cooper had been kept waiting in a chaise on the ground for upwards of an hour, he was told that the funds would not admit of more than £60 being given to the winner, and nothing to the loser. Upon this statement, Cooper declared he would not fight; but the reply was, “You are on the ground, man, and must fight. The multitude must not be disappointed.” Under these disadvantages Cooper met his adversary, in the bold attempt to wrest the laurel from the brow of the champion, and that, too, upon his native soil. It is not meant to be asserted that Cooper could have won the battle. An impartial opinion has been given by his own countrymen to the contrary, they admitting that Cooper, with all his superior boxing skill, could not compete with Dan, who had long ranked A1 in the sparring and boxing circles of the Irish metropolis.

It was for some time a generally expressed opinion that the recognised Irish champion would not cross the channel and show himself in this country. However, in February, 1819, it was whispered that “The ‘big’ hero, the pride of Hibernia, known as the Irish Champion, had slipped across the Water, and shown himself in England.”

Dan left full of spirits—the Pigeon-House soon lost sight of—Dublin Bay and its surrounding beauties no longer visible—the Hill o’ Howth (Paddy’s landmark) nearly extinct—and behold our hero “half seas over” towards Liverpool, before he had time to reflect upon the hasty step he had taken. However, there was now no retreating: a few “more glasses” made everything pleasant, reflection no longer intruded, and, after some forty winks, the light-house of the Mersey broke upon Dan’s ogles, and the quay of Liverpool gave him a safe deliverance from the briny deep. It was at this sea-port that Carter crossed his path, picked him up as a brother performer, which gave birth to his adventures in England; for it seems Dan’s original intention was not to visit the metropolis, but, as soon as his pecuniary affairs were settled, to return to Dublin.

Dan’s fame had gone before him: there was not an out-and-outer upon the Coal Quay in Dublin (and the mere appearance of some of these rough heroes is enough to appal Old Nick), who had not repented of his temerity in attacking Donnelly. It was also asserted that he had floored with ease every opponent in Ireland.

Carter, who was sufficiently well acquainted with the stage to know the advantages of a good bill, issued the following placard, on the 19th of February, 1819, at Manchester:—“Donnelly, the Champion of Ireland, and Carter, the Champion of England (?), will exhibit together in various combats the Art of Self-defence, at the Emporium Rooms.” This had the desired effect: an overflowing audience was the result; and at Liverpool they met with great encouragement. Soon afterwards the “brother champions” took the road to the metropolis, and bets were offered that Carter fought twice during the summer and won both the events. Several wagers were also made in London respecting the identity of Donnelly; some of the best judges asserting that the new-come personage was not that Donnelly who fought with George Cooper. Donnelly, on his arrival in London, showed himself at the Castle Tavern.

On Friday, March 18, 1819, about a hundred of the most respectable of the amateurs assembled at the Peacock, Gray’s Inn Lane, in a large room selected for the purpose. The following description of Donnelly appeared in a paper of the day:—“Donnelly at length stripped, amidst thunders of applause. The Venus de Medicis never underwent a more minute scrutiny by the critical eye of the connoisseur than did the Champion of Ireland. In point of frame, he is far from that sort of ‘big one’ which had been previously anticipated: there is nothing loose or puffy about him; he is strong and bony to all intents and purposes. It may be said of Donnelly that he is all muscle. His arms are long and slingy; his shoulders uncommonly fine, particularly when in action, and prominently indicative of their punishing quality; his nob is also a fighting one; his neck athletic and bold; in height nearly six feet; in weight about thirteen stone; and his tout ensemble that of a boxer with first rate qualifications. Thus much for his person. Now a word or two for his quality. His wind appears to be undebauched; his style is resolute, firm, and not to be denied; and he maintains his ground upon the system that Mendoza practised with so much success. Getting away he either disdains, or does not acknowledge, in his system of tactics. His attitude was not admired, and it was thought that he leant too far backward, inclining to his right shoulder. He makes tremendous use of his right hand. Eight rounds were finely and skilfully contested; and Carter, equal to anything on the list for scientific efforts, must be viewed as a formidable opponent for any man. The difference of style between the two performers attracted considerable attention, produced a great variety of remarks, and drew down peals of applause. Carter possesses the agility and confidence of an experienced dancing master, getting away with the utmost coolness, walking round and round his opponent to plant a blow, with the perfection of a professor. Donnelly is not so showy, but dangerous: he is no tapper, nor does he throw blows away; neither is he to be got at without encountering mischief. He is, however, awkward; but final judgment cannot be pronounced from his sparring, more especially as he does not profess the use of the gloves. It was an excellent trial of skill. Carter made some good hits, and Donnelly some strong points; and the end of one round in particular, had it been in the ring, must have been pronounced pepper. The good temper of Donnelly was much noticed; and, impartially speaking, it was a nice point to decide who had the best of it, even in effect. Carter, without doubt, had the show of the thing.”

In consequence of but few persons having had an opportunity of witnessing Donnelly’s talents, the Minor Theatre, in Catherine Street, Strand, was selected on the Thursday following. Ben Burn appeared in opposition to the Irish champion. It was a set-to of considerable merit, and the science of Burn was much applauded. Donnelly soon convinced the spectators of his peculiar forte. He showed off in good style, and finished one round in a way that must have been tremendous in the ring. It was still thought he stood rather too backward, leaning from his opponent; but that could only be decided from a practical result. At all events, Donnelly was a great attraction. Carter and Donnelly finished the performances: it was a sharp and long set-to upon the whole, and loudly applauded. But a wish was expressed that Cribb and Donnelly should have been opposed to each other, in order to give the public an opportunity of deciding upon the different sort of tactics pursued by these rival champions.

At Gregson’s benefit at the same theatre, on April 1, 1819, the principal attraction was the announced combat between the two rival champions, Cribb for England and Donnelly for Old Ireland. This proved an April hoax: Cribb, of course, did not show, and Donnelly set-to with Carter amid the hisses of a crowd of disappointed dupes. Sutton, the man of colour, came forward and challenged Donnelly to fight for £50 a-side. (Great applause.) Richmond presented himself to the audience on the part of Donnelly, stating, “That the Irish champion did not come over to England with the intention of entering the prize ring.” (Disapprobation.) Carter soon followed, and observed that, “As Mr. Richmond had only made half a speech, he would finish it. Mr. Donnelly meant to consult his friends about fighting Sutton.” Sutton again came forward, and said that he would fight Donnelly at five minutes’ notice for £50, or from £100 to £200, at any given time, in a ring.

In consequence of some aspersions having been thrown upon the courage of Donnelly, he published the following document, which was pompously designated—

“THE IRISH CHAMPION’S MANIFESTO TO THE MILLING WORLD.

“At a sparring match, for the benefit of Gregson, on Thursday, the 1st day of April, Donnelly, having met with an accident, hopes the public will pardon him if he did not amuse the gentlemen present to their satisfaction; but it was his wish to do so. After the set-to between Harmer and Sutton, the latter thought proper to come forward and challenge any man, and also Donnelly in particular, for £50 or £100. Donnelly, being somewhat a stranger, did not immediately answer the challenge, until he should first consult his friends; but he has confidence in his friends, both here and in Ireland, that they will back him. He therefore begs leave to say that he did not come over to England for the mere purpose of fighting; but, as it appears to be the wish of the gentlemen here to try his mettle, he begs to say that he will fight any man in England of his weight, from £100 to £500.

“D. DONNELLY.

“Witness, C. BRENANT.”

On the 6th of April, 1819, at Randall’s benefit at the Fives Court, Donnelly had scarcely mounted the stage, when “Cribb! Cribb! Cribb!” was vociferated from all parts of the Court, till Carter made his appearance on the platform ready to commence the combat. The cries of “Cribb!” were now louder, added to hisses, etc., when the Lancashire hero bowed and retired. The Champion of England, however, did not appear; then Carter was called, but he had also left the Court. In the midst of this confusion Harmer offered himself amidst thunders of applause, and appeared to have the best of it; but the set-to was by no means first rate, and Donnelly left off under marks of pain. It ought to have been announced that Donnelly had a large tumour upon his right arm near his elbow. The usage to Donnelly might be termed ungenerous; indeed, it was very unlike the usual generosity of John Bull towards a stranger, and savoured of prejudice, says his countryman, Pierce Egan.

As all this savours of benefit “gag,” we are glad to record that at Martin’s benefit, on Tuesday, April 20, 1819, Oliver challenged Donnelly for 100 guineas a-side, when Randall (Donnelly not being present) mounted the stage, and said he was authorized to accept it on the part of the Irish champion, who would enter the lists with Oliver on that day six weeks for any sum that might be posted.

On May 25, 1819, Donnelly, Cooper, and Carter opened the Minor Theatre, Catherine Street, to exhibit the capabilities of the Irish champion previous to his going into training.

Spring and Donnelly were received with great applause. Donnelly stopped several of Tom’s hits with skill; in fact, from his quick mode of getting away, and the sharpness with which he returned upon his opponent, it was pronounced that he had either acquired considerable science since his arrival in England, or that he now let “peep” some of his fighting requisites. The latter seems to be his real character; as a sparrer he does not show off to advantage. It was a manly bout; some smart facers were given and returned; no niceties were observed, and it afforded general satisfaction.

Articles were signed for Dan’s match with Oliver at Dignam’s, Red Lion, Houghton Street, Clare Market. Fifty guineas level was offered that Oliver proved the favourite during the fight or won the battle. Five hundred guineas were also offered to four hundred that Oliver did not beat Donnelly in the hour, and some large sums were laid at odds that Donnelly did not prove the conqueror in half an hour. Oliver was generally declared “slow,” but a gamer man was not in existence. Upwards of £100,000 were said to be pending in the two countries on the issue of this national pugilistic contest, which came off, for 100 guineas a-side, on Wednesday, July 21, 1819, on Crawley Hurst, thirty miles from London.

The sporting world in Ireland were so warmly interested in this event that numerous parties arrived in England to witness the efforts of their avowed champion. The English boxers viewed him as a powerful opponent, and, jealous for the reputation of their “prize ring,” clenched their fists in opposition whenever his growing fame was chanted. In Ireland, as might be expected, two to one was laid without hesitation, from a knowledge of his capabilities; and in England, where only hearsay evidence was the inducement to make him the favourite, six to four was confidently betted on his winning. The torrents of rain which fell the previous evening to the fight operated as no drawback to the warm-hearted friends of Donnelly, who desired to see a “whack for the honour of Ireland,” and they tramped off in hundreds on the overnight without sigh or murmur, hoping to arrive in time to see their countryman fight and win. Early on the morning of Wednesday the weather proved equally unpropitious, but the game of the fancy was not to be disposed of by rain. A string of carriages of every description, reaching nearly a mile in length, might be seen from the top of the hill above Godstone; and deep “murmurings” occurred when it was announced that the scene of action was to be removed from Blindlow Common to Crawley Hurst, merely owing, it was said, to the caprice of one or two influential persons. The lads were not prepared for this long journey of sixty-two miles out and in, and many of the Rosinantes were unable to perform it. In consequence of this removal, it was two o’clock before the contest commenced. Oliver first threw his hat in the ring, followed by Cribb and Shelton; and Donnelly, waited upon by Tom Belcher and Randall, entering soon afterwards, repeated the token of defiance. Donnelly appeared the heavier man. Betting, seven to four. The green colour for Ireland was tied to the stakes over the blue for England, and the battle commenced.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Donnelly, on stripping, exhibited as fine a picture of the human frame as can well be imagined; indeed, if a sculptor had wished a living model to display the action of the muscles, a finer subject than Donnelly could not have been found. His legs wore firm and well rounded, his arms slingy and powerful, and his ensemble indicated prodigious strength. The idle stories of his bad training were silenced on his putting himself into attitude; and his condition was acknowledged by his friends from Ireland to be far superior than when he fought with either Hall or Cooper on the Curragh of Kildare. Smiling confidence appeared to sit on his brow, his eye was sharp and penetrating, his face clear and animated, and he commenced the combat quite satisfactorily. Oliver was equally fine; and, under the training of Clark, who had waited upon him with the greatest care and attention, displayed flesh as firm as a rock; in fact, Oliver had never been in so good condition before. Such was the state of the combatants. Upon the shaking hands, the current betting was seven to four on Donnelly. The Irish champion was cool and collected, with nothing hurried in his manner. Upwards of a minute elapsed in sparring, or rather the pugilists were dodging each other to get a favourable opportunity. Donnelly made two hits with his left, which fell short, in consequence of Oliver’s getting away. Long sparring. Oliver made an offer to hit, but Donnelly, on the alert, retreated. More sparring, and dodging over the ground, till they got to the ropes in a corner of the ring, when Donnelly hit severely with his left. Several sharp exchanges occurred, and reciprocal fibbing took place, till they both went down in a desperate struggle for the throw, Oliver undermost. Five minutes had elapsed. (Loud shouting from the “boys of the sod,” and “Bravo, Donnelly!”)

2.—Oliver aimed a heavy blow at the body, which Donnelly stopped in good style. Some sharp work occurred again at the ropes. More fibbing, and Oliver again undermost in the throw.

3.—Oliver appeared bleeding at the scratch, and exhibited symptoms of slight distress from the recent struggle. Donnelly made a feeble hit with his right hand, when Shelton exclaimed, laughing, “That’s one of Carter’s hits!” Oliver took the lead; some heavy blows were exchanged, and, when at the ropes, Donnelly was for a short time seen in the struggle balancing on them, till he extricated himself, and both went down. (Loud shouting, and “Well done, Oliver.”)

4.—Donnelly exhibited a new feature in the London prize ring. Oliver again pinked at the body, after the manner he fought with Neat, which Donnelly stopped with much skill; but his right hand, which had been hitherto spoken of as “tremendous,” he did not make use of, although Oliver had already given him several opportunities to have used it to advantage. Oliver made a good hit on the bread-basket, when Donnelly’s left hand told on his opponent’s mug, which staggered him, and he followed him to the ropes. Here some sharp work ensued, and Donnelly made use of his head instead of his fists (which were occupied in holding Oliver) in bumping his opponent’s nob. (Loud shouting, and some disapprobation was expressed at this mode of butting.)[23]

5.—Oliver put in a sharp body blow, and some good counter-hits were exchanged. The mouth of Donnelly was clareted, which was the first blood. The combatants again got in the corner of the ring, when, by way of a finish to the round, Donnelly cross-buttocked his opponent. (“Erin-go-bragh,” from his warm-hearted countrymen, and “Go along, my Danny,” from his John Bull backers.)

6.—Caution on both sides, till Oliver made a chopping right-handed hit on his opponent’s nob. In close quarters at the ropes, after some sharp exchanges, it was urged by several persons close to the ring that Donnelly had hit Oliver down from a blow on the body. On reference to the umpires, it was not admitted as a “knock-down blow,” but that Oliver had slipped and fell.

7.—Oliver planted a good facer, and laughed at his opponent. He also put in a bodier and got away. In short, it might fairly be said, he had the best of the round, and Donnelly went down bleeding. (“Bravo, Oliver!” and great applause.)

8.—Nothing of passion appeared on the part of Donnelly, which it had been urged by his opponents he would exhibit on getting a “nobber or two;” on the contrary, he was as cool as a cucumber. In struggling, both down, Oliver bleeding profusely about the face. (We must not pass over a circumstance which occurred in this round, in consequence of some altercation between the seconds. On Donnelly’s being down, it was urged that, perceiving Oliver meant to fall upon him, he lifted up his legs with intent to kick Oliver, or to divert him from his purpose. This also excited the various opinions and expressions of “Foul!” “Fair!”)

9.—In this round Donnelly received great applause. The men fought into a close, from which Donnelly extricated himself in style, and returned sharply to work, till he had the best of the hitting, and Oliver went down exhausted. The spectators were perfectly convinced that Donnelly was a tremendous hitter with his right hand, when he thought proper to use it. He gave Oliver so hard a blow upon the ribs that the impression of his knuckles was strongly imprinted, and remained visible during the whole of the fight.

10.—Oliver stopped a heavy hit of Donnelly’s, and laughed. But Donnelly was not irritated, and got so much the best of this round that Oliver was prevented from going heavily down by Shelton’s putting out his knee to ease his fall. (Belcher warmly said, “If he acted as foul again, he would knock a hole in his head;” and Randall also observed, he would give him a “topper.” Shelton declared it was an accidental entangling of his legs with Oliver’s, and was not done from design.)

11.—Had Donnelly used his right hand he must have reduced the battle to a certainty in his favour. This was, however, a sharp hitting round, till both went down, Oliver again undermost.

12.—Although the fighting on either side had not been of the highest order, yet the combatants were not insensible to the weight of each other’s arms; and, after fighting up to the ropes, they both stood still, till Donnelly broke away and made some hits. In again closing, both down, Oliver undermost and much exhausted. Twenty-four minutes had now elapsed.

13.—Donnelly, sans cérémonie, hit Oliver with his left on the mouth, which sent him staggering from the scratch. In the corner of the ring the struggle was severe to obtain the throw. Oliver received a heavy blow on the throat, and as he was hanging on the ropes, balancing, as it were, Donnelly lifted up his hands not to hit him. (“Very handsome,” and “Bravo, Donnelly.”)

14.—For “big ones,” more smashing rounds might have been expected. Oliver put in a mugger that made Donnelly stagger a little; but he returned to the attack till he got Oliver down.

15.—Donnelly gave some hits that made Oliver reel from his position, and also followed him up with success. At the ropes some exchanges occurred, till Oliver went down.

16.—Oliver made a tremendous blow at the body, which Donnelly stopped well. This was altogether a sharp round, and in the close in the corner of the ring the struggle was so severe that the men became exhausted, and were nearly falling over the ropes upon some of the members of the P. C., when the cry was, “Separate them,” which was done by the seconds, and the round ended. (“Bravo!” and “Well done, both.”)

17.—Some heavy hitting occurred on both sides. Donnelly, on the alert, followed Oliver all over the ring. The latter bled profusely, and, in closing, Donnelly fell with his knees upon Oliver. This circumstance occasioned some loud cries of “Foul,” “Fair,” etc.; but the umpires did not deem it worthy of notice.

18.—Both down at the ropes. Some remarks were made that Donnelly had taken advantage of the situation over Oliver. The umpire observed, in such close quarters it was impossible to discriminate to a nicety; but, from what he saw, he thought Donnelly had behaved perfectly correct.

19.—This was rather a sharp round; in fact, Oliver received so much beating that in going down he fell upon his face. Donnelly also fell on his back.

20.—This round Donnelly faced his opponent with much dexterity; Oliver’s right eye got a severe hit, but he laughed, and nodded at his opponent. The left hand of the Irish champion told severely twice on his man’s mug, and both down, after a good deal of bustling action, Donnelly undermost. (Loud shouting, and “Well done, Oliver.”)

21.—It was not decisive fighting on either side: now and then a sharp hit occurred, till Oliver fell, and Donnelly on him.

22.—A similar round; both down.

23.—The hitting in this round was rather singular. Both the combatants made counter hits at the mouth of each other, and the claret sprung out simultaneously. It was an electrifying shock to both, but it seemed to affect Oliver most. They still kept up the attack till both went down, Oliver undermost.

24.—This was a fighting round altogether, and the spectators began to be intensely interested. Oliver kept hitting and getting away, till he fought into a close. Donnelly broke from it, and the milling was severe, till the Irish champion went down on his knees. (Loud shouting, and “Now, Oliver, go to work, my boy, and you can’t lose it!”)

25.—This round was also manfully contested. Donnelly appeared bleeding at the scratch. Oliver put in a bodier and got away. Some sharp exchanges took place, till both the combatants were glad to resort to sparring for wind. In fact, for an instant they both stood still and looked at each other. Donnelly at length made a hit, and Oliver got away. Both men soon returned hard to work, when Donnelly again went down from the severity of the milling. (Thunders of applause, and Cribb vociferated, “I’ll bet a guinea to half-a-crown.” Three to one was offered on Oliver; but two to one was current betting.)

26.—Donnelly made a hit, but Oliver stopped it. The latter also put in two nobbers, and got away laughing. This circumstance rather irritated Donnelly, and, for the first time, he showed temper, by running furiously after Oliver. Tom warded off the fury of the attack, and ultimately again sent Donnelly down by his hitting. (Another loud shout for Oliver, and “Five to one Oliver will win,” was the general cry. Long faces were to be seen; hedging-off was now the order of the day. The hitherto takers of the odds against Oliver now loudly offered the odds upon the Westminster hero with the fullest confidence.)

27.—Donnelly came up weak and out of wind, but his confidence had not left him, and he gave Oliver a slight facer with his left hand. In struggling, both down, Oliver undermost. Fifty minutes had elapsed. Donnelly had received some heavy blows about the head and neck; nevertheless, it was said by his seconds that he was not distressed by the punishment he had received, but had drank too much water. It is true that many of his backers changed their situations, and went to different parts of the ring to get their money off.

28.—Great anxiety now prevailed among the partisans of Donnelly. Some hits passed to the advantage of Oliver, when Donnelly went down. (The odds were now upon Oliver all round the ring; but Donnelly’s staunchest friends, having no reason to doubt his pluck, took them in numerous instances.)

29.—The men were both upon their mettle, and this round was a good one. The combatants closed, but broke away. Oliver made a hit on Donnelly’s face, laughed, and jumped back. The Irish champion, however, got a turn, and with his left hand planted a rum one on Oliver’s mouth that sent him staggering away. Donnelly, however, received a teazer; sharp exchanges till Donnelly fell, with Oliver upon him.

30.—One hour had expired, and all bets upon that score were lost. Oliver again bodied his opponent, but received a staggering hit on his mug in return. Some exchanges took place till Oliver went down.

31.—The eye of Donnelly began to resume its former fire; his wind appeared improved, and he rather took the lead in this round. Donnelly hit Oliver down, but also fell from a slip; in fact from the force of his own blow.

32.—The Irish champion had evidently got second wind, and, upon Oliver’s receiving a hit on the mouth that sent him some yards from his position, Randall offered to back Donnelly for a level £200. After an exchange of hits, Shelton said, “It was no more use for Donnelly to hit Oliver than a tree, for that Oliver was as hard as iron.” “Nabocleish,” cried a Patlander; “it’s all right. Now, Dan, show your opponent some play.” Some sharp hitting till both resorted to sparring. The men fought into a close, and broke away. The hitting was now so sharp that Oliver turned round to avoid the heavy punishment with which he was assailed, and fell, and Donnelly also slipped down. (“Bravo!” from all parts of the ring. “Well done, Oliver!” “Go along, Donnelly!”)

33.—“Have you got a right hand?” said Tom Belcher to Donnelly; “we must win it, Dan.” The Irish champion hit Oliver a terrible facer that sent him away. “It’s all your own,” said Randall; “do it again.” Donnelly did so with great force. “That’s the way, my boy, echoed Belcher; “another!” Donnelly followed the advice of these excellent tacticians, and he gave a third facer in succession without receiving a return. After some exchanges passed, Oliver was getting rather feeble, from the struggle in bringing Donnelly down, and fell upon him with his knee on his throat. (“Do you call that fair?” said Belcher. “If that circumstance had happened on our side, you would have roared ‘foul’ for an hour.”)

34 and last.—Oliver hit Donnelly on the body. The latter set-to very spiritedly, and nobbed his man. Sharp exchanges ensued, when, in closing, Donnelly put in a dreadful hit under Oliver’s ear, and also cross-buttocked him. Oliver, when picked up and put on his second’s knee, was insensible, and his head hung upon his shoulders. “Time, time,” was called, but the brave, the game, the unfortunate Oliver heard not the sound, and victory was declared in favour of Donnelly. Time, one hour and ten minutes. The latter walked out of the ring amidst shouts of applause, arm-in-arm with Belcher and Randall, to an adjoining farm house, where he was put to bed for a short period, and bled. Oliver did not recover his sensibility for some minutes, when he was also brought to the same house, bled, and put to bed in the next room to Donnelly. The latter expressed great feeling and uneasiness for fear anything serious should happen to Oliver; but when he was informed it was all right, he was as cheerful as if he had not been fighting at all. The Irish champion dressed himself immediately, and, strange to say, Oliver, in the course of half an hour, also recovered, and put his clothes on, lamenting that he had lost the battle under such an unfortunate circumstance, as he was then able to fight an hour. Oliver and Donnelly then shook hands, and drank each other’s health, and the latter then went into a wagon to see the fight between Lashbrook and Dowd. He afterwards left the ground in a barouche and four, to sleep at Riddlesdown, the place where he trained, and arrived at Mr. Dignam’s, the Red Lion, Houghton Street, Clare Market. Oliver also arrived in town the same day.

REMARKS.—Donnelly had now shown his capabilities to the admirers of scientific pugilism in England, and the judgment pronounced upon his merits was briefly this:—The Irish champion has not turned out so good a fighter as was anticipated. To be more precise, he is not that decisive, tremendous hitter with his right which was calculated upon. In fact, he did not use his right hand at all; if he had, he might in all probability have decided the battle full half an hour sooner than it terminated. In game and coolness he is not wanting, and for obtaining “a throw or a fall,” he will prove a dangerous customer for any man on the list. Donnelly might have felt that sort of embarrassment which hangs about a provincial actor who first treads the London boards; and to use his own words upon the merits of the battle, he said it was a bad fight, that he had acted like “a wooden man,” and could not account for it. His next essay, he thought, might prove altogether different from his defeat of Oliver. Donnelly’s right hand was frequently open when he hit. His face appeared, on leaving the ring, exempt from punishment, except some scratches upon his lips. His right ear, however, was strongly marked; but the principal punishment he sustained was upon the body. Oliver was heavily hit about the throat and ears, and also on the body. The latter by no means punished Donnelly as he did Neat; but the heavy falls that Oliver received proved him thoroughly good in nature, a game man, and one that would contend for victory while a spark of animation was left. He never did, nor never will, say “No!” It would be a violation of truth, if the above battle, under all the circumstances, was not pronounced a bad fight, as regarded scientific movements on both sides. The seconds on both sides were on the alert to bring their men through the piece; and every person was astonished to see the activity displayed by Tom Belcher in picking up so heavy a man as Donnelly, and the industry used by Randall. The conduct of the Champion of England was cool and manly in the extreme; and Shelton never lost sight of a point that could assist Oliver.

Dan was, like most of his countrymen, a bit of a humourist. On the day previous to the mill a noble lord called upon Donnelly, at Riddlesdown, about one o’clock, and rather slightingly observed, “That about that time to-morrow he might expect a pretty head from the fist of Oliver.” Donnelly (at all times facetious), looking the lordling full in the face, replied, with an ironical expression, “That he was not born in a wood, to be scared an owl!” The laugh went round against the noble amateur, and by way of softening the thing, he betted Donnelly £15 to £10 upon Oliver, which the Irish champion immediately accepted.

One trait of Donnelly is worthy of notice: on quitting his room to enter the apartment of Oliver, he would not publicly wear the coloured handkerchief of his fallen opponent, but concealed it by way of pad, in the green handkerchief which he wore round his neck.

Soon after Donnelly arrived at Riddlesdown, Shelton, by desire of an amateur, who offered to back him for £200, challenged the Irish champion, to fight at his own time.

The sporting houses were crowded at an early hour in the evening by persons anxious to know the result, and the Castle Tavern, Randall’s, Welch’s, and Dignam’s, overflowed with the well-pleased countrymen of Donnelly. The “Irish division” won large sums by this victory.

Notwithstanding Donnelly’s victory over Oliver, it appeared to be the general opinion that his talents as a pugilist had been much over-rated. Challenges, in consequence, flowed in fast, and a nobleman offered Donnelly his choice out of Cooper, Shelton, Gregson, Sutton, Spring, Carter, Neat, Richmond, and Painter, for £100 a-side. The following document also appeared in the Weekly Dispatch, August 15, 1819.

“A CHALLENGE TO DAN DONNELLY, THE CONQUEROR OF OLIVER.

“I, the undersigned, do hereby offer to fight you for 1,000 guineas, at any place, and at any time, which may be agreeable to you, provided it be in England.

“ENOS COPE, Innkeeper.

“Witnesses, WM. BAXTER, C. PALMER, J. ALCOCK. “Macclesfield, July 23, 1819.”

Donnelly was now caressed in the most flattering manner by all ranks of the fancy, but more particularly by his own countrymen; indeed, it might be said that his days, if not a great part of his nights, were completely occupied in taking his drops from one end of the Long Town to the other with his numerous acquaintances. Time rolled on very pleasantly, and it appears, by the way of “seeing a bit of life,” that Dan was taken by some of his friends to view the sports of the West, not forgetting those of some of the “hells” of St. James’s. Here Dan was picked-up one night, and eased of £80 out of the £100 he won by defeating Oliver. It was a “secret” at the time, and only “whispered” all over London. Dan’s blunt was fast decreasing, and reduced to so low an ebb as to remind him that a supply was necessary, and something must be done; therefore, after Mr. Donnelly had shown his “better half” all the fine places in and about London, he naturally felt anxious to return once more to dear Dublin, where his presence might be turned to a good account. It was accordingly agreed that his friends George Cooper and Gregson should accompany him on a sparring tour to Donnybrook Fair. But many things happen between the cup and the lip, and just as Donnelly had taken his seat upon the stage coach, and was in the act of bidding

“Fare thee well; and if for ever, Still for ever fare thee well,”

to his numerous friends, an acquaintance of Dan’s (a swell bum-bailiff) appeared close to the vehicle, and, in the most gentlemanly manner, told Donnelly he wished to speak to him. “And is it me you mane, Jemmy?” replied Dan; “don’t be after joking with me now!” “Indeed I’m not; here’s the writ for £18,” answered the officer. “And is it possible that you want me at the suit of Carter? I don’t owe the blackguard one single farthing. By de powers, it is the other way; Jack’s indebted to me.” Expostulation, however, was useless. The coachman had his whip in his hand, and the two evils before Dan only allowed him to make a momentary decision. The choice left to him was, either to lose his fare to Liverpool, which had been previously paid, and the advantages to result from an exhibition of his talents at Donnybrook Fair (which admitted of no delay), or to remain in London and be screwed up in a sponging house. Donnelly, in a great rage, as the preferable alternative, instantly discharged the writ and galloped off from the metropolis. It is true Dan went off loaded with fame, but it is an equally undeniable fact that he had only a £2 note left in his pocket-book, after all his great success in London, to provide for him and Mrs. Donnelly on their route to the land of Erin.

Thousands of persons assembled on the beach to hail the arrival of the Irish champion on his native shore. Dan had scarcely shown his merry mug, when his warm-hearted countrymen gave him one of the primest fil-le-lus ever heard, and “Donnelly for ever!” resounded from one extremity of the beach to the other. A horse was in readiness to carry him, as so great a personage as “Sir Dan Donnelly” (who, it was currently reported, had been knighted by the Prince Regent for his bravery) could not be suffered to walk. The knight of the fives was attended by the populace through all the principal districts of Dublin, till he arrived at his house in Townshend Street. Dan took his leave gratefully of the multitude, and after flourishing the symbol of the above Order, for the honour of Ireland, and drinking their healths in a “noggin of whiskey,” the crowd retired, highly gratified at the dignified reception which the Irish milling chief had experienced on setting his foot once more on the turf of Ould Ireland.

The sports of Donnybrook Fair, on August 27, 1819, were considerably heightened by the presence of Donnelly, Cooper, and Gregson. They were thus described in a contemporary Dublin newspaper, Carrick’s Evening Post:—“Upon no former occasion have we witnessed more enticement to eye or palate: booths of a superior and extensive nature were erected, in which equestrian voltigeur tumbling, sleight of hand, serious and comic singing, and other performances were exhibited. Donnelly, for some reason we cannot account for, has no tent; but he has a booth, wherein Cooper, Gregson, and the Irish champion exhibited sparring, to the great amusement of an admiring audience. This booth was but hastily prepared, but the persons who obtained admittance appeared much pleased with the scientific display of these celebrated pugilists. An amateur of great eminence from Liverpool, at a late hour in the evening, ascended the platform (a ten feet enclosed ring), and encountered Gregson with the gloves. He was evidently no novice in the milling school, and was much applauded. Cooper exhibited superior science, and Gregson displayed the remnant powers of a once first-rate superior man. Dan was thought by the amateurs present to be much improved, but gave himself little trouble else than to show how things ‘might be done;’ he was cheerful and laughing during each ‘set-to.’ The whole passed off in the most regular and quiet manner. The persons present seemed anxious to accord with the expressed wish of the pugilists, that the public peace should be rigidly preserved.” On Tuesday the crowds were greater than upon any previous occasion. The itinerant vocalists were not wanting to contribute their portion of harmony. A variety of songs were circulated, from which we select the following crambonian lyric:—

“DONNYBROOK FAIR.

TUNE—Robin Adair.

“What made the town so dull? Donnybrook Fair. What made the tents so full? Donnybrook Fair. Where was the joyous ground, Booth, tent, and merry-go-round? Where was the festive sound? Donnybrook Fair.

“Beef, mutton, lamb, and veal, Donnybrook Fair. Wine, cider, porter, ale, Donnybrook Fair. Whiskey, both choice and pure, Men and maids most demure, Dancing on the ground flure, Donnybrook Fair.

“Where was the modest bow? Donnybrook Fair. Where was the friendly row? Donnybrook Fair. Where was the fun and sport? Where was the gay resort? Where Sir Dan held his Court— Donnybrook Fair.”

The dispute between Carter and Donnelly, respecting the arrest of the latter (whether right or wrong), was not calculated to do Carter good, even in the eyes of the sporting world in England; but in Ireland, it was certain to prejudice the character of the Lancashire hero in the opinion of the fancy, Donnelly being their avowed hero, and so great a favourite. However, with more courage than prudence, or conscious that he had done nothing wrong, Carter[24] almost immediately followed Donnelly to Dublin, and lost no time in parading Donnybrook Fair, going from booth to booth.

In consequence of this, the Irish amateurs wishing not only to witness their champion again exhibit his finishing talents on the Curragh, but also to show they would not suffer him to be brow-beaten upon his own soil, a meeting took place between the friends of both parties. Owing, however, to some trifling delay in making the match, the following challenge, answer, and articles of agreement appeared in the Dublin Journal:—

“CHALLENGE TO DONNELLY.

“To the Editor of the DUBLIN JOURNAL.

“SIR,—

“I beg leave, through the medium of your paper, to intimate that I am ready and willing to fight Daniel Donnelly for £200, to be lodged in proper hands, and I am induced to give him this public challenge, in consequence of his having hitherto declined to give a decided answer on a late occasion, when I staked 10 guineas in the hands of a friend of his, who has neither covered nor returned the money, nor given me any satisfaction whether he is willing to fight me or not.

“I am, sir, your obedient servant, “JOHN CARTER.

“September 18, 1819.”

“THE CHALLENGE RE-CHALLENGED AND REFUTED.

“DONNELLY AND CARTER.

“The committee of friends and supporters of Donnelly, the Irish champion, have observed, with much surprise and regret, an advertisement in the Dublin Evening Post and Correspondent of Saturday last, signed ‘John Carter.’ Their surprise was excited by the statement of a public challenge to Donnelly, when, in fact, a challenge had been previously exchanged and ratified. They regret that any person placing himself before the public should so pervert facts. As to the deposits and binding of the contract, the friends of Donnelly have produced, and are still anxious to lodge, £200 in his support. They have repeatedly signified this intention, and appointed places for interview, at which neither Carter nor his friends (if he has any) have attended. If the object of Carter’s advertisement is to retract and regain his deposit (a pretty good proof that no public challenge was necessary), although the sporting world would decide against the refunding of the 10 guineas in question, he shall cheerfully have it. The public will judge of his motives; but if Carter, previous to his projected immediate trip to Scotland, is not determined to shy the combat, Donnelly’s friends are ready to lodge the £200 required, and only desire that Carter may be serious and determined. The determination of Donnelly’s friends is to support him to the extent his opponents require, or to the amount of the original agreement, which was to fight for £500 in six weeks, at the Curragh.

‘Let the galled jade wince, our withers are unwrung.’

“Committee Room, 20, Fownes’ Street, September 20, 1819.”

A match between the above pugilists was at length made, and the following were the articles:—

“Dublin, September 20,1819.

“Mr. W. Dowling, on the one part, and Mr. L. Byrne, on the other part. Mr. Dowling deposits £20 sterling, on behalf of John Carter, and Mr. L. Byrne deposits, on the part of Daniel Donnelly, £20 sterling, into the hands of Mr. John Dooly; the parties to meet at No. 20, Fownes Street, Dublin, on the 5th of October next, at two o’clock on the said day precisely, to make the above sum £50 each. The combatants to meet within thirty miles of Dublin, on the 25th of November next, and then fight, at twelve o’clock in the day, the place to be hereafter tossed for and named, for the sum of £200 sterling a-side. The whole of the stakes to be made good on the 23rd of November, two days previous to fighting, when the place will be appointed, or the £50 deposit money to be forfeited. To be a fair stand-up fight, half-minute time, in a twenty-four feet ring. Also, if the parties, or money for the said parties, according to this article, do not meet on the 5th of October next, the present £20 stake must also be forfeited.

“JOHN CARTER. “G. D——. “W. DOWLING. “L. BYRNE.

“Present, THOMAS BOYLAN, ROBERT GREGSON.”

To the mortification of the fancy, this match went off upon a frivolous dispute as to the appointment of a stakeholder. Donnelly, in a discussion with Cooper’s backers, said fairly, addressing himself to Cooper, “When I defeated you, George, upon the Curragh, you got more money than I did; but when I fought Oliver in England, upon proving the conqueror, the whole of the money, 100 guineas, was presented to me. If this plan is adopted in Ireland I have no objection to fight Carter.” This proposition, however, from motives it is now impossible to discover, was refused by Carter’s friends.

Donnelly’s public-house in Pill Lane was generally crowded. Carter also took a house in Barrack Street, in opposition to the Irish champion; and Bob Gregson opened a punch-house in Moor Street, Dublin. Milling topics were, therefore, the order of the day in the “sweet city.”

Dan seemed now at the apex of popularity, with a prospect, backed by common prudence, of attaining permanent prosperity. His house was overflowing nightly with company, the blunt pouring rapidly into his treasury, and his milling fame on the highest eminence; but, in the midst of this laughing scene, the ugliest customer Dan had ever met with introduced himself. Without any preliminary articles, or agreeing as to time; nay, without even shaking fists, the Universal Leveller gave the stout Sir Daniel such a body blow that all the wind was knocked out of him in a twinkling; the “scratch” disappeared from his darkened optics, and he went “to sleep” to wake only to the last call of “time!” In plain prose, this renowned knight of fistic frays took sudden leave of his friends, family, and the P.R., on the 18th of February, 1820, in consequence of taking a copious draught of cold water, while in a state of perspiration after an active game at “fives.” He was in the thirty-second year of his age, and not a few of his best friends declare that whiskey-punch, by over-heating his blood, hastened the catastrophe. We shall here introduce a few random anecdotes from “Boxiana.”

Soon after Dan’s arrival in London, he met Cooper and Hall one evening at the Castle Tavern, when, after inquiring after their health, he facetiously asked them if they should like a little of Mr. Donnelly in England, as they had stated fair play was not allowed to them in Ireland. Silence got rid of the inquiry.

A General, well known in the sporting circles, in order to try the milling capabilities of Donnelly (his countryman), soon after his arrival in England, invited the Irish champion to his house, where he set-to with a gentleman amateur, distinguished for his superior knowledge of the art of self-defence. After some active manœuvring, Donnelly put in such a tremendous facer, that for several minutes the gentleman was in a state of stupor, whereon General B—— became a firm backer of Sir Dan.

Pierce Egan finds fun in his hero’s worst failing. He tells us gleefully that the severity of training did not accord with Donnelly’s disposition. It was insufferable restraint to him. In fact, he did not like going into training at all, and some difficulty occurred, nay, he was almost coaxed to leave the metropolis. During his stay at Riddlesdown, while training to fight Oliver, he was at table with some gentlemen, when green peas were among the vegetables at dinner. One of the company, distinguished for his knowledge of training, observed Donnelly helping himself to the peas, and immediately stated to him that peas were improper for a person training. Donnelly laughed heartily, exclaiming, “And sure is it a pae that will hurt me? no, nor a drop of the cratur neither,” tossing off a glass of brandy. He also enjoyed himself during the afternoon in the same manner as the rest of the company, till the time arrived for his going to work, i.e., walking the distance of six miles. Donnelly on starting, said, “Now you shall soon see how I’ll take the paes and liquor out of me!” and ascended with great rapidity the high, steep hill in front of Wheeler’s door without apparent fatigue. He returned to the company in a short time in a violent state of perspiration, having performed the distance. Solitude, however, was far from Dan’s delight: company was his passion. While his friends remained with him at Riddlesdown it was all right; but when they departed, it is said, he took a small drop of “stuff” with him to bed, to prevent his lying awake. At other times he stole out in the dark to poach for petticoats, and the preserves of Croydon, it seems, supplied even more than his wants. This circumstance will, in a great degree, account for his distressed and blown state during the battle with Oliver.

It is a well-known fact that, immediately after his battle with Oliver, it was not only discovered, but he acknowledged, that he had unfortunately contracted a disease in the promiscuousness of his amours. It is usual for pugilists during their training to have a companion to look after them. It was not so with Donnelly; but if he had had such a person, it would have been of little, if any, use, as Dan was beyond control. It was, however, truly astonishing to view Donnelly’s fine appearance on entering the ring to meet Cooper. When the Irish champion fought Cooper on the Curragh of Kildare, it appears he had been trained up to the highest pitch of excellence by Captain Kelly, and was strong as a giant and active as a rope dancer. To the Captain, Donnelly yielded implicit obedience; but he would not be dictated to by his equals—indeed, he was totally unmanageable.

Donnelly was extremely fond of a joke; and upon a porter coming to him, soon after his arrival in England, late one evening, at the Castle Tavern, Holborn, informing Dan that his wife would be glad to see him at the White Horse in Fetter Lane, as soon as possible, Donnelly asked, with great eagerness, “What sort of a woman she was?” The porter, surprised at the singularity of such a question, enquired, “What, sir, don’t you know your own Wife?” The champion, smiling, replied, “Is she a big woman? Well, never mind; tell her I’ll come and look, just to see if I know her.”[25]

It should seem that Donnelly had a great aversion to be looked upon as a prize-fighter. In the course of two or three evenings after his battle with Oliver, Dignam’s long room was crowded with his countrymen, anxious to congratulate him on his recent victory. Donnelly, who was dining with some swells above stairs, was informed of the circumstance, and solicited to go down and to walk through the room. To which Donnelly replied, “Sure, now, do they take me for a baste, to be made a show of? I’m no fighting man, and I won’t make a staring stock of myself to plase anybody.” This was spoken angrily, and it required the utmost persuasions of his friend Dignam to induce him to comply with so reasonable a request. Dan at length conceded, and upon entering the room he was received with the loudest cheers.

In short, poor Dan was a creature of the moment. He was most excellent company, creating mirth and laughter all around him. His sayings were droll in the extreme, and his behaviour was always decorous. Forethought was no ingredient in his composition; “to-morrow,” with him, might or might not be provided for: that never created any uneasiness in his mind, and was left entirely to chance, or, as Dan would express it, “Divil may care!” Such was the character of Donnelly. He was an Irishman every inch of him—generous, good-natured, and highly grateful. As a pugilist, it is true, he did not raise himself in the estimation of the English amateurs by his battle with Oliver; nor did the Irish fancy in London think so much of his capabilities as they had anticipated; indeed, those gentlemen who came from Ireland to witness the battle expressed themselves surprised at the deficiency of boxing talent displayed by their favourite. This, however, will astonish no one who has perused the few preceding paragraphs of his heedless conduct and neglect of training. He was declared to be unlike the same man who defeated Cooper. The fact is, that our Hibernian friends either undervalue or thoughtlessly neglect those precautions, without which strength, pluck, and skill must succumb to more ordinary physical qualifications, if backed by temperance. In fact, the fight was won by Donnelly by his wrestling superiority, rather than his hitting.

We now quit the living Sir Dan to note the public and literary honours bestowed upon his decease. Foremost amongst these comes Blackwood’s Magazine, for May, 1820, wherein twenty closely printed pages are devoted to a most amusing collection of “solemn dirges,” letters of condolence, lamentations, plaintive ballads, odes and songs, an eloquent funeral oration, etc., and scraps of Hebrew, Greek, and Latin poems in honour of the heroic deceased. The scholar will be delighted, and the general reader amused, by the genuine humour and erudite pleasantry therein displayed. Our space forbids us more than a selection of a few of these serio-comic effusions of Christopher North and his coadjutors.

“Recollections of Sir Daniel Donnelly, Knt., P.C.I.[26]

“When green Erin laments for her hero, removed From the isle where he flourished, the isle that he loved, Where he entered so often the twenty-foot lists, And, twinkling like meteors, he flourished his fists, And gave to his foes more set-downs and toss-overs, Than ever was done by the great philosophers, In folio, in twelves, or in quarto.

“Majestic O’Donnelly! proud as thou art, Like a cedar on top of Mount Hermon, We lament that death shamelessly made thee depart, With the gripes, like a blacksmith or chairman. Oh! hadst thou been felled by Tom Cribb in the ring, Or by Carter been milled to a jelly, Oh! sure that had been a more dignified thing, Than to “kick” for a pain in thy belly.

“A curse on the belly that robbed us of thee, And the bowels unfit for their office; A curse on the potheen you swallowed so free, For a stomach complaint, all the doctors agree, Far worse than a headache or cough is. Death, who like a cruel and insolent bully, drubs All those he thinks fit to attack, Cried, ‘Dan, my tight lad, try a touch of my mulligrubs,’ Which laid him flat on his back.

“Great spirits of Broughton, Jem Belcher, and Fig, Of Corcoran, Pearce, and Dutch Sam; Whether ‘up stairs’ or ‘down,’ you kick up a rig, And at intervals pause, your blue ruin to swig, Or with grub your bread-basket to cram; Or whether, for quiet, you’re placed all alone, In some charming retired little heaven of your own, Where the turf is elastic—in short, just the thing That Bill Gibbons would choose when he’s forming a ring; That, whenever you wander, you still may turn to, And thrash, and be thrashed, till you’re black and blue; Where your favourite enjoyments for ever are near, And you eat and you drink, and you fight all the year; Ah! receive, then, to join in your milling delight, The shade of Sir Daniel Donnelly, Knight, With whom a turn-up is no frolic; His is no white or cold liver, For he beat O-liver, Challenged Carter, and—died of the colic!”

“Sorrow is Dry.

“A PLAINTIVE BALLAD.

“When to Peggy Bauldie’s daughter first I told Sir Daniel’s death, Like a glass of soda-water, it took away her breath; It took away your breath, my dear, and it sorely dimm’d your sight, And aye ye let the salt, salt tear down fall for Erin’s knight; For he was a knight of glory bright, the spur ne’er deck’d a bolder, Great George’s blade itself was laid upon Sir Daniel’s shoulder. Sing hey ho, the Sheddon, etc.

“I took a turn along the street, to breathe the Trongate air, Carnegie’s lass I chanced to meet, with a bag of lemons fair; Says I, ‘Gude Meg, ohone! ohone! you’ve heard of Dan’s disaster— If I’m alive, I’ll come at five, and feed upon your master;— A glass or two no harm will do to either saint or sinner. And a bowl with friends will make amends for a so-so sort of dinner.’

“I found Carnegie in his nook, upon the old settee, And dark and dismal was his look, as black as black might be, Then suddenly the blood did fly, and leave his face so pale, That scarce I knew, in altered hue, the bard of Largo’s vale; But Meg was winding up the Jack, so off flew all my pains, For, large as cocks, two fat earocks I knew were hung in chains.

“Nevertheless, he did express his joy to see me there— Meg laid the cloth, and, nothing loth, I soon pull’d in my chair; The mutton broth and bouilli both came up in season due. The grace is said, when Provan’s head at the door appears in view; The bard at work, like any Turk, first nods an invitation, For who so free as all the three from priggish botheration?

“Ere long the Towdies deck the board with a cod’s head and shoulders, And the oyster sauce it surely was great joy to all beholders. To George our king a jolly can of royal port is poured— Our gracious king who knighted Dan with his own shining sword; The next we sip with trembling lip—’tis of the claret clear— To the hero dead that cup we shed, and mix it with a tear.

“’Tis now your servant’s turn to mix the nectar of the bowl; Still on the ring our thoughts we fix, while round the goblets roll, Great Jackson, Belcher, Scroggins, Gas, we celebrate in turns, Each Christian, Jew, and Pagan, with the fancy’s flame that burns; Carnegie’s finger on the board a mimic circle draws, And, Egan-like, h’ expounds the rounds and pugilistic laws.

“’Tis thus that worth heroic is suitably lamented— Great Daniel’s shade, I know it, dry grief had much resented. What signify your tear and sigh? A bumper is the thing Will gladden most the generous ghost of a champion of the king. The tear and sigh, from voice and eye, must quickly pass away, But the bumper good may be renewed until our dying day.”

“A Dirge over Sir Daniel Donnelly.

“TUNE—‘Molly Astore.’

“As down Exchequer Street[27] I strayed, a little time ago, I chanced to meet an honest blade, his face brimful of woe; I asked him why he seem’d so sad, or why he sigh’d so sore? ‘O Gramachree, och, Tom,’ says he, ‘Sir Daniel is no more!’

“With that he took me straight away, and pensively we went To where poor Daniel’s body lay, in wooden waistcoat pent; And many a yard before we reached the threshold of his door, We heard the keeners, as they screeched, ‘Sir Daniel is no more!’

“We entered soft, for feelings sad were stirring in our breast, To take our farewell of the lad who now was gone to rest; We took a drop of Dan’s potheen,[28] and joined the piteous roar; Oh, where shall be his fellow seen, since Daniel is no more?

“His was the fist, whose weighty dint did Oliver defeat, His was the fist that gave the hint it need not oft repeat. His was the fist that overthrew his rivals o’er and o’er; But now we cry, in phillalu, ‘Sir Daniel is no more!’

“Cribb, Cooper, Carter, need not fear great Donnelly’s renown, For at his wake we’re seated here, while he is lying down; For Death, that primest swell of all, has laid him on the floor, And left us here, alas! to bawl, ‘Sir Daniel is no more!’

“EPITAPH.

“Here lies Sir Daniel Donnelly, a pugilist of fame, In Ireland bred and born was he, and he was genuine game; Then if an Irishman you be, when you have read this o’er, Go home and drink the memory of him who is no more.”

“Childe Daniel—A Lament.

“In Fancy-land there is a burst of woe, The spirit’s tribute to the fallen; see On each scarr’d front the cloud of sorrow glow, Bloating its sprightly shine. But what is he For whom grief s mighty butt is broach’d so free? Were his brows shadow’d by the awful crown, The bishop’s mitre, or high plumery Of the mail’d warrior? Won he his renown On pulpit, throne, or field, whom Death hath now struck down?

“He won it in the field, where arms are none, Save those the mother gives to us. He was A climbing star, which had not fully shone; Yet promised, in his glory, to surpass Our champion star ascendant: but, alas! The sceptred shade that values early might, And pow’r, and pith, and bottom, as the grass, Gave with his fleshless fist a buffet slight—

· · · · ·

“’Tis done. Green-mantled Erin May weep; her hopes of milling sway past by, And Cribb, sublime, no lowlier rival fearing, Before, sole Ammon of the fistic sky, Concerted, quaffing his blue ruin high, Till comes the swell that come to all men must, By whose ‘foul blow’ Sir Daniel low doth lie, Summons the champion to resign his trust, And mingles his with kings’, slaves’, chieftains’, beggars’ dust!”

The Funeral.

On Sunday, February 27, 1820, the remains of this celebrated character were borne, with all due pomp and solemnity, from his family residence in Greek Street to the last asylum at Bully’s Acre, where his ancestors lie quietly inurned. An immense concourse, some in carriages and some on horseback, moving in slow and measured pace, formed part of the procession. There was a strong muster of the fancy. The gloves were carried on a cushion in front of the hearse, from which the horses had been unyoked by the crowd, and multitudes contended for the honour of assisting in drawing it. The procession took its route through the leading streets of the city, and the numbers, as it passed, increased until the body of the champion was lodged in its last resting-place. It is for posterity to do justice to the prowess of Sir Daniel Donnelly. Not the least remarkable feature in his eventful history is, that he was the last person who received the honour of knighthood during the regency: there might have been, and probably were, worse men among those who received that honour before him. Although last, he did not deserve to be held as least, among the knights of our day.

“What dire misfortune has our land o’erspread? Our Irish Champion’s numbered with the dead; And he who never did to mortal bend, By Death’s cut short, and Ireland’s lost her friend. Ah! cruel Death, why were you so unkind, To take Sir Dan, and leave such trash behind As Gregson, Cooper, Carter—such a clan To leave behind, and take so great a man? Oh! Erin’s daughters, come and shed your tears On your bold Champion’s grave, whose shortened years Have made Erin’s sons this day a day of sorrow— Who have we now that will defend our Curragh?”

To the Blackwood collection we again resort for the proposed inscription for an obelisk to Sir Daniel’s memory:—

“The Epitaph.

“Underneath this pillar high Lies Sir Daniel Donnelly: He was a stout and handy man, And people called him ‘Buffing Dan;’ Knighthood he took from George’s sword, And well he wore it, by my word! He died at last, from forty-seven Tumblers of punch he drank one even; O’erthrown by punch unharmed by fist, He died unbeaten pugilist! Such a buffer as Donnelly, Ireland never again will see.

“OBIIT XIII^o KAL. MARTII, MDCCCXX. ÆTAT SUÆ XXXII.”

CHAPTER VIII. JACK CARTER, “THE LANCASHIRE HERO”—1812–1832.[29]

The reputation of Jack Carter as a pugilist suffered unduly from two causes. First, from ridiculously exaggerated press flourishes about his prowess, skill, and formidable qualities by partizan scribes; and, secondly, by a factious band of provincial supporters and adherents, who spoilt their man by their indiscriminate support and attempts, by clamour and intimidation, to carry their protégé to the topmost position, in despite of the interposition of better men. Poor Carter, too, an unstable, self-conceited, and, when excited, an offensive and bullying rough, was spoilt for his calling as well as for decent society, by his injudicious “following.” Pierce Egan, who prematurely dubs him in his first volume “the Lancashire hero(?)” furnishes us with the only account of the early life of Bob Gregson’s protégé, which, its magniloquence notwithstanding, reveals the secret that Jack Carter was a mere “Lancashire rough,” and not a whit too courageous; nor, for that matter, commonly honest; though Shakespeare says, “to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.” In his second and third volumes (for Carter figures in each) stubborn facts reduce Carter’s dimensions and character as “a champion(?);” and in the last Pierce prefaces his jeremiad over this perverted “navvy” by misusing the Miltonic motto, “How are the mighty fallen!” though when or how Carter was “mighty” is a puzzler. This he follows with an array of gasconading advertisements, challenges, and thrasonical handbills. Here, with some pruning of redundances, is the story of Jack’s early days as detailed in “Boxiana”:—

“Carter was born at Manchester, September 13, 1789, of respectable parents, who apprenticed him to a shoemaker, but being a strong, healthy lad, and not liking the confinement of the trade, left it to give a lending hand towards the improvement of his country, by commencing navigator, and working upon the canals in that neighbourhood. It was among those rough-hewn, hardy sons of the creation, that Carter began to exhibit his feats of strength by milling several of the best considered men in their whole phalanx. Jack was in height about five feet ten inches and a half, and weighed about thirteen stone; and it was the following droll and singular circumstance that brought him into notice, both as a pedestrian and a pugilist. The navigators, in one of their moments of hilarity, proposed a jackass race, and entered into subscriptions for that purpose; the stakes were held by a Mr. Merryman, belonging to a mountebank, who was then gammoning the flats in that part of the country. Mr. Merryman was a good tumbler, full of fun, and could fight a bit, and had rendered himself an attractive personage to the numerous Johnny Raws by whom he was surrounded. Upon the day arriving for the race to take place, no neddy was entered to run for the stakes, except one belonging to Mr. Merryman. This circumstance created surprise; in fact, much disappointment. Jack Carter instantly entered himself as a jackass. At first, some little argument took place as to the oddness of the attempt, but at length it was logically determined that Carter was a jackass, and that he should be entered as such, upon which they started. Away went neddy with all the fleetness of a prime donkey, kicking and snorting over the ground; and the jackass set out in fine style, amidst the shouts and laughs of the multitude, who now began to bet in all manner of shapes—Christian against donkey, and neddy against jackass. The distance was four miles, producing considerable wagers and much diversion among the spectators. The jackass possessing rather more knowledge than the neddy, made the best of his way, leaving the donkey behind him, came in first and claimed the stakes. No jackass was ever so much caressed before for winning a race. But Mr. Merryman now treated it as only a joke, observing that he only let Carter run to increase the sport, and disputed his claim as a jackass. It was certain that all the words in Johnson’s Dictionary would not have satisfactorily explained this knotty point; and there not being logicians enough present to place the question in a proper point of view, a nearer road was taken to settle the matter. Carter gave Mr. Merryman to understand that, if he did not instantly hand over the stakes, that it should be milled out of his carcass. Merryman received this threat with a smile of contempt, entertaining an idea that as this jackass had been running four miles, his wind could not be good for much, and agreed that the fist should decide it. A ring being formed, Merryman was soon made to laugh on the wrong side of his mouth; and he who had hitherto tumbled for the pleasure of the crowd, was now, in spite of his antics, knocked down often, and punished so severely that he was compelled, not only to give in, but to give up the money.”

Carter’s fame as a boxer and racer was soon spread abroad, and he entered the lists in a short time afterwards with a heavy strong man, a navigator, at Preston, who had gained some good battles in his time. It was a truly severe conflict, and occasioned considerable conversation in Lancashire. He was matched in several races, in one of which he beat the celebrated Abraham Wood, though, from Pierce Egan’s own showing, in another page, this seems to have been not only after his coming to London, but subsequently to his first fight with Boone, the soldier.

It was while working at the Highgate Tunnel that Bob Gregson first met Carter. He was a Lancashire man, and that was enough to recommend him to Bob, who we have proof sufficient was neither a good fighter himself nor much of a judge of what constitutes one, like his modern double, Ben Caunt. “Upon inquiry,” adds “Boxiana,” “it was found that Carter had proved himself a trump!” and says, “all that he wanted was experience, science(!), and introduction.” “He shall have that,” cried Bob, and instantly, at his own expense, took care of Carter, and placed him under the “Rolands” (whose distinguished skill in fencing and as pugilistic teachers was then in its zenith). Pierce continues, “It is but justice to Carter to observe that, under such tuition, he soon made considerable progress in the art, and when it was judged a proper time to give publicity to his attempt, Bob introduced him at the Fives Court.” Carter’s appearance is thus flatteringly described in the Morning Advertiser of Wednesday, July 29, 1812:—

“SPARRING.—The last sparring exhibition took place yesterday at the Fives Court, for the benefit of Power, a pugilist, who, as a professor of the science, is inferior to none on the boxing list, but his exhibitions have been rare. The greatest novelty on this occasion was an exhibition between a trial-man of Gregson’s, named Carter, from Lancashire, a candidate of first-rate weight for fighting fame, and Fuller, a scientific pupil of Richmond’s. A ruffianing match took place, and, not to give superiority to either, it was a match which afforded much diversion, and it will cause a considerable sensation in the sporting world. Gregson’s man, who is under the best tuition, will prove a tremendous teazer, if he be gifted with the best of pugilistic favours—game—which remains to be tried. He is a fine weighty left-handed hitter, and, if game be in him, he can beat anything now on the list.”

With such a character, though the “if” in respect to his “game” looks very like a misgiving, Carter was matched against Boone, the soldier, for an unknown stake. Boone (made Bone in “Boxiana”) has not a single fight to his credit in “Fistiana,” except that with Crockey, a wretched affair, four years after this exhibition. The battle came off on Friday, September 18, 1812, near Ealing, Middlesex, when, after twelve rounds, in seventeen minutes, Boone gave in. Egan says it was “a severe contest,” and adds, “In this battle Carter’s patrons thought he had made good his pretensions to milling, and looked forward anxiously to place him nearly, if not quite, at the top of the boxing list.” They accordingly matched him against Jack Power. (See POWER, in Appendix.) The stake was the handsome sum of 200 guineas, subscribed by Gregson’s friends, and on the 16th of November, 1812, the fight came off at Rickmansworth, Herts. The battle will be found in the Life of POWER, who, despite the recent rupture of a blood-vessel, and incapacity for severe training, thrashed Carter in thirty-nine rounds, occupying one hour and five minutes. “Boxiana” says, with edifying naïvete, “Carter attributed the loss of this battle to his second (Isaac Bittoon) placing a Belcher handkerchief over his mouth, which tended rather to deprive him of his wind (query, courage) than to do anything to increase that necessary quality in a boxer.” He adds, “If Carter in his battle with Power did not exhibit those traits of finished elegance which characterise the skilful pugilist, he nevertheless portrayed that he was not ignorant of the principles of boxing, and his patrons were perfectly satisfied with the bottom which he manifested upon the occasion,” which shows they were thankful for very small mercies, as Carter brought youth, weight, length, and strength to the losing side.

After much cavilling a match was made between Carter and Molineaux. Poor Molineaux, having been twice beaten by Cribb, was now on his downward course (see vol. i., pp. 282–285, ante), yet, in this contest, which took place at Remington, Gloucestershire, on Friday, the 2nd of April, 1813, Carter was disgracefully beaten by the once formidable nigger. Of this affair, on which we have commented in the life of Molineaux, a contemporary writes:—“It was the opinion of the most experienced pugilists that such a set-to was never before witnessed; one ‘was afraid, and the other dared not.’ Carter was the best man after the battle began, and continued so throughout the fight. Molineaux was wretched in the extreme, and at one time positively bolted from his second. But to the great astonishment of all the spectators, when Molineaux was dead beat, Carter fainted and dropped his head as he sat on the knee of his second. All the exertions of Richmond could not arouse Carter from his lethargic state, and he thus lost the battle.”

In the next paragraph we find “Boxiana” stating, “as a boxer, and even as a scientific pugilist, Carter was entitled to considerable prominency (whatever that may mean); and, if viewed as a fibber (was the historian unconsciously writing autobiography?), it would be difficult to find a better one. In point of hitting and getting away, he is little inferior, if not equal, to Richmond, and very good and active upon his legs. With his left hand he dealt out severe punishment; and although in his former contests his right hand appeared but of little service to him, yet he seemed to have rather improved in the use of it. One objection which had been warmly argued against Carter by many of the fancy was, that he was soft about the head, afraid of the coming blow, and shrank from punishment; while, on the contrary, it was roundly asserted by the other part that, if he behaved correctly, his game was unimpeachable.”

After his defeat by Molineaux, Carter exhibited the art of self-defence in Ireland, Scotland, and most of the provincial towns in England, with great success; and from his continual practice in those trials of skill, aided by considerable intuitive knowledge upon the subject of boxing, he returned to the metropolis an active and improved fighter. Upon his arrival in London, Carter, without hesitation, declared himself ready to enter the lists with any man in the kingdom; and this public challenge, as might be supposed, was not suffered to remain long unanswered, and Richmond, in consequence, catered a fine, strong, healthy black, of the name of Joseph Stephenson, weighing upwards of fourteen stone, from Havre de Grace, Maryland, in America, as a likely opponent.

The Pugilistic Club gave a purse of twenty-five guineas, and the combatants put down twenty-five also a-side. On Tuesday, February 6, 1816, the above heroes(!) met at Coombe Warren. This battle excited considerable interest throughout the pugilistic circles; and, notwithstanding the torrents of rain that deluged the roads, from seven in the morning till seven at night without intermission, thousands of spectators braved the elements with the utmost nonchalance. The men entered the ring about one o’clock; Cribb and Shelton acting as seconds to Carter, and Richmond and Oliver for Stephenson. Two to one in many instances upon Carter.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On setting-to, Carter had scarcely placed himself in a fighting position when, with much dexterity, he gave Stephenson a desperate nobber. The man of colour seemed rather surprised at this sudden attack, but he bored his way into a sharp rally. The pink first appeared on Carter’s face. The latter, in closing, fibbed Stephenson, but he was undermost when down. (Seven to four against the Black.)

2.—Carter again commenced offensive operations with his left hand, and the Black’s head was completely open to him. Some blows were exchanged, and, in closing, Carter found his way to the ground.

3.—It was evident the man of colour was the strongest, and that Carter might have come into the ring better prepared for action. Stephenson endeavoured to put in some heavy blows, but the science of Carter was too much for him. The latter hit and got away in good style; but, in a sharp rally, the Black showed tolerable resolution. In struggling to obtain the throw, both went down.

4.—Carter showed bad condition, and was much in want of wind; but Stephenson did not appear to avail himself of this opportunity of turning it to account. Carter, with great dexterity, not only nobbed his opponent successfully with his left hand, without experiencing any return, but made use of his right better than usual. The Black, however, in closing, endeavoured to fib his adversary; but Carter extricated himself with much adroitness, and went down. (Two to one was now offered on Carter with great confidence.)

5.—Stephenson did not appear eager to commence the attack, and some little sparring was also necessary, that Carter might recover his wind. The Black knew more about receiving than any other part of the science, and Carter milled him on the retreat with great sang froid. Stephenson, rather passionate from this sort of treatment, endeavoured to bore in upon his adversary, but Carter stopped short upon him, and, measuring his distance well, the man of colour measured his length on the grass in a twinkling.

6.—The strength of the Black at times gave him rather the advantage, and, in finishing this round, Carter was thrown. (Seven to two on the latter, but no takers.)

7.—Stephenson seemed almost tired of the battle, and got down in the best manner he was able. (Any odds upon Carter.)

8.—Stephenson readied the scratch greatly distressed, and Carter sent him down from a slight touch.

9.—The left hand of Carter was again in motion, but Stephenson caught hold of it, and the word “stop,” it was understood, had escaped from his lips. Carter instantly made his exit from the ring, and upon his seconds preparing to follow him, Stephenson insisted it was a mistake, and that he was determined to continue the contest. Nearly half an hour had now elapsed, and Carter immediately resumed offensive operations.

10.—Carter, somewhat angry at this disappointment, went to work in sharp style, and the Black again felt the severity of his left hand. In closing, both went down.

It would be superfluous to detail the succeeding rounds of this battle. It was perfectly ridiculous on the part of Stephenson to resume the fight, as not the slightest chance appeared to turn it to his account. At the expiration of forty-four minutes, victory was declared in favour of Carter. From the well-known science of the latter, it was expected that he would have been able to dispose of Stephenson in much less time; but Carter, it seemed, looked upon the event so certain as to be indifferent respecting his appearance in the ring in good condition. Stephenson had merely to boast of strength; in other respects he was little better than a novice.

Three months had scarcely elapsed, when a formidable man of colour, of the name of Robinson, who had acquired some celebrity from the execution he had performed among second-rate boxers, and ambitiously eager to achieve conquests of greater importance, agreed to enter the lists with Carter, at Moulsey Hurst, on Wednesday, April 24, 1816, for a stake of fifty guineas, and also a purse of twenty-five, given by the P. C., in a twenty-feet roped ring. Vehicles of all descriptions were in requisition at an early hour to reach the destined spot; and the curiosity of the fancy was so strongly excited to witness this mill that, by twelve o’clock, it might be fairly stated the Hurst contained little short of 20,000 people. Robinson was a fancied article, declared capable of performing pugilistic wonders. He had beaten Crockey in prime twig,[30] and Butcher he had also vanquished in decent style; and when the match was first made between Robinson and Carter, the Black was rather the favourite with those characters who are always eager for novelty, and considerable bets were laid in his favour; and even some of the knowing ones were doubtful on the subject. It cannot be denied that Carter never stood A1 in the esteem of the fancy. They knew he did not want for science; they knew he did not want for strength and activity; and they also were acquainted that he could run and jump well, and that he was a boxer above mediocrity. Still there was an inexpressible something that seemed to pervade their opinions, which kept many from going that length upon Carter they might otherwise have done; added to which, Robinson talked confidently of his capabilities of sarving-out, which blinded the too credulous as to the real state of things. But the flash side, upon looking into the chances and comparing notes upon the subject, soon became awake as to the issue likely to ensue, and previously to the fight, six to four first came forward, five to three, and lastly seven to four upon Carter. A few minutes before one the Black showed in the ring, and tossed up his hat. Carter soon followed and did the same, and immediately came up to Robinson and shook hands with him. Soon after their seconds appeared—Paddington Jones and Dick Whale for Robinson, and Painter and Harry Harmer for Carter—when they stripped and commenced

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Carter had scarcely set-to, when he gave Blacky a severe facer with his left hand, and quick as lightning put in two more tremendous hits upon the same cheek, and got away with much dexterity before the man of colour was able to return. The Black, in closing, got somewhat fibbed, and went down. (Seven to four generally was offered, but no takers appeared. Two to one in many places.)

2.—The Black’s nob was completely at Carter’s service, and the latter put in five tremendous facers again with his left hand. The Black, notwithstanding, bored in and got Carter against the ropes, but did no execution, when, after an awkward struggle in a close, Carter went down. (It was now ten to two against the man of colour.)

3.—The Black, at this early stage of the fight, seemed not only damaged, but rather shy, and he sparred cautiously to recover his wind. Carter again made the same successful use of his left hand, by planting three more hits upon the old place. A short rally took place, in which Blacky endeavoured to make a change in the appearance of things, but without effect, and he ultimately went down. The superiority of Carter appeared manifest in every round. In fact, the Black was dead beat, and when on his second’s knee called out for “brandy.”

4.—Carter hit short, but the Black gained nothing by it. In closing, the punishment which Carter served out to his opponent was tremendous in the extreme; he held the Black up with one arm, and with the other fibbed him so severely that he went down quite exhausted. The Black’s consequence as a first-rate miller was all gone. His fanciers now began to look rather blue, and found, too late, that their judgment had proved erroneous.

5.—The distressed state of the Black was conspicuous to all parties, and he left his second’s knee in a tottering state. He, however, endeavoured to make the best of it, and attacked Carter rather furiously, but the latter soon spoiled his intention, and again fibbed him down. (Five pounds to five shillings.)

6.—Carter, full of gaiety, smiled at the impotent efforts of his opponent, and punished him with the utmost sang froid. Blacky put in a body blow, but received such a staggerer in return that he was quite abroad, and at length went down.

7.—The left hand of Carter was again busy with the mug of his antagonist. However, the Black endeavoured to make something like a rally, but he displayed more of desperation than judgment, and paid dearly for his temerity by again going down. This was the best round in the fight.

8.—The nob of the Black, from the severe punishment he had received, now assumed a terrific aspect, and in his endeavour to plant a hit, Carter stopped it dexterously, and returned so severe a facer that Blacky’s pimple appeared to go round upon his shoulders, like the movement of a harlequin; he went reeling away like a drunken man, and fell.

9.—The Black reluctantly appeared at the mark, when Carter, as fresh as a daisy, added more dreadful left-handed hits to his already disfigured nob. In closing, both down, but Blacky undermost.

10.—It was almost up with the man of colour; he made a running hit and fell. Some disapprobation now manifested itself.

11.—The game of the Black, if he ever had any, was now all exhausted, and he went down from a mere push. It was thought rather currish.

12 and last.—The Black, in a state bordering on frenzy, endeavoured to follow Carter, but the latter punished him at every step, fibbed him terribly, and, in closing, both down, but Blacky undermost. So complete a finish in seventeen minutes and a half was scarcely to be expected, from the high milling qualities the Black was said to possess; and even the most knowing upon the subject offered to bet, previous to the fight, that it continued upwards of forty minutes.

REMARKS.—Blacky, from the above display, lost ground in the opinion of the amateurs; his strength was more prominent than any other pugilistic quality. He left the ring apparently much distressed in body and mind from the punishment he had experienced. Carter was in good condition and in high spirits, and disposed of his opponent in first-rate style, and positively retired from the contest without a scratch, excepting upon his back, which, it is said, occurred either from a bite or a pinch given him by the man of colour. Carter showed himself evidently improved as a scientific pugilist: there was nothing hurried in his manner of attack; he viewed his antagonist with much fortitude, and scarcely made a hit without doing material execution. He adopted the milling on the retreat system, and hit and got away with all the celerity of Richmond. Two Blacks he has thus completely vanquished; and it is generally considered to the above might be added a third(?). It must certainly be admitted that Carter gained a step or two on the pugilistic roll of fame from the above contest, and perhaps removed many doubts that hitherto existed respecting his pretensions as a first-rate boxer. An opinion was now entertained that he had only to look well to himself, and something higher was still within his reach.

Gregson now made a rather odd and suspicious match on behalf of Carter, which “Boxiana” calls a “NOUVELLE feature in the Prize Ring, namely, A MATCH AGAINST TIME!” This was, that Carter should beat Robinson within half an hour.

Carter, who had vanquished this sombre hero in seventeen minutes, laughed at this new experiment of his capabilities, and accepted the challenge without the slightest reflection. On Wednesday, June 26, 1816, at Coombe Warren, the above boxers met to decide this match, for twenty guineas a-side; and, notwithstanding the badness of the weather, the patrons of pugilism mustered strongly. Much sporting speculation occurred, and they both entered the ring in good spirits. Six to four on Carter. The latter was attended by Cribb and Harmer; Robinson had for his seconds Oliver and Richmond.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Carter, as in the last fight, immediately upon setting-to went quickly to work with his left hand and nobbed the Black in style. Robinson was not able to make any return, and he received four severe successive facers. Carter did as he pleased, hit and got away with much dexterity. Two minutes elapsed before the round was finished, when the man of colour went down.

2.—It seemed not to be the intention of Robinson to make any hits, but merely to prolong the fight. He sparred with the utmost caution, but he was not able to prevent Carter from nobbing him at almost every step. The man of colour, however, was induced to make a sort of rally, but he was at length hit down. This round lasted three minutes.

3.—Carter, with the utmost activity, put in six severe blows on the cheek of Robinson, and got cleanly away, without the least return. A close took place, when Carter got the Black’s head under his arm, and fibbed him so severely that he fell out of the ring, and Carter upon him.

4.—The fighting was all on the side of Carter: he planted hits with the utmost dexterity, and, had he not been fighting against time, any odds must have been laid upon him as to proving the conqueror. He again held Robinson up, and fibbed him till he went down.

5.—Carter kept hitting and getting away, till at length they closed, when he got Robinson’s head under his arm, and the man of colour, to prevent being fibbed, grasped tight hold of Carter’s hand; but the round was finished by Blacky’s going down.

6.—The left hand of Carter was again three times in succession in the Black’s face, without any return. Robinson kept cautiously sparring and drawing himself back; and those blows he attempted to make were out of all distance and lost their effect. Robinson was again sent down.

7.—It was astonishing to see with what ease and facility Carter made use of his left hand. He now put in with the utmost rapidity nine severe facers, making Robinson’s head dance again, and experiencing not the least return. In closing, they both went down, but the Black undermost.

8.—The superiority of Carter over his opponent was visible in every movement; he not only gave six more facers with the utmost dexterity, and put in a body blow, but most severely fibbed Robinson down. The Lancashire hero was much distressed.

9.—Carter again felt for the Black’s nob; but from the slippery state of the grass, he got off his balance and went down from a slight hit or trip, but he was up again in an instant.

10.—Notwithstanding the numerous severe facers Robinson had received, there was no confusion about him, and he was always ready to time. It appeared now that, if Carter won the battle, he must go in and do considerable execution, as the half hour was rapidly advancing, and the Black was not to be licked by merely nobbing him. Robinson endeavoured to make a change in his favour, by attacking Carter and following him up, but at length he was sent down.

11.—This was a tolerably good round, and the Black showed himself a different man altogether from what he appeared in his late combat with Carter. His mug seemed a little changed, and Carter kept repeating upon the punished places. Robinson went down from a hit.

12.—The Black set-to with much resolution, and seemed very unlike an almost finished man. His face was again severely milled, but it was very doubtful whether Carter had the best of this round. The Black was sent down.

13 and last.—Time was growing very short, and Carter to win must almost perform wonders. He again put in two nobbers, and some other hits, when Robinson fell down from a sort of slip, tumbling forwards between Carter’s legs. Carter immediately threw up both his arms, and declared the man of colour had dropped without a blow. The outer ring was instantly broken, and some confusion took place. “Foul, foul!” and “Fair, fair!” was loudly vociferated by both parties, and on all sides. Twenty-eight minutes and a half had expired. It was urged that Robinson had fell once before without a blow, which had not been noticed. Upon this termination some demur occurred; but it was decided by the umpires that Carter was entitled to the money, and it was given up to him accordingly.

REMARKS.—In the eighth round Carter was evidently distressed, and showed he was much out of condition. He had been living freely, and his milling capabilities must have experienced a drawback, by his having a very painful and inflamed leg. In fact, it was rather a surprise match, and the money hastily deposited on the part of Carter when he was not in the most temperate state of understanding. It was a ridiculous wager altogether, and such a man as Robinson appeared to be in this last fight with Carter, would require the tremendous finishing hits of a Cribb to beat the man of colour with anything like a certainty in thirty minutes. The face of Robinson, never an Adonis, was a little spoilt as to its former character, but the light was far from being taken out of him, and in the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth rounds he changed his mode, with an appearance of going to work in earnest. He is not to be vanquished by nobbing hits alone. Could Carter use his right hand in any manner to second his left, few men, it is urged, would be able to stand any length of time before him. He appeared not the least hurt from the conflict in which he had been so recently engaged; and Robinson also was in a wagon viewing the fight between Curtis and Lazarus, with all the indifference of a mere spectator.

The Lancashire and Carlisle friends of Carter now rallied round him, and he was at length matched with Oliver. In the metropolis Oliver was everything; and Carter, in opposition to him, only named with derision and contempt. But time, which proveth all things, thus narrates this milling event:—

This contest was decided on the estate of Sir James Maxwell, in an enclosed field of Mr. Johnson, inn-keeper (and within 150 yards of the blacksmith’s shop, so celebrated in the Lovers’ Cabinet for the dispatch of business), at Gretna Green, four miles from Longtown, and fourteen from Carlisle, on Friday, the 4th of October, 1816, for 100 guineas a-side, in a twenty-four feet roped ring, in the presence of 30,000 spectators. The sporting world was much interested, yet so confident as to the termination of the event, that three to one was considered as correct betting. Oliver had risen progressively into fame. Not so with his opponent: he was “anything but a good one.” During the day on which the fight took place the streets and houses of Carlisle and its vicinity were drained of the male population, and a horse, chaise, cart, or any sort of vehicle whatever, was not to be procured at any price. The fanciers of the metropolis, it seems, were not so numerous as usual upon great milling occasions, and a few of the “highest flight” only were recognized upon the ground. Mr. Jackson was not at Carlisle, and it was observed that the losing man was not the better for his absence. The concourse of people was so great that it was deemed necessary to form an outer rope ring, in order to prevent unpleasant consequences from the pressure of so vast a multitude. The fight had nearly been prevented, as officers, sent by George Blamire, Esq., the Mayor of Carlisle, and the Rev. Dr. Lowry and Dr. Heysham, two other magistrates, were on the look-out to bind the parties over to keep the peace.

Oliver arrived at the Bush Tavern, Carlisle, accompanied by Captain Barclay, on Wednesday morning, at eleven o’clock, and he had scarcely entered the room when the officers inquired for him. Some person, suspecting their errand, introduced them to the brother of Oliver, when Tom took the hint and quietly withdrew, not being known to them. At nineteen minutes before one the battle commenced. The umpires were the Marquis of Queensberry and Captain Barclay. Carter first entered the ring with his seconds, Painter and Harmer, and the usual defiance of the castor was exhibited by him. Oliver instantly followed with his assistants, Cribb and Cooper. On stripping, the condition of Oliver appeared equal to any one that ever entered the ring; but Carter, it was thought, might have been better. The ceremony of friendship was then performed, and ten to four was loudly vociferated upon Oliver.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The odds being so decidedly against Carter, the greatest anxiety was manifested by the spectators upon their setting-to, and the combatants seemed equally alive to the importance of obtaining the first advantage, by their deliberate mode of attack. Oliver endeavoured to plant a tremendous blow with his right hand, which Carter stopped in a scientific style, and returned a severe left-handed hit on the right eye of Oliver, that produced the claret in a twinkling. A good rally took place. Carter closed upon his adversary, fibbed him terribly, and ultimately threw him. Oliver bled profusely from his temple and his nose. It is impossible to describe the shouts of the populace upon Carter’s obtaining this superiority. It was like a salute of artillery. (The odds had completely vanished, and even betting was now the true feature of the ring.)

2.—This burst of applause seemed to operate much upon the feelings of Oliver, and he determined if possible to get the turn in his favour by going furiously to work. Carter, partial to the left hand mode, aimed at his opponent’s nob, which Oliver prevented, and fought his way into a rally. Considerable hammering took place, and Carter got his man on the ropes. Here the truth began to be told to the sceptics: the superiority of strength most completely manifested itself upon the side of Carter, who again threw his opponent. (Great shouting. It was all up with any more offering of three to one.)

3.—Oliver gave Carter a severe blow on the head, but the latter would not be stopped, and again bored his man to the ropes, punished him dreadfully, and brought him down, Oliver bleeding copiously.

4.—Oliver was now convinced that he had formed an erroneous opinion of the boxing powers of his antagonist. Carter turned out a better man in every point of view than he had expected, and was not to be disposed of in that easy manner which he had flattered himself must be the case, and in which his friends had so fatally confirmed the error. Several heavy blows passed between them, but to the advantage of Carter. The latter received a severe facer; but, notwithstanding, he drove his man to the ropes, and, in closing, both went down. The head of Oliver was much punished, and his back excoriated by Carter hugging him on the ropes. (Six to four upon Carter generally, and more in many places. It was at the close of this round that Carter first showed blood.)

5.—Oliver seemed at a loss how to cope, with any sort of success, against his scientific antagonist, and resorted to his game qualities of going in to smash this hitting and getting away boxer, if possible. Oliver was no stranger that Carter always preferred giving to taking punishment, and drew an inference that his opponent had some fears in this respect, and that to insure victory the fight must be taken out of him by close and determined attacks. Oliver, in consequence, felt severely in this round for Carter’s body, but the latter returned desperately on his opponent’s head. They were again struggling at the ropes, and both went down.

6.—Some heavy blows were exchanged in a rally, and Carter was floored at the ropes.

7.—Oliver was bleeding in all directions, and, in closing, went down.

8 to 20.—The description of these rounds would be superfluous. The gameness of Oliver, his manliness of boxing, and his determination to succeed, if possible, perfectly satisfied the most sanguine of his partizans, and at intervals he met with partial success; but, in justice to Carter it must be stated, that the advantages were decisively upon his side: he hit and got away with his usual sang froid; his right hand was also conspicuously effective, and, whenever it appeared expedient to finish the round, he closed at pleasure upon his adversary with the most eminent superiority. Oliver gained nothing in fighting for length; and when going in he was opposed with the most determined opposition. In truth, the spectators were convinced in the above rounds that the science, the strength, and smiling confidence of victory were on the side of Carter; and that his adversary had not only been most dreadfully punished, but quite abroad as to his usual system of tactics, throwing away a number of blows by repeatedly hitting short; while, on the contrary, the Lancashire hero did not exhibit any very prominent marks of severe milling, and was quite in possession of himself.

21.—In this round Oliver showed himself off in a conspicuous manner, and put in so tremendous a hit in the wind of Carter, that he measured his length on the ground instantaneously. It appeared, from its severity, a complete finisher. The friends of Oliver thought Carter would not be able to come to time, if at all; and the Lancastrians looked rather blue as to its ultimate effects. (The betting, notwithstanding, varied but little.)

22.—The expected change did not take place; although Carter appeared at the scratch very much distressed, and almost gaping for breath he contrived to get himself down in the best manner he was able. No blows passed in this round.

23.—Much the same as the preceding, but in struggling Oliver was thrown.

24.—Carter was now “himself again:” his wind had returned, and he resumed the contest in the most decisive style. Oliver, like a lion, rushed forward in the most gallant manner. The hitting, in a rally, was terrible; both the combatants seemed totally to disregard punishment. The fine game of Oliver was opposed by the bottom of Carter, and this essential quality toward victory in pugilists, so much doubted to be possessed in the latter, was now found not to be wanting in the Lancashire hero. Oliver’s head was disfigured, and Carter’s nob was a little altered from its originality. It was the most desperate round in the fight; the closing of it at the ropes was to the disadvantage of Oliver, and his friends were now satisfied he could not win.

25.—It was astonishing to witness the courage of Oliver; he appeared determined to conquer or perish in the attempt. One eye was completely in the dark, and the other was rapidly closing. His strength was also fast leaving him; nevertheless, he contested this round in the most manly manner. He was ultimately thrown, and Carter fell heavily upon him. (Ten to one upon Carter.)

26 to 32 and last.—The die was cast, and the brave Oliver, like heroes of old, could not control his fate. Nature had been pushed to the farthest extremity that the human frame could bear. Defeat seemed to operate so much upon his mind that he fought till his pulse was scarcely found to vibrate; and in the last six rounds, during which he had not the least shadow of a chance, he persevered till all recollection of the scene in which he had been so actively engaged had totally left him. In the thirty-second round he was taken out of the ring in a state of stupor, and completely deprived of vision. The swelled appearance of his head beggared all description; his body and back were shockingly lacerated all over from his struggling so much upon the ropes; and, in point of fact, much as fighting men may have suffered in former battles, the situation to which Oliver was reduced, it appears, exceeded them all. The battle lasted forty-six minutes. He was taken and put to bed at Longtown, four miles from the ring, and in consequence of the vast quantity of blood he had lost in the contest, added to his exhausted state, the surgeons who were called in to attend upon him deemed it dangerous that he should be bled.

REMARKS.—Oliver felt confident that he should prove the conqueror, and exerted every means in his power to insure victory. He came into the ring in high condition, weighing about twelve stone eight pounds; but the chance was completely against him, either at in or off fighting, excepting the twenty-first round. Oliver tried to beat Carter after the manner he had vanquished Painter, by determined in-fighting; but the left hand of Carter always met the head of his adversary before he got to his length, when Oliver, finding the great danger of this mode of attack, endeavoured to render it useless by throwing his head back to avoid the coming blow, at the same time it gave Carter a full opportunity of striking down with his right hand, which he never failed to do. It was always in the power of Carter to close upon his adversary, and bore him to the ropes whenever he thought proper. In short, there was no comparison between the combatants respecting scientific fighting; and the character of Oliver, as a good man, was more valued than his capabilities as a boxer considered. The high patronage, too, of Captain Barclay had dazzled the minds of the fancy—individual or cool judgment was out of the question, and three to one was betted without why or wherefore. Calculation was completely against such betting, and it was a sort of overwhelming preference. Too much prejudice had existed against Carter; and it was sneeringly observed that he was without game, at best a mere flipper with his left hand, and whenever he was placed against a good one he would soon be found out. Comment upon that head is now rendered unnecessary, as facts are stubborn things. A better or a braver man than his fallen opponent is not to be found upon the list of boxers; and, although defeated, he is entitled to the highest consideration of the sporting world. Carter weighed about thirteen stone seven pounds, smiled frequently during the fight, and treated the efforts of his adversary with the most perfect indifference. There was some cry about a foul blow, but the umpires did not notice it. Carter returned to Carlisle in the evening, and was seen walking about the streets with his friends. So much was Carter the object of pugilistic admiration at this place that, at the White Hart Inn, a subscription was proposed among several amateurs, that he should fight the Champion of England for 500 guineas. It was also observed, as Richmond was walking round the ring during the fight, that Carter had beat all the blacks. “No; all but one,” was the reply; when Richmond said he would fight Carter for 200 guineas. Great praise is due to Painter for the care and attention he paid to Carter during his training.

The backers of Carter presented him with fifty guineas in addition to the battle-money. Oliver and Carter, a few days after the fight, met at Hawick, and received each other in the style of true courage.

Carter’s pedestrian feats may here find a place. Pierce Egan says, “As a runner, the qualifications of Carter were far above mediocrity. He could run a mile in little more than five minutes; and out of fourteen races and walking matches, he won them all excepting two.

“In the spring of 1812 Carter ran a match against time, on Sunbury Common, when, to the astonishment of every one present, he performed two miles in a few seconds over eleven minutes without any training.

“Carter, from the celebrity he had gained through the performance of the above match, was backed for a considerable sum against Abraham Wood, of Lancashire, for two miles. The latter was to give Carter 100 yards; but his friends deemed it prudent to pay forfeit. However, a new match was made off-hand, condition not being considered. Wood was now to give 150 yards out of two miles. This race was decided on Saturday, the 26th of December, 1812, on the Lea Bridge Road, near London, Gregson acting as umpire for Carter, and Captain Hinton for Wood. They started at two o’clock, Carter having taken 150 yards in advance. Both of the racers seemed to fly, they got over the ground with such speed. When at the end of the first mile, Wood had gained upon Carter sixty yards, and in the next half mile Wood had made greater progress; but when within a quarter of a mile of the winning-post, he was within twenty yards of Carter. The latter had now recovered second wind, and ran the last quarter of a mile with speed at the rate of a mile in five minutes, and won by about six yards. It was even betting at starting, but Carter for choice.

“Carter had some other pretensions to public notice, independent of prize-fighting. He was a good dancer, and could perform the clog-hornpipe with considerable talent, and, after the manner of an expert clown, stand upon his head and drink off several glasses of ale in that position.”

The friends of the Lancashire hero, from the improved capabilities he had so recently displayed, were now anxious to produce a meeting between him and the champion. Much conversation in consequence took place, and even personal challenges passed between the above pugilists, but no deposit was put down to make a match. Cribb offered to fight any man in the kingdom for £1,000, and not less than £300; but Carter, it seems, could not be backed for either of those sums, therefore the match was off altogether. It ought, however, to be mentioned that the latter was ready to accommodate any man for £50; and, although no decision ever occurred respecting his claim to that enviable title, yet Carter assumed the appellation of champion from the following circumstance:—A bet of £200 a-side, £50 forfeit, was made between Sir William Maxwell and the Marquis of Queensberry, immediately after the defeat of Oliver by Carter, at Carlisle Races, October, 1816, challenging all England, the Marquis to produce a man to enter the lists against the latter at the above races in 1817. Twelve months having elapsed and no competitor making his appearance at the appointed place, the £50 was forfeited, and Carter received the same (it is said) at Dumfries.

In the newspapers our hero again publicly challenged anything alive in the shape of a man, adding that his friends were ready to back him, regardless of colour, observing “that blue, black, white, or yellow, would be equally acceptable to him.” In his printed handbills, at the Shrewsbury Races, 1817, he thus vain-gloriously described himself:—

“BOXING.—The art of self-defence will be scientifically displayed by Mr. John Carter (the Champion of England), Mr. Gregson, and others, at the Turf Inn, Shrewsbury, every race morning, precisely at eleven o’clock, and in a spacious booth on the race ground between each heat.

“⁂ Gregson, who is Carter’s trainer, is taking him down into the north of England to contend with Donnelly, the Irishman, at the ensuing Carlisle Races. Private lessons given.”

For three years Carter lived upon the fame of his victory over Oliver, travelling through the provinces, after the manner of more modern quack champions, exhibiting “the art,” and never ceasing to assert the falsehood that Cribb had refused to fight him, whereas Carter always limited his proposal, when pressed, to the stake of £50, a mere absurd subterfuge.

At length his career of boasting received an unexpected check. Cribb argued that his “boy,” Tom Spring (although beaten by Ned Painter in August, 1818), was good enough to lower the pretensions of “the Lancashire hero.” Carter’s friends made the match for £50 a-side, and a purse of £50 for the winner was added by the Pugilistic Club. Two to one was offered by the north countrymen. The battle was fought on Crawley Downs, May 4, 1819. The result will be found in the Life of SPRING, where the report does scant justice to the latter. The infatuation of Carter’s admirers found expression in the following letters addressed to Bell’s Weekly Dispatch:—

“Carlisle, May 12, 1819.

“SIR,—

“You will oblige the Cumberland fancy by giving insertion to the following paragraph in your next paper.

“Your obedient servant,

“H. P.

“The gentlemen of the Cumberland fancy have held a meeting after reading an account of the battle between Spring and Carter contained in your paper, and from other sources of information, and were unanimously of opinion that Carter made a cross of the battle. They have, therefore, come to the resolution of withdrawing all support from him in future: they will not back him, even if he were matched to fight an orange boy. All bets upon the battle have been declared void in the North.”

This nonsense elicited the following reply:—

“SIR,—

“In reply to a letter, signed H. P., from the Cumberland fancy, which appeared in your journal of May 16, I shall briefly observe that the gentlemen who acted as umpires at the battle between Carter and Spring are well known as men of honour and integrity, and had they detected anything like a cross, would have immediately made such a circumstance public. The battle-money was paid without hesitation. The noble lord who backed Carter also discharged his bets upon demand; and no refusal has been made in the sporting world to pay, that has come within the writer’s knowledge.

“Respecting the fight, sir, it was most certainly a bad one—a pully-hauly encounter; in fact, it was nearly the same as the battle between Carter and Oliver, at Carlisle, but with this difference—the left hand of Carter was foiled, and Spring also proved the stronger man at the ropes. The Lancashire hero having thus lost the two only points for which he was distinguished, led to his defeat. Spring behaved like a man, and did not appear to have any hugging pretensions about him, had he not been dragged to the ropes. Carter was beaten against his will.

“In giving insertion to the above letter, to prevent any improper allusions going abroad, you will much oblige

“AN OLD SPORTSMAN.

“Tattersall’s, Hyde Park Corner, May 28, 1819.”

There is a volume contained in this. Carter beat Oliver—despite the flowing account in “Boxiana,” written up by a person not present at the battle—by hugging and squeezing his man, who was less in weight and stature than himself, upon the ropes, after the fashion of a recent American champion. Foiled in this by Spring’s length, steadiness, and left-handed skill, he was abroad. That he was beaten against his will, no impartial spectator could doubt.

Carter made his appearance, on the Friday after his battle with Spring, at Mr. Jackson’s rooms in Bond Street. His crest was lowered, his former high tone quite subdued, and he acknowledged, with some touches of grief, that he could not tell how he lost the battle. Thirty pounds were collected on the ground for him, including the donation of ten from his backer.

On losing his popularity, he left London for Ireland, in which his stay was rather short, when he returned to England accompanied by the Irish champion. A quarrel, however, took place between Carter and Donnelly, when the former followed the Irish champion to Dublin, opened a public-house, and challenged Dan. See the memoir of Donnelly in Chapter VII.

Carter, who arrived from Ireland on Tuesday, February 1, 1820, being anxious to make a match with Sutton, for 100 guineas a-side, previous to his again returning thither, called in at a sporting house in Oxenden Street, for the purpose of making his intention known, and on being admitted into a room where a private party were assembled, insulted several, and ultimately threw a glass of wine in the face of one of those present, part of which alighted on Tom Cribb. This insult was not to be borne by the champion, who, although rather the worse for the juice of the grape at the time, immediately grappled with Carter. It was an up and down contest, but the champion made such good use of his time that his opponent received a severe thrashing in the space of one minute, and begged in a piteous manner that Cribb might be taken away from him, or he should be killed.

Carter once more left London, sparring his way to Dublin, in which he was assisted by Reynolds and Sutton.

On his return a few months afterwards, being in company with Shelton at a sporting dinner at the Brown Bear, Bow Street, July 10, 1821, he spoke disparagingly of Shelton’s capabilities, when, after some discussion, £20 were posted for a fight instanter, and the result was that Shelton beat him to a stand-still in three rounds only. Carter afterwards challenged Jem Ward to fight for £100 a-side, but when the time came for making the match, was unable to raise that sum. In this dilemma he proposed to back himself for £50 a-side, and trust to fortune to get the money. This was refused by Ward; but, being hard pressed by Carter, who entreated him as a favour to oblige him, at length consented, and it was agreed they should fight for £50 a-side, on May 17, 1828, within one hundred miles of London, which came off at Shepperton Range, when Carter was defeated in sixteen rounds, occupying thirty-two minutes. (See Memoir of WARD, Chapter I., Period VI.)

Carter was next matched with Deaf Burke for £100 a-side, by whom he was defeated, at the Barge House, Woolwich, on the 8th of May, 1832, in eleven rounds, occupying twenty-five minutes. (See DEAF BURKE, post.)

Although he survived this defeat twelve years, it was his last appearance in the prize ring. He died at Thames Street, Manchester, May 27, 1844.

APPENDIX TO PERIOD V.

HARRY SUTTON, THE BLACK—1816–1819.

From the time of Molineaux no sable champion had achieved so great a name as Sutton, and that, too, in a brief period. A native of Baltimore, he ran his slavery and worked, with an industry unusual in niggers, as a corn-runner in the Deptford granaries. Led by curiosity to see two of his own colour, Robinson and Stephenson, display their tactics in the ring, he repaired to Coombe Wood, May 28, 1816. While here as a spectator, Sutton, who was a tall athletic man, was asked by a gentleman what he thought of meeting another black who had challenged for a purse to be given on the ground. Sutton, who was as brave a fellow as ever sported a black suit of nature’s livery, consented readily, and another “black job” was soon started. Richmond and Harmer seconded Sutton; Cropley and Paddington Jones taking the other black under their most especial care, who was inferior in every point of view—in height, strength, make, look, and age—to Sutton. The set-to was something new and amusing.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The long arms of Sutton looked formidable, and though he began in a hurry, Cropley’s black seemed equally eager to meet him. Such a term as science was not to be mentioned. It was slinging, wild hitting, dodging, and turning round, till at last they came to a violent hug, when much pummelling took place. They, however, broke away from this close embrace, and made a complete stand-still of it, looking at each other and panting for breath. Cropley’s black now folded his arms, nodded his head, and began to point his finger, laughing at his opponent. This so enraged Sutton that he rushed in and planted a chopping hit, which made Cropley’s beauty dance again. It was now a comic scene, and new tricks were introduced at every step. Sutton, in making a blow at his opponent’s nob, hit his cap off, and his bald pate appearing, the spectators were in roars of laughter; yet, notwithstanding the variety of ludicrous postures exhibited by these black Quixotes, some heavy milling took place. Four minutes and a half had passed, amid the most uproarious shouts and applause, when Sutton put an end to this singular round, grappled his opponent and brought him down.

2.—On setting-to some hornpipe steps were jigged by Cropley’s black. The arms of Sutton trembled astonishingly, and his frame seemed much agitated. He made use of the chopping blow, and whenever his distance proved correct, his hits were tremendous. Some few blows passed, when Cropley’s black was thrown.

3.—Cropley’s man did not seem to like it; and perhaps, had it not been for the charms of a purse, he would have bolted. In fact, he was no match for his opponent. He hopped about and hit at random. Sutton chopped at his opponent. Some few blows were exchanged, when Cropley’s black fell, and refused to come again. Thus finished this caricature on milling.

On June 4, 1816, at a benefit for Eales and Johnson at the Fives Court, Sutton mounted the stage to contend with the powerful Tom Oliver. Sutton appeared rather diffident. His sparring, however, was far from contemptible, and, as a novice, he achieved more than could have been expected. Oliver had very little the best of him, and it was observed that Tom took the gloves off first. George Cooper (the late competitor of Donnelly in Ireland, and who was reported to be dead) made his appearance and also had a set-to with Sutton. Cooper put in several heavy facers, and showed considerable science; but Sutton, no way dismayed, stood well up to him, and, in a sharp rally, returned some heavy hits and exchanged blows advantageously. Upon the whole, the new man of colour received much applause. Cooper, like Oliver, it was also remarked, took off the gloves first.

The milling qualities of Sutton being now better understood, he was matched with Robinson; and these men of colour met at Doncaster Races, September 25, 1816. The fight took place in a paddock (where each spectator was charged three shillings as the price of admission), in a twenty feet roped ring, for a subscription purse. Robinson, who had twice fought with Carter, and defeated Stephenson, Butcher, etc., was seconded by Crouch and Saunders, and, in consequence of his boxing notoriety, five to four was betted upon him, in the metropolis, and six to four upon his setting-to in the ring. Sutton was attended by Richmond and Harmer. At half past twelve the signal was given, and offensive operations commenced without farther ceremony. It appears in the first round that Robinson sustained so severe a hit from his opponent that it quite spoiled him as to any vigorous exertion afterwards. An appeal was made to the umpires upon this momentous point, on which the fate of the battle hung; but these rustic arbiters of milling, not ignorant of the precedents of Moulsey, or the practice at Coombe Warren, and not wishing to make a chancery suit of it, instantly ordered the fight to proceed. The long arms of Sutton not only took great liberties with the upper works of Robinson, but soon put the wind of the latter out of order, and ultimately made him measure his length upon the ground. The betting now rapidly changed, and Sutton became the favourite, with odds upon him. It was all up with Robinson, and during twenty-five rounds he had no opportunity of turning the battle in his favour; and in thirty-six minutes, after receiving a severe milling, he was compelled to acknowledge that he had had “enough!” It is but fair to state that he was out of condition, never had any training, was overturned in the coach, and entered the ring within a very few hours after his journey from London. But the knowing ones asserted Sutton could beat him at any time, and that he would soon look out for a customer much higher on the boxing list than ever Robinson stood. Sutton was scarcely hurt, and gave visible proof of the great improvement he had made. Sutton by the above battle gained little more than the honour of proving a conqueror.

From the capabilities displayed by Sutton in this fight he rose in the estimation of the patrons of scientific boxing, and was judged an able competitor for the game Ned Painter. A match was accordingly made between them, for 25 guineas a-side and a P. C. purse, and they entered the lists at Moulsey Hurst on July 23, 1817.

Painter at this time had been the victor in two battles, over Coyne, the Irishman, and Alexander, the gamekeeper; but he had two defeats, per contra, with Tom Oliver (then in his best day), and with the gigantic Shaw, the Life-guardsman, a defeat without disgrace. The betting on the day was six to four on Painter.

Painter showed himself near the ring sitting on a basket a considerable time before the Black appeared in sight. In fact, he was sent for by the Commander-in-chief.[31] Sutton at length came forward with his second and threw his hat in the ring, which was soon followed by his opponent performing the same act of defiance. During the time Painter was taking off his clothes Sutton never took his eyes off his person. Cribb and Harmer seconded Painter; Tom Oliver and Paddington Jones waited upon Sutton. The anxious moment had now arrived (ten minutes after one); the combatants and seconds shook hands, and the battle commenced. Both men appeared in good condition, but Painter looked somewhat thin. Five to four upon Sutton.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Some trifling sparring occurred. Sutton’s long arm stood out like a pole, and upon the whole his frame looked tremendous. Painter hit first, but not effectively, when they got to hammering each other, and arrived at the ropes. Here Ned fibbed his opponent severely, until the strength of Sutton enabled him to break away. The Black now returned to the attack impetuously, but without judgment, and got nobbed preciously for his fury. Painter went down from a slight hit or a slip.

2.—The men were now both upon their mettle, and the tremors of a first round had subsided. Notwithstanding the Black’s long arm the science of Painter prevailed to that extent upon Sutton’s upper works that he seemed to possess a body without a head. It was almost a question if he knew whether he was in or out of the ring. A desperate rally occurred, and, in closing, Painter endeavoured again to fib his opponent. The Black caught hold of his hand to avoid punishment, and ultimately Painter was down.

3.—It is impossible to describe the execution which took place on both sides during this round. If one was bold, the other was fearless: it was hit for hit, in the most finished style of boxing; in fact, it was truly tremendous, and the amateurs were now convinced that the man of colour possessed “devil” enough for anything. At length Painter planted a body blow with so much severity that the Black was missing in a twinkling, and seen gasping for breath on the ground. (The uproarious applause that took place was like a fire of artillery, the confusion of tongues immense. “That’s the way to win my boy!” and two to one all round the ring upon Painter.)

4.—It is true the Black was brought to the scratch, but his breath escaped from his lips like a pair of bellows in full blow. This was a trying round for both parties, and Painter seemed to have out-fought his strength. They almost tumbled against each other, so much were they exhausted, till they again got into determined milling. Here Painter gave Sutton such a tremendous pimpler that his head seemed to rotate on his shoulders with the rapid twirl of a Bologna. In closing, Painter exerted himself in fibbing his opponent; but Sutton resolutely disengaged himself and threw his adversary.

5.—Painter now appeared bleeding, and half a minute time was too short for the men to appear anything like themselves, so furiously had the battle raged in this early period of the fight. This round, however, was decidedly in favour of Painter, and he stopped the rashness of his opponent in a scientific manner. He gave Sutton three such heavy facers, that the nob of the Black did not seem to belong to him, and gallantly finished this round by sending him down. (The applause here was a tumult of joy, and in the ecstasy of the moment five to one was offered. It was now the expressed opinion that Ned would win the battle in a canter.)

6.—The fight must have been finished in this round, or at least he would have rendered it certain, had Painter possessed sufficient strength. The Black could scarcely leave his second’s knee, and had it not been for the skill of Tom Oliver he would not have been in time to meet his opponent at the scratch. They both stared at each other, and appeared fit for anything but milling. However, they went at it pell mell, and Painter received so sharp a blow on his left eye that the claret run down. The Black also got such a nobber that he was quite abroad, and moved his hands like a puppet pulled with strings. It was all chance work, and Painter went down.

7.—Painter again “faced” the Black, and had the best of the round, but he went down.

8.—The Black endeavoured to bore in, but he was stopped in fine style. Painter milled him in every direction, planted three facers with ease, and finished the round by levelling Sutton. (Great shouting.)

9.—Both extremely distressed; and notwithstanding the many nobbers the Black had received, all Painter’s work in point of appearance went for nothing. Sutton’s frontispiece seemed to defy all hitting. Painter was bored to the ropes, where, in struggling, both fell.

10.—Sutton floored his opponent by a tremendous hit in the chest. The partizans of Sutton here manifested their approbation.

11.—Painter’s exertions in this round were astonishing. He had it all his own way. He nobbed the Black so repeatedly that his arms were of no use to him, as he could not place himself in a position, and Sutton fell from exhaustion.

12.—Some blows were exchanged, materially to the advantage of Painter. His exertions, however, were more than his strength could support, and he ultimately went down.

13.—Sutton had been so much beaten about the head, that he seemed in a state of stupor, and “time” might have been vociferated in vain had not his attendant roused him into action. He was literally pushed forward to meet his opponent, when Painter kept paying away till he went down from weakness. Painter planted eight facers without return.

14 to 17.—In the first three rounds Painter went down; but in the last, notwithstanding his bad state of vision, he milled the Black so successfully that Sutton measured his length on the grass. (Loud shouting, and “Painter will yet win,” was frequently asserted.)

18.—In this distressed state a rally occurred, and Painter was floored.

19.—This was a most singular round: it was anybody’s battle. Both the men were dead beat. The Black turned away from Painter on his making a hit; and soon afterwards Painter turned from him, and went down. (Two to one on Sutton.)

20.—Painter not only made some good hits, but, in closing, he fibbed Sutton sharply, and dropped him.

21 to 23.—Painter was down in all these rounds, although he had the best of the hitting. He was distressed beyond description.

24.—Painter seemed to have revived a little, and made a desperate hit on the nose of Sutton that floored him upon his back, and his legs rebounded from the earth. It appeared a finisher, and he was got upon the knee of his second with considerable difficulty. (The odds now changed again in favour of Painter.)

25 to 31.—It was astonishing to witness the desperation with which many of these rounds were contested. Painter showed most science, but the Black’s strength was more than could be reduced, and the former was down almost every time from sheer exhaustion.

32 to 40 and last.—Painter was almost blind and destitute of strength, yet he contended up to the last moment for victory. He was so far gone, in some instances, that he almost tried to lie down; and it was owing to his extreme weakness that Sutton was enabled to recover his strength, and brought him the smiles of victory. It was strength alone that won it. It is due to Sutton to state that a fairer fighter never entered the ring; but it is more pleasure to assert that no prejudice was expressed as to his colour—impartiality was the order of the day. Painter was led out of the ring, while Sutton walked from the scene of action without his clothes. The battle lasted forty-eight minutes and a half. A liberal subscription was gathered for Painter by Mr. Jackson on the ground. He returned to Belcher’s in the evening, where the most considerate attention was paid to him. He experienced no body blows of consequence, but his head and arms were terribly beaten.

REMARKS.—Painter, although defeated, has not fallen in the estimation of his friends. His courage was equal to the task he had to accomplish. In point of science he was far superior to his opponent; but in strength he was materially deficient. It was a complete sporting fight, and the odds were continually changing. Two better men never had a meeting; and a more determined battle could not be witnessed. Sutton has raised himself in the opinion of the amateurs, and he is considered to have evinced as much pluck, if not more, than any man of colour that has yet exhibited. Though his exterior did not show much punishment, yet his cheeks had a “rainbow” appearance. He is not likely to remain long in a state of inactivity, and will certainly prove a desperate customer to any one who dares contend with him. His prodigious length of arm is of great advantage; and he is pronounced by the best informed upon this subject to be the hardest hitter on the present list of boxers. Sutton owed his success greatly to the management and prompt determination of his second, Tom Oliver. Painter never fought so well before. He stopped fifty blows at least with his right hand, and also punished Sutton severely about the body. Upon the whole, it was one of the evenest contended battles that had been viewed for a long time, until the last seven rounds, when, during some of these Painter strained every effort to turn the chance in his favour. What the human frame could perform towards obtaining conquest this determined boxer attempted. He actually fought till nature refused to move. So much regret was never expressed upon the defeat of any pugilist as upon this occasion, owing to Painter’s inoffensive disposition and respectful behaviour in society at all times.

The sporting amateurs of Norwich desiring a fight in their vicinity, had, it seems, subscribed the sum of £100, £80 to the winner and £20 to the losing man, and Painter having challenged Sutton, to a second trial, they were offered a premium to bring off the affair at Bungay Common, Suffolk, the day appointed being the 16th of December, 1817. The battle was truly tremendous, and after fifteen rounds, all fighting, in one hour and forty-two minutes, Sutton was carried from the ring. (See PAINTER, ante p. 79.)

The no-fight between Shelton and Oliver which took the fancy on a wild goose chase to Blindlow Heath and Copthorne, on the tempestuous 23rd of December, 1819, led to another black job for Massa Sutton. Kendrick, the black, had come down that day, determined, he said, to fight anybody, should there be a purse, after the “big affair,” and resolved, moreover, to have “a bit of beef for his Christmas dinner.” Fifteen guineas were collected, when Sutton, considering it an easy prize, offered himself for a game at “black and all black.” At three o’clock the men faced each other, Randall looking after Kendrick, and Jack Martin attending upon Sutton.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Kendrick hit short with his left hand, and delivered his right well home on Sutton’s head, but his hand was open and it did no mischief. Sutton rushed in, closed, and threw Kendrick a heavy fall.

2.—Sutton delivered a straight and well-directed blow with his left hand in Kendrick’s bread-basket, which made him cry “Hem!” and drove him back two yards. Sutton, going in to follow up his success, was met in the middle of the head, when a rally commenced. Some blows exchanged, and Kendrick was thrown. It was evident here Sutton was too strong for him.

3.—Sutton put in another left-handed doubler, and followed with his right on Kendrick’s eye, which floored him as if shot. Kendrick bled freely from his nose and mouth.

Nine other rounds were fought, in which Sutton had it all his own way, and Kendrick received some heavy blows and falls. In the twelfth round Sutton hit him with the left hand in the mark, and caught him on the head with the right as he was going down, which so knocked the wind and senses out of Kendrick that he could not be moved from his second’s knee. The fight lasted seventeen minutes. Sutton was scarcely marked, his condition being very superior to that of poor Kendrick, who was severely punished. A liberal subscription was made for him through the exertions of Mr. Jackson, and sympathy was expressed as it was his third defeat in succession, and he was “out of luck.”

REMARKS.—Kendrick’s weakness was visible early in the fight; but, without taking that into consideration, he could not in his best trim conquer Sutton. Though without a chance of winning the purse, he showed himself a game man. He received a tremendous hit on the right eye, and also complained of a severe stomacher, that puffed the wind out of his empty frame like a pair of bellows; Sutton also fell upon him heavily. A gentleman very humanely gave up an inside place, and rode outside a coach, in order that poor Kendrick might be brought to London comfortably and free of expense; he also paid other attentions to his wants. Several gentlemen proposed that Kendrick should be sent into training, and that they would back him against the Gas-light Man for 25 guineas a-side. With patronage and training, Kendrick, it was thought, might become as it were a new man.

Sutton, although he attended the Fives Court and every benefit and sparring match and prize fight, could not find a customer. His thirteen stone nine pounds, and six feet and half an inch in height, were too great odds for middle weights, and the big ones wanted larger figures than Harry could get backed for. He was, however, matched with Larkin, the guardsman, to fight on the 4th of November, 1819, and 20 guineas posted; but in this he was disappointed, for Larkin was ordered off by his colonel, and Sutton’s only consolation was the twenty yellow boys. Sutton now went on a sparring tour with Jack Carter through Lancashire and to Ireland, as may be seen in Carter’s life. As from this period Sutton merely appears as a sparring exhibitor, we here close his pugilistic career.

BILL ABBOT—1818–1832.

Bill Abbot, whose victories over Hares, Dolly Smith, the renowned Tom Oliver, and Phil. Sampson, give him a claim to a niche in the Walhalla of pugilism, was a Westminster lad and a disciple of Caleb Baldwin. He stood five feet eight inches, and weighed eleven stone seven pounds. His first battle of any note was with a man of the name of Jones, at Wimbledon Common, whom he defeated in good style.

Abbot next fought Dick Hares on Wimbledon Common, on June 16, 1818, after Randall and Burke had left the ring. Hares displayed his usual good fighting and game qualities; but he was compelled to surrender to Abbot. Hares was over-weighted.

Abbot was matched against Dolly Smith for twenty guineas a-side, and this battle took place near the Barge House, in Essex, on Tuesday, February 2, 1819, on which day the amateurs, heedless of rain, left the metropolis and mustered numerously on the ground. Mr. Soares was chosen umpire. Dolly was well known to the ring, from his combats with Hares, Scroggins, and Cannon, though these were all defeats. Abbot, from defeating Hares and Jones, was considered a rising boxer. At half past one Smith threw up his hat in the ring, accompanied by his seconds, Randall and Owen; and Abbot followed by Oliver and Shelton. There was also an outer ring. The ceremony of shaking hands took place, when the men set to. Five to four on Abbot.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The men appeared in good condition, Abbot the best. They were more cautious than was expected, and some long sparring occurred. If Smith had not hit first, Abbot, in all probability, would have remained on the defensive. Dolly, with his right hand, put in a sharp bodier, which, had it been a little higher, must have floored his opponent. Abbot returned short. Dolly hit and got away, when, after some exchanges, they closed. Smith went down, and the claret was seen on his right eye.

2.—The caution of Abbot astonished the amateurs. Dolly again hit and got away. Some blows were exchanged. In closing, Dolly again went down bleeding.

3.—Dolly meant to punish his opponent, and went to work with his right hand, but it was out of distance, and he was again on the ground.

4.—Dolly was too short to get at Abbot; he could not nob him, and was always compelled to hit first. They closed, and some sharp fibbing occurred, when both went down, Dolly undermost. (Six to four on Abbot; the confident betters roared out two to one.)

5.—The short arms of Dolly frequently failed in planting a blow. This was a tolerable round, and Smith received a severe hit that sent him staggering away, but he recovered himself. In closing, Dolly paid away, but went down bleeding copiously.

6.—Abbot made some feints, when, after a short round, Dolly was hit down. (Bravo, and loud shouting.)

7.—Dolly came quite fresh to the scratch, but he received a heavy body hit that floored him. (“Well done, Abbot!”)

8.—A sharp round, and both down.

9.—Both hit short. Long sparring. In closing, some fibbing occurred, when Dolly broke away. More sparring. Abbot hit short. In closing at the ropes, Abbot hit Dolly down. (Shouting, and “Bravo, Abbot!”)

10.—The expected smashing forte of Abbot was not seen, and he kept retreating till Dolly hit first, when he then let fly frequently to advantage. Both down.

11.—Dolly’s mug was painted in every direction, while Abbot had not received a scratch. Some sharp fibbing, and Dolly the worst of it, and down.

12.—Abbot never tried to take the lead, although he generally got the best of the round. He was the best at in-fighting; and Dolly now bled copiously, till both went down.

13.—Both down.

14.—Dolly gave a good bodier; and, after some hard hitting, both again down.

15.—Dolly put in a snorter that made Abbot’s pimple rattle again. (“Such another pretty Dolly,” roared out Tom Owen, “is not to be seen in the kingdom.”) After some sharp exchanges, Dolly was hit down on the right side of his head.

16.—The punishment on Dolly’s mug was conspicuous. Both down.

17.—The right eye of Dolly was nearly closed. Some sharp work in a close, but Dolly down. Thirty-three minutes.

18.—This was a good round, but the left hand of Dolly appeared of no use to him, while Abbot’s right seemed tied to his shoulder. The latter waited with the greatest patience for the attacks of Dolly, which did not at all times shield him from heavy blows on the side of his neck and one of his jaws. In closing, some severe fibbing occurred, when Dolly extricated himself with some talent. Two sharp counter-hits. Dolly received a facer which put him in a dancing attitude, and he performed some new steps without the aid of music; but he at length recovered himself, returned to the charge like a Waterloo trump, and made so formidable a stand that Abbot resorted to some long sparring. Dolly, however, got the worst of it, and was floored. (Shouting on both sides of the ring. Smith shared the applause with his opponent.)

19 to 24.—In some of these rounds, when Dolly was breaking away, Abbot made several chops at him, but without doing any material execution. In the last round Smith began to fight with both his hands, and the ear and neck of Abbot exhibited marks of heavy hitting. Both down.

25.—Dolly was cleanly hit down. (“Well done, my cabbage-cutter; that’s the way to finish it.”)

26.—The dose was repeated by Abbot, and the claret from Dolly’s mug was copious.

27 to 32.—Dolly never could effect any change. Abbot was patiently waiting every round for Smith. The head of the latter was terrific.

33.—Dolly had decidedly the best of this round. Both down.

34.—Smith was down; but the ground was in a most wretched slippery state. (A guinea to a shilling was offered, but this was thought more bravado than judgment.)

35 to 39.—Long sparring, and the partizans of Abbot roaring out for him to “go in,” “No, no,” says Owen; “he knows the advantage of keeping his distance better. D’ye mind me, he’s what I call a distance cove. By the Lord Mayor we shall win it now. Go along, my boy, with your left mauley, and his nob will be of no service to him.” In spite, however, of all the encouragement of his lively second, Dolly was ultimately floored.

40 to 69.—To detail the minutiæ of these rounds would be superfluous. Dolly at times made some sharp hits, but there was no alteration in his favour.

70 to 127.—The rain came down in torrents, but the mill went on with all the regularity of sunshine. Abbot showed nothing like a decisive fighter; and there was once or twice he did not like the nobbers he had received. Dolly, in the majority of these rounds, went down.

128 to 138 and last.—It appeared Dolly entertained an opinion that he could not lose it; and even after two hours and a quarter had passed, he nodded satisfactorily to his friends that his confidence had not deserted him. There was nothing interesting in the whole of these rounds to amateurs; and Dolly endeavoured to tire out his adversary by going down, but without effect, when he at last said he could fight no more. Two hours and fifty-five minutes had elapsed.

REMARKS.—Abbot is by no means a first-rate fighter, or he ought to have beat Dolly off-hand. He was all caution, and his strength enabled him to last the longest. He was very glad when Dolly said “No.” It was a most fatiguing fight; and, owing to the pitiless, pelting shower, and the amateurs having to stand up to their knees in mud, the ring was almost deserted before the fight was ended. It was only the out-and-outers that remained. To describe the pitiful appearance of the amateurs would have required the pencil of a Hogarth—they had not a dry thread about them. Abbot had scarcely a scratch upon his face; but was much distressed towards the end, and led out of the ring. Smith was put to bed at the Barge House. Little betting occurred. Owing to the bad state of the weather, no collection was made for Smith, but he had a benefit given to him, under the patronage of some spirited amateurs.

Abbot was defeated by West Country Dick in a turn-up on March 2, 1819. (See vol. i., pp. 478, 479.)

Abbot fought with a knight of the last, to make up a fourth battle, for a small purse, on Hounslow Heath, on Tuesday, June 1, 1819; it served the amateurs to laugh at. Abbot had been sacrificing too freely at the shrine of Bacchus either to stand upright or to make a hit, and the “translator of soles” seemed also to have too much respect for his hide to encounter even his reeling opponent. “Master Waxy” gave in upon his pins, after jumping about in the most ridiculous postures for twenty minutes, without having a mark to show.

The sporting world felt great disappointment on Friday, February 18, 1820, in consequence of the severe illness of Spring preventing the combat which had been fixed for the above day. The ring was formed on Epsom Downs, and at half past twelve o’clock Ben Burn threw his hat up, and loudly declared he was ready to fight Spring. (See ante, p. 9.) Richmond also came forward and asked if any gentleman present appeared on the part of Spring, but no answer was given. The man of colour told Burn not to be in any hurry, as a fight could be made up in the interim. A purse of twelve guineas was collected upon the ground, and Abbot entered the lists with a raw countryman from Streatham, who appeared anxious for milling honours. Abbot was seconded by the Guardsman and Hopping Ned; the “yokel” was attended by Richmond and Clark. At two o’clock the men set to.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Johnny Raw, who was quite a novice in the ring (in fact it was his first appearance), went to work pell mell; but the science and experience of Abbot gave him the best of it, and after a few hard blows he put in a hit upon the throat of the countryman that floored him like a shot. For the instant Johnny was quite senseless, and upon Richmond’s picking him up, he asked, “Who done that? What’s that for? Where am I?” Richmond, with a smile upon his mug, observed, “Why you are in the Court of Chancery; and, let me say, you are not the first man that has been bothered by its practice.”

2 to 4.—Abbot had the best of these rounds, and he explained to the countryman the term pepper.

5.—The clumsy hitting of Johnny Raw gave him a turn, and Abbot received a tremendous floorer; and, notwithstanding the chevying of the lads to daunt the countryman, it was seven to four in his favour.

6 to 30.—It was a sort of reciprocal milling during all the rounds; many hard blows passed between them. Abbot showed the first blood, and was also the worst punished.

31.—Abbot got his opponent at the ropes; but with all his endeavours to fib the poor countryman’s nob, he failed.

32 to 40 and last.—It was never exactly safe to Abbot till in this round, when he again floored Johnny by a tremendous blow on the throat. Johnny was now quite senseless, and all attempts to bring him up to time were useless. Water was thrown on his face; but Abbot was pronounced the conqueror after one hour and twenty minutes had elapsed. Abbot was by far the worst punished. On Johnny’s recovering his recollection, he observed, “Who done that? Dang it, have I been in the Court of Chancery again? I don’t like that place; it makes a body so stupid. But I am ready to take another turn.”

Abbot entered the lists with a sturdy navigator, at the close of Hampton Races, 1820, for a small subscription purse. Abbot was seconded by Purcell and Brown, and the navigator by Shelton and West Country Dick. It was a good battle, and the navigator proved himself a very troublesome, dangerous customer. He stood over Abbot, and was also very strong, game, and would not be denied; but the superior science of our hero enabled him to win it cleverly in forty-five minutes.

Abbot, in a turn-up in Harper’s Fields, Marylebone, on Monday, June 5, 1820, defeated a Birmingham man of the name of Bennyflood, for a small purse, in the course of a few minutes, without a scratch upon his face.

Abbot fought Pitman for £5 a-side and a small purse, on Wimbledon Common, immediately after Brown and Curtis had left the ring, on Monday, August 28, 1820. The former was seconded by Randall and Callus, and the latter by Bill Cropley and Joe Norton. This was a hammering fight for thirty minutes, occupying twenty-seven rounds. Pitman was a game man, and reminded the spectators of Pearce, denominated the Game Chicken, but it was only in appearance. Pitman was beat to a stand-still. Abbot retired from the contest with a slight scratch under his left eye, but received some ugly thumps upon his head.

We now come to Abbot’s most remarkable ring exploit. A dispute with Tom Oliver led to a hasty match, in which ten guineas a-side were posted; but it was thought absurd, and a forfeit on the part of Abbot fully expected. But time rolled on and the day fixed, Tuesday, November 6, 1821, came, with both men in the same mind; and the fancy received the intimation that Moulsey was the chosen champ clos. At one o’clock, Oliver, attended by Ben Burn and Bill Gibbons, threw in his hat; and shortly afterwards, Abbot, attended by Scroggins and Tom Jones, answered the signal of defiance. Seven to four, two to one, and in some instances three to one on Oliver were called out, without takers. The colours—dark blue for Oliver, light blue for Abbot—were tied to the stake, and the men stood up.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On shaking hands it was expected that Oliver would immediately go to work and spoil his opponent; but, instead of that, Oliver thought he had a mere plaything in opposition to him, and did nothing. Some attempts at hitting were made on both sides, but without effect, when Abbot ran in and Oliver held him in his arms and got him down. (Shouting for joy, and Oliver for any odds.)

2.—Abbot trembled very much on placing himself in attitude at the scratch. Oliver planted a slight nobber and got away. A pause. Abbot received another small taste, when he rushed in and pulled Tom down. (Shouting and laughing, “It can’t last long.”)

3.—Abbot still shaking, yet he tried to plant his right on Oliver’s nob, but the latter got away. Oliver hit short. In closing, Abbot hung on the ropes; but Oliver seemed wanting in strength to do execution. Abbot at length broke away and showed fight, till they both went down, Oliver uppermost. (Six to one, but no takers. “Oliver can’t lose it,” was the general expression round the ring.)

4.—Whether it was owing to the recollection of what Oliver had once been in the prize ring could alone be answered by Abbot himself, but his nervous trepidation was evident. Abbot, however, made a heavy right-handed hit on his opponent’s mouth which produced the claret. Some slight exchanges occurred, and, in a struggle for the throw, Oliver fell on Abbot in rather an awkward manner; but not wishing his opponent should entertain a bad opinion, Oliver said, “I beg your pardon; I could not help it.” “Book that,” said one of the time-keepers to the writer of this article, “as it serves to show the fancy it is a gentlemanly fight.”

5.—Oliver got away from a hit. A pause. “Go to work,” said Paddington Jones: “What are ye both about?” Abbot planted a bodier, and not a light one. Oliver gave a facer, and followed his opponent to the ropes, where they endeavoured to hold each other’s hands to prevent fibbing, when Abbot got down. Oliver seemed to smile with contempt on his adversary, as much as to say, “There was a time that such an opponent could not have stood before me for five minutes.”

6.—A scuffle, and both down. While Oliver was sitting on the knee of his second, the Gas, with a grin upon his mug, sarcastically observed, “Why this is a lark, ain’t it, Tom? Surely you don’t call this fighting.”

7.—Oliver got away, when Abbot, in following him, hit short and napt a facer in return. They followed each other to the ropes, when the wretched condition of Oliver was evident to all the ring, for instead of fibbing Abbot, he literally pushed him away, gasping for wind; but Tom was so much the favourite of the amateurs, that they were completely blind to his defects. Abbot went down, and the shouting was loud in Oliver’s behalf.

8.—Some little milling took place. Abbot was sent out of the ring, and Oliver fell from weakness. “The Sprig of Myrtle” stepped up to Abbot and told him it was all right. “We are sure to win it,” answered Scroggins.

9.—Oliver appeared to view Abbot in the light of a plaything; still his blows did not do any mischief. Abbot threw Oliver and fell heavily on him.

10.—Oliver threw his opponent right away from him. (Thunders of applause.) In fact, at every movement that Oliver made, either good or bad, he was cheered by the surrounding spectators.

11.—This round was decidedly in favour of Oliver. Abbot turned completely round from a hit, when Oliver took advantage of this circumstance, planted a nobber, and sent Abbot down. (The costermongers were now cheering to the echo, and Ned Turner offered £10 to £1, but no person would have it.)

12.—This was also a tidy round; Oliver best, but both down.

13.—If Oliver had gone up to the nob of Abbot he might have spoiled his “mitre;” but he was more intent on getting away from the blows of his opponent than punishing him. Abbot went down from a hit. (Loud shouting.) The time-keeper stated twenty-two minutes had elapsed, which floored the bets on time, that Oliver won it in twenty minutes.

14.—Abbot went sharply to work, and made a severe body hit. A pause. Oliver planted a header, smiling, but put down his hands as if tired. The right hand of Abbot, which went home on Oliver’s mouth, sent him staggering, and the claret flowed profusely. At the ropes a sharp struggle took place, when Oliver threw his opponent. (“Well done, Tom; go to work and finish it.” Oliver for any odds.)

15.—The right ear of Abbot appeared slightly tinged with blood; but in other respects the blows of Oliver had scarcely left a mark. Abbot was sent out of the ring.

16.—Oliver had the best of this round; and Abbot was again under the ropes.

17.—Oliver, instead of going to work, sparred away his time; but, in an exchange of blows, Abbot went down, and Oliver fell on him. (“Go along, Tommy; it will soon be over.”)

18.—The face of Oliver was the most punished, but he had the best of this round. In following his opponent he caught him at the ropes, when Abbot would have gone down, but Oliver held him up with one hand and fibbed him with the other till he was exhausted, when Tom dropped him. (A roar of artillery. Oliver for any odds.)

19.—On coming to the scratch the face of Abbot did not betray the severe punishment which might have been expected, which was a sufficient proof, as the flash term is, that Oliver could scarcely “hit a hole in a pound of butter.” Abbot tried to obtain a turn in his favour, and went boldly up to Oliver, but more passionately than collected; he, however, put in some severe hits, which did Oliver no good. The latter in return, hit Abbot down. (Great applause for Oliver.)

20.—If it had been any other boxer than Oliver, that is to say, not so old a favourite as Tom, the exertions of Abbot would not have been treated so slightly. He is a strong young man, not a novice in the prize ring, with a fist as hard as iron; and whenever he planted his right-handed hit, Oliver felt it, and more than once severely; yet the feelings of the amateurs were that Tom must win. After some exchanges, Abbot rushed in. Oliver stopped his opponent skilfully, and endeavoured to fib him as he went down at the ropes. (Lots of applause for Oliver.)

21.—In point of punishment, this was the worst round in the fight for Abbot. The latter went in right and left, but Oliver stopped his efforts, milled him, and, in struggling, threw him down so violently on his back that the claret gushed from his nose. (“It’s all your own now, Tom, to a certainty.”)

22.—Abbot made a hit, which Oliver stopped. The pause was now so long that Tom Jones roared out, “If you mean to fight, do, or I shall leave the ring.” A scuffle, and both down.

23.—Abbot planted a heavy right-handed hit on Oliver’s ribs, and was going to work in a sharp manner, when he received so straight a stopper on the throat that he went down in a twinkling. This was the first clean knock-down blow. (Oliver’s friends were quite elated, and the cheers were very loud.)

24.—Abbot showed that he was not destitute of science, and made some good stops. He also gave Oliver a facer, but ultimately went down. (Disapprobation. Indeed, Abbot did not appear to have many good wishers, except the Sprig of Myrtle, who often came to the ropes to cheer him up, as did also the Sprig’s father.)

25.—Oliver napt a facer, and appeared to get weak; but his friends were so sanguine that they would not have it for a moment that anything was the matter. Abbot fought well this round; but, on going down, Oliver fell severely on him.

26.—On setting-to, Randall exclaimed, “Tom, my dear fellow, don’t lose your fame; never be licked by such a man as Abbot. Only go to work, and you must win it easy.” Abbot seemed (if a man’s thoughts can be judged) as if a doubt existed in his mind about winning it, and retreated from Oliver. The latter held him up at the ropes, and kept fibbing him till he was exhausted, and dropped him as before. No favourite actor in a theatre ever received more applause than Oliver.

27.—Abbot, on putting up his hand, laughed, and planted a body hit. A long pause, the men looking at each other. This was one of Oliver’s great faults: instead of commencing fighting, Oliver was getting away from hits. Oliver went down from a slight hit, owing to the slippery state of the ring.

28.—Abbot rushed in to mill Oliver; but he got the worst of it, and napped a severe nobber that sent him down. (Tremendous shouting.) Abbot, on being placed on his second’s knee, dropped his head, and it was thought all was over.

29.—Abbot wanted to make this round as short as he could by going down, but Oliver caught him at the ropes and administered some little punishment. (“Bravo, Tom, you behave handsome.” Ben Burn offered twenty guineas to five, but of no avail.)

30.—This was a fine fighting round; some severe exchanges took place, and Abbot, at the close of the round, planted such a tremendous right-handed hit on Oliver’s ear that he went down like a shot. It was on the spot where Painter, Neat, and “the Gas” had done so much execution. Oliver seemed stunned: he was all abroad, and was lifted from the ground like a sack of sand. Randall, Sampson, Josh. Hudson, etc., with all their vociferation, could scarcely restore him to his senses to be in readiness to the call of “time.” It is impossible to describe the agitation of the ring, not on account of their losses—for there were scarce any takers—but the sorrow felt at witnessing this lamentable tie-up of a brave man. (Five to one against Oliver.)

31.—Oliver was brought to the scratch, but no sailor three sheets in the wind was half so groggy. Abbot went up to him like a bull dog, milled him in all directions, and floored him like a log. Hogarth’s pictures were fools to the mugs of the amateurs—the brave Oliver to be sent out of the ring by a “wooden man,” as Abbot had been previously termed.

32.—The old fanciers were deeply hurt in their minds at this reverse of fortune, and not a Westminster boy, or a costermonger, but almost felt for their “wipes” to dry up their moistened “ogles;” “but who can rule the uncertain chance of war?” Oliver put up his arms to avoid the punishment, and went down once more like a log of wood. (A guinea to a shilling, but it was of no use.) Oliver was in chancery, and completely at the mercy of his opponent; he was sent down by a push.

33 and last.—Oliver was brought up, but it was useless. He would not say “No.” Abbot went in and gave Oliver the coup de grace, and he measured his length, insensible to the call of time. The fight occupied fifty-three minutes and thirty-eight seconds.

REMARKS.—Not a man on the Hurst but lamented this sad finish of Tom Oliver, who once aspired to the championship. He was slow as a top, and nature deserted him. He was still brave in idea, but he did not possess strength or wind to second his wishes. Oliver treated Abbot too cheaply; in fact, he gave the battle away from this circumstance. The smashing of Oliver was all out of the question. He was no more like that Oliver who fought with Painter at Shepperton, “the Gas,” and Spring, than “I to Hercules.” It is true that the partiality of the ring towards an old favourite made them anxious that he should not lose his once high fame, and be licked by an outside boxer, and every movement that he made was construed in his favour. Oliver ought to have won; if he had gone in and fought first, he could hardly have lost. Abbot gave his head, and several opportunities occurred, but Tom played with the chance, laughed at his opponent, and held him too cheap. For the first four rounds Abbot trembled, and the name of Oliver seemed a terror to him. He, however, put in some hard hits, and had none of the worst of the fighting. Oliver was punished about the nob; while, on the contrary, his blows, although planted on the face of Abbot, did not appear to make an impression. Still the amateurs were all in favour of Oliver, as an old one, and thought he could not lose it. Abbot went down several times, and the word “cur” escaped from the lips of several of the spectators. This epithet arose more from ill-nature than the fact. Abbot, however, was frightened at first, or else he could have won it in a short time, from the bad condition of Oliver. Oliver was terribly beaten: he was some time before he recovered himself, and was able to leave the ring. Abbot then shook hands with Oliver. Sampson immediately threw up his hat in, the ring, and offered to fight Abbot for £25, £50, or £100.

A winning man does not want friends, and Abbot was immediately matched with Sampson for £50 a-side. On Tuesday, December 18, 1821, Moulsey Hurst was again the scene of attraction, and the day being extremely fine, a strong muster of the fancy assembled on the above spot. When the office was given to cross the water, the pressure of the crowd was so great, and the lads so eager to get upon the Hurst, that some of the boats were nearly upset, so many persons rushed into them, in spite of all the entreaties of the watermen. The large flat-bottomed ferry-boat, which conveys the horses and carriages across, capable of holding between four and five hundred persons, was so overladen with passengers that it was ten to one this motley group did not bathe in Old Father Thames; indeed, it was only prevented by the great exertions and skill of the waterman. The wind was so high as to drive this prime cargo of the fancy a considerable way down the river before they had any chance of landing, and then it was only accomplished by the principal part of the passengers wading up to their knees in water before they could sport a toe on the Hurst. On the return of this boat to the shore at Hampton, the rush of persons to obtain a place in it was equally violent, although the danger and folly of such conduct had been so recently witnessed. A first-rate swell, who was extremely eager to get on board, lost his foot, and went head over tip into the water, to the no small amusement of the crowd.

The Birmingham Youth was the favourite, six and seven to four, an idea being entertained that his good fighting would bring him through the piece, more especially as a report had gone forth that Abbot had trained under the auspices of “Mr. Lushington.” At a quarter past one Abbot appeared on the ground, with a blue bird’s eye round his neck, and threw his hat into the ring. His countenance indicated perfect confidence. He was attended by Spring and Shelton. The Birmingham Youth, followed by Randall and Tom Jones, also shied his “castor” with a confident air, with Randall’s colours, green, round his neck.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On stripping, the appearance of Abbot altogether reminded the spectators of Tom Cribb in his early fighting days: it was evident a little punishment would not reduce his strength. The Birmingham Youth was in excellent condition; indeed, he asserted he was never so well in his life before. On placing themselves in attitude some pause occurred; but they soon after rushed into a close, and from the eagerness displayed, no mischief took place, and they were both down.

2.—Abbot held his arms high in order to protect his nob from the handy-work of his opponent. This manœuvre had the desired effect, and the Birmingham Youth did not show off in his usual style. This round was similar to the first, nothing material. Sampson went down from a slight hit.

3.—Sampson on the look-out to plant, but the firm guard of Abbot was not to be broken. The latter put in a left-handed hit on the throat of Sampson that sent him staggering; he, however, returned to the charge, when a long pause ensued. Abbot rushed and administered some pepper. Sampson exchanged a hit or two, but went down. Abbot also fell from a slip. (The odds had now changed seven to four on Abbot.)

4.—This was a short round. After a struggle at the ropes, Abbot got his man down, and, in falling, his knees came heavily on the “Youth’s” body. (The Westminster division again chevying, offering two to one.)

5.—Abbot commenced fighting, and planted one or two heavy hits. The Birmingham Youth showed fight, but he went down from a blow in the middle of his head. (Loud shouting, and in the ecstasy of the moment the cabbage-plant heroes offered five to one “the Birmingham ware must soon be disposed of.”)

6.—Abbot went to work without delay, and the result was that Sampson received a hit on his face, and dropped on his knees. (“It’s all up; he’s going.” Two to one current betting.)

7 to 20.—To detail these rounds would be uninteresting. It is true that the Birmingham commenced several rounds well, but Abbot always finished them in his favour.

21 to 30.—In the twenty-seventh round it was so much in favour of Abbot, that a distinguished sporting man from Newmarket offered a guinea to a bottle of beer, but no taker appeared.

31 to 33.—Sampson did all he could to reduce the strength of his opponent, but in vain. He now and then put in a good nobber, but in general he napped it in return.

34.—Sampson was much distressed; but he came to the scratch like a man, and endeavoured to take the lead. Several of his friends near the ring told him “hit and get away.” Sampson was not unmindful of their advice, and evinced a knowledge of the art; but it was a matter of considerable surprise to the judges of milling that he did not administer pepper to the body of his opponent, which was left unprotected, as the principal aim of Abbot appeared to be in holding his guard very high to keep his knowledge-box safe, the nob in general of all his adversaries being the object of his attack. After some exchanges the Birmingham Youth received a blow near the temple which produced the claret profusely, and he fell on his knees. (Spring offered ten guineas to two on Abbot.)

35.—The countenance of Sampson appeared dejected; he nevertheless exerted himself to produce a change in his favour, although without effect. He was floored by a severe right-handed hit. (Loud cheering by the lads from the neighbourhood of the Abbey in favour of Abbot.)

36.—It was evident to every unbiassed spectator that Sampson could not win; and although some of his shifts were well planned, they did not in the least reduce the strength of Abbot. The Birmingham Youth was on the totter when he came to the scratch, yet Abbot did not commence fighting. Shelton said, “What are you shilly-shallying about? go right up to his head and win it.” Abbot followed his instructions without delay, and the result was, Sampson was floored. “I told you so,” cried Shelton; “another or two and the blunt will be in your pocket.”

37.—Sampson went down from a heavy blow on the side of his head. (“He can’t come again.”)

38.—The Birmingham Youth smiled on meeting his adversary, put in one or two nobbers, and made a struggle at the ropes. Sampson was again hit down. (“It’s all over.” Any odds.)

39.—Singular to remark, Sampson, as a last and desperate effort, made play, had the best of the round, and sent Abbot down. (Thunders of applause, and “Well done, Sampson.”)

40.—The punishment Sampson now received was sharp and severe. Abbot determined to put an end to the battle, showed fight the instant Sampson appeared at the scratch, and, with a right-handed blow in the middle of the nob, floored him. (Ten to one.)

41.—The Birmingham Youth scarcely put up his hands, when a severe blow repeated on the same place floored him a twinkling.

42.—Abbot now proved himself the better man, and grassed poor Sampson with ease.

43.—One must lose. A tremendous hit in the middle of Sampson’s head took all the fight out of him, and he measured his length on the ground. For a short period after time was called Sampson remained in a state of stupor; he, however, recovered, and, with the assistance of Randall, walked out of the ring. The mill lasted forty-seven minutes.

REMARKS.—If it was perceived that Abbot was only a half-bred one, yet it would take a good man and a heavy hitter to beat him. In but one round (the 39th) had Sampson the best of it, although he exerted himself to the utmost to obtain victory; indeed, after the second round it was decidedly in favour of Abbot. It is rather singular that, except with Dolly Smith, the Birmingham Youth has hitherto lost every battle; while, on the contrary, conquest has crowned the efforts of Abbot. The latter possesses a tolerable knowledge of the science, and left the ring with only a mark under his left eye. The Birmingham Youth was severely punished; but although he has proved so unfortunate, it is the general opinion of the fancy that, in all his battles, he has shown himself a game man, a lively, active fighter, and done everything in his power to win for his backers.

The battle had scarcely been over a minute, when the fancy were beat to a stand-still, except a few who endeavoured to bolt, but could not get away, from the effects of the “pitiless pelting storm.” Hundreds were seen scampering to get under the wagons to avoid the hail-stones, and flooring each other to obtain an inch of shelter. Lots looked like drowning rats, their clothes sticking to their bodies as if they had been pasted on; while a few of the “Corinthians” in post-chaises were laughing at the ludicrous scene, and blessing their happy stars for the comfort and advantages derived from the possession of “blunt.” At length the fancy rallied, showed game, and took their places to witness another battle.

Abbot did not refuse to meet the “John Bull fighter” when called upon, as appears by the following letter, addressed to the editor of the Weekly Dispatch.

“CHALLENGE TO JOSH. HUDSON.

“SIR,—

“In consequence of your challenge to me a few months ago, and my fight with Oliver being off, I now wish to inform you that I am ready to fight you once in eight weeks for 50 guineas a-side. If this meets your approbation, my friends will meet you at any time or place you may appoint, and make a deposit of £10 or £20 a-side.

“W. ABBOT.

“5th July, 1822.”

These challenges, however, ended in smoke. At length Abbot was matched with Jem Ward, for £50 a-side, and they met, October 22, 1822. Jem had beaten Acton, and was fast rising into fame. The particulars of this cross will be found in the Memoir of Ward, opening the next Period.

Larkins, the Cambridge champion, was matched with Abbot for £35. The fight took place at Fidgett Hall, near Newmarket, on Monday, November 28, 1826. Abbot was here beaten in fourteen rounds, thirty-three minutes, with five to four betted upon him. From this time Abbot figures as a second and bottle holder, until 1832, when, a purse having been collected, he entered the ring with one Search, whom he disposed of in seven rounds, at Old Oak Common, on the 28th of June in that year. The career of Abbot has no further ring interest.

DAVID HUDSON, BROTHER OF THE RENOWNED “JOHN BULL FIGHTER”—1818–1827.

David Hudson, a younger brother of the renowned Josh., made his appearance about two years after his celebrated senior, namely, in July, 1818; Josh’s first battle with Jack Payne dating in 1816. He was a smart two-handed fighter, of the inconvenient middle weight and height, which is too much for the light ones, and not enough for the big ’uns, namely, ten stone ten pounds, and five feet seven inches and a half in height. He was born in Rotherhithe in 1798, and in 1817, when in his 19th year, defeated Pat. Connelly, a reputed good man. His first regular battle was with Richard West (West Country Dick), for 50 guineas a-side. It was the second fight following the defeat of Tom Oliver by Neat, of Bristol, at Rickmansworth, on Friday, July 10, 1818. Randall and Tom Jones were seconds to Dick; Painter and Hall for Hudson. Dick was the favourite, seven to four and two to one.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—This was a good round. The combatants soon closed, but broke away. A sharp rally succeeded, and Dick was thrown.

2.—Sharp fighting. Reciprocal nobbers. A smart rally, and both down.

3.—Dick put in two facers. Some exchanges, when, in struggling for the throw, in going down Hudson was uppermost.

4.—This was all in Dick’s favour. He planted some heavy hits; and both going down, they rolled over each other.

5.—Hudson’s ear was bleeding, and Dick threw him.

6.—This was an active round; and in the corner of the ring Hudson fibbed Dick till he fell out of the ropes, (Applause. “Bravo, Hudson.”)

7.—Both of them went to work, and some sharp exchanges occurred, till both down.

8.—This appeared a severe round, and Dick got a hit on his ribs and went down.

9.—When time was called, Dick tried to leave the knee of his second; but on getting up seemed as if bent double, and pointed to his ribs, when Hudson was declared the conqueror. This sudden termination of the fight electrified the amateurs, and the backers of Dick were chapfallen indeed. Great murmuring prevailed that “all was not right;” but Dick declared, that in falling against the stakes he had hurt his ribs so severely that he was not able to stand upright. The battle was over in fourteen minutes and five seconds.

David fought with Ballard for a trifling stake, on Wednesday, April 15, 1819, on Kennington Common. Purcell and West Country Dick seconded Hudson, and Ballard was waited upon by Holt and Hares. It was a most determined battle on both sides; and one hour and three-quarters had elapsed before Ballard was compelled to acknowledge himself defeated. He was punished severely. Hudson also did not escape without considerable beating. The science and game he displayed on this occasion gave him a lift among the amateurs.

After the battle between Turner and Cy. Davis at Wallingham Common, on Friday, June 18, 1819, there was an interval of upwards of an hour, during which time the ring was filled with amateurs, endeavouring to get up another contest between some of the “good ones.” Sutton offered to fight Carter, but the latter boxer pleaded want of “condition.” Hall was also called, Martin, etc., but objections were made, when at length Harry Holt threw up his hat, which was immediately answered by David Hudson. Randall and O’Donnell seconded Holt and Tom Owen and Josh. Hudson waited upon David. It was for a purse of 20 guineas. Holt was the favourite, five to four.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The game of Holt had been ascertained upon more than one occasion, and his character stood well as a “pretty, scientific boxer.” He was not very well, and had walked all the way from London down to the fight. Hudson, nothing else but a “good one,” was also out of condition; in fact, he had only been discharged a week from the doctor’s hands for the jaundice, and, on stripping, his frame had a yellow appearance. They set-to with much spirit, when Holt rather took the lead. It was all fighting, and Hudson was nobbed down.

2.—Reciprocal facers; sharp hitting, full of work; milling the order of the round. Both down, but Holt undermost. (“Bravo! this will be a good fight;” and the amateurs were much interested.)

3.—Holt stopped in fine style, and planted same heavy hits. Both down.

4.—Sparring. Both offering and eager to hit, but awake to each other’s intention, and dodging. This round was really a treat to the lovers of science. Holt was hit down in the corner of the ring. (Even betting.)

5.—More science was displayed, when Owen began to sing “Tol de rol,” and said it was all right; that Hudson, of his weight, was the best little man in the kingdom, and that he should have nothing to do but merely look on. Hudson took the lead, followed his opponent over the ring till Holt was hit down.

6 to 24.—To speak impartially, it would be almost impossible to say which had the best of the majority of these rounds. Holt repeatedly nobbed Hudson so severely that his head went back; but he still returned to the charge unconcerned. In the last round Holt got Hudson on the ropes, where the latter was hanging almost on the balance; but he threw up his arms and walked away, amidst the shouts of the ring. (“This is true courage,” exclaimed a Briton.)

29 to 49.—All these rounds were contested with the utmost determined resolution and science on both sides. But Hudson was now the favourite, and Tom Owen offered ten to one. He also placed the white topper on his head; but would not let his knee-string, which was loose, be tied, for fear it should change his luck.

50 to 64.—Holt continued as game as a pebble, and nobbed Hudson desperately; but he could not take the fight out of him. (The odds were now decidedly against Holt, and cries of “Take him away.”)

65 to 83.—Both of their nobs were terribly punished, particularly Holt; but he had not the slightest intention to resign, though persuaded so to do by his friends and backers. It was thought Holt had lost it, from going down without a blow. (“Never mind,” said Owen, “we’ll give them that in; we can’t lose it.”)

84 to 89 and last.—Holt continued to fight, but he could not stand up to receive the hitting of Hudson, and went down repeatedly; while, on the contrary, Hudson seemed to be getting fresher, and he often ran and jumped to get in at Holt. The latter would not give in, and he was taken out of the ring by the desire of a noble lord and other amateurs. It occupied an hour and three-quarters.

REMARKS.—This was a capital fight on both sides: the men covered themselves with pugilistic glory. Holt was rather too stale for his opponent; he had also some of his teeth dislodged. Hudson promises to be conspicuous in the ring: a better bit of stuff cannot be found. A handsome subscription was made for Holt.

Hudson had now got so greatly into favour with the amateurs that he was backed against the fearless Scroggins for 50 guineas a-side. The battle took place on Monday, March 13, 1820, at Dagenham Breach, Essex, about eleven miles from London.

The road exhibited much bustle about ten o’clock in the morning, and the distance being short, the amateurs arrived at the destined spot rather earlier than usual. However, owing to neglect somewhere, to the great chagrin of the fancy, Scroggins had not been made acquainted with the scene of action, and it was two to one whether he appeared at all. The “hardy hero,” somehow, at length reached the Ship and Shovel, and waived all impediments like a truly game man.

At half past one o’clock, Hudson, attended by his brother Josh. and Tom Owen, threw his hat up in the ring. Scroggins, followed by Oliver and Randall, repeated the token of defiance. The odds were both ways in the course of a few minutes; and, from the remembrance of what Scroggins had once been, the old fanciers rather took the latter for choice. Tom Owen, to give an air of importance to his protégé, graced the ring with his hair curled and powdered, to the no small merriment of the multitude.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On stripping, the fine condition of Hudson astonished the spectators, and to give him a showy appearance, he sported silk stockings. Scroggins did not look well; but it was observed he was not so bad as had been represented. The combatants sparred for upwards of two minutes, when Scroggins let fly with his left hand, slightly touching his opponent’s eye. In attempting to make another hit, Hudson got away. More sparring. Scroggins now went to work in his usual heavy style, and drove Hudson to the ropes, when, after some exchanges, Hudson went down, receiving a heavy hit on his ear. (The shouting was loud; and “Well done, my old boy, you can’t lose it. The stale one for £100.”)

2.—Hudson did not wish to be idle, and went up to his man and fought with him, when a rally ensued, in which Scroggins had rather the best of it. The men separated, and Hudson put in a severe facer that brought the claret. In struggling, both went down.

3.—The men were on their mettle, and fighting was the order of this round. Scroggins received a jobber in the front of his nob; but he returned to the charge with vigour, till he went down from a slight hit. (“Go along, Davy! a young one against an old one any time.”)

4.—Scroggins received a sharp hit in the body; he, nevertheless, went boldly in to his opponent, and put in three nobbers. In struggling for the throw, Hudson undermost. (“Bravo, Scroggy!”)

5.—The face of Scroggins was much pinked, and one of his eyes rather damaged. Some good exchanges, till Scroggins was undermost. (Shouting for Hudson.)

6.—Hudson stopped the hits of his adversary well, and went again to the nobbing system till both down.

7.—This was a terrible round. It was all fighting; and the struggle at the ropes was desperate in the extreme, till Scroggins found himself on the ground, undermost. The applause on both sides was liberally dealt out, and the combatants were pronounced good men all round the ring.

8.—Scroggins began to pipe, and symptoms of a worn out constitution could not be concealed from his adversary. The advantages of youth were evident to every spectator, and Scroggins went down.

9.—Well contested on both sides; but although Scroggins repeatedly hit his opponent in the face, he did no damage to him. Both down.

10.—In this round a faint ray of the original quality of Scroggins was conspicuous: he put in a severe hit under Hudson’s right ear, and also bored him down. (Six to four was, however, offered on the latter.)

11.—Sharp exchanges; but Scroggins went down so weak that Tom Owen offered four to one.

12 to 15.—Scroggins had rather the best of some of these rounds, but never the best of the battle. He, however, threw Hudson over the ropes.

16 to 18.—The first of these was the sharpest round in the fight. The men exchanged hits like game cocks, struggled for the throw at the ropes, broke away, fought at the ropes again, till both down.

19 to 23.—It was evident the once terrific Scroggins was gone by; his milling period was over. He took like a glutton of the first appetite, but could not give as heretofore. (Six to one was current against him.)

24 to 28.—In some of these rounds Hudson held up his opponent, and punished him down. (Owen, in the exultation of the moment, offered ten to one, and said he should go home, as his man did not want any more seconding.)

29 to 33.—In the last round Scroggins turned his head away from the severe punishment he had received, and went down.

34 and last.—Scroggins attempted to hit, but it was all up, as he was quite exhausted. Forty minutes and three seconds had elapsed. Hudson had scarcely a scratch.

REMARKS.—It is a standing proverb among good judges that youth must be served, and a clearer demonstration of the proposition was never witnessed in the P.R. The constitution of Scroggins was gone, and no training could restore it. It is, however, singular to remark, that a knock-down blow did not occur throughout the fight. Hudson, gay as a lark, confident, and a boxer that can stay a good while, is not a hard hitter. In Scroggins’s day a different tale must have been told; but his once terrible mode of hitting had left him, and, as a boxer, he was a shadow of his former self. It is, however, but common justice to state that Scroggins never exerted himself upon any occasion more to win than he did in contending against the young one. His gluttony astonished all present.

Hudson and Scroggins meeting at Chelmsford Races, on Thursday, July 27, 1820, the amateurs made a subscription purse of £20. It was suggested by the seconds that Hudson and Scroggins should divide the purse; but the latter boxer refused, saying, he would win if he could. It was a sharp, good fight; but Scroggins, being very much out of condition, was again defeated in twenty-five minutes.

Hudson had risen so high in the estimation of the amateurs, that he was backed against Jack Martin; nay, more, his friends said that he must win, and nothing else. This battle came off at Moulsey Hurst, October 24, 1820. Martin had beaten David’s brother Josh. the year previous. The event proved that Davy’s backers were too confident; it was soon seen he was overmatched, and he was signally defeated. (See vol. i., p. 406.)

On Thursday, January 11, 1821, David Hudson and Green fought in a barn at Chelmsford, at eleven o’clock at night, for £10 a-side. This fight had been a long time “hatching up,” particularly on the part of Green’s[32] friends, and, from every appearance, he had been in training on the sly; while Hudson was never in such bad condition before.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Green soon let fly with his right hand, which Hudson stopped with his left. He then went to work till Green was floored.

2.—A determined rally, in which Hudson met his adversary well, till Green was again down.

3.—Cautious sparring. Green, however, went in without ceremony and napt two muzzlers, right and left, for his temerity. The claret appeared in profusion, and Green again down.

4 to 7.—The men were now extremely weak. Hudson received a tremendous hit on his right eye, and he was blind for a few seconds, having lost the sight of his left eye since he fought with Martin. (“Go along, Green, it’s all your own; you can’t lose it;” and five to four offered.)

8.—Hudson’s right hand made a dent on Green’s side; and with his left Davy put in such a conker that not only produced the claret in profusion, but he was quite abroad, and went down. These “Pepper Alley” touches brought it to even betting, and Hudson for choice.

9 to 13.—The pepper-box was again administered by Hudson, who caught Green under his right arm, and with his left he fibbed him so severely that Green called out “Foul,” and said he would not fight any longer. The umpires were appealed to, and decided Hudson’s conduct to be fair, and “a bit of good truth.”

14.—Green, determined to try every move on the board, went sharply to work, but Hudson stopped his efforts with the utmost ease. (Seven to four on Hudson, but no takers.)

15 to 17.—Davy came to the scratch as fresh as his out-and-out badger, and hit Green all to pieces. By way of finishing the round, if not the fight, he cross-buttocked his opponent so severely that it was twenty to one he did not come again. Green said he would not fight any more while sitting upon the knee of his second. Hudson then went up to Green and shook hands with him, observing at the same time, “You are not half so good a man as I expected, from the chaffing there has been about you; nevertheless, I will give you half a guinea.” The friends of Green thought he could have won the fight if it had been in a ring; but Hudson’s backers were so confident of his success, that they immediately put down £50 to £80 for Davy to fight him in a ring in any part of Essex. The partisans of Green wished it to take place in the same ring as Oliver and Spring. This money was drawn, to the great disappointment of Hudson’s party. The Essex friends of the latter offered to back him at any time for £100. The battle lasted forty-five minutes.

One Jack Steadman, a big one, and a good fighter, was beat off-hand by David, to the astonishment of the spectators; Steadman standing over “little David” like another Goliah of Gath, and weighing thirteen stone.

David now became a publican at Chelmsford, where his house was well frequented by sporting men. In February, 1820, we find him exhibiting sparring, having taken the Chelmsford Theatre for the purpose.

Hudson’s old antagonist, Green, seems to have by no means been convinced by his first defeat, and, after much cavilling, a second match was made for 50 guineas, which came off, by desire of the London patrons of Davy, at Old Marsh Gate, Essex, about eleven miles of turnpike from town, on Tuesday, the 27th of February, 1821. Hudson having made Chelmsford his place of residence, and a bit of a favourite in that part of the world among the sporting men, they were anxious that he should again exhibit. He was backed by Mr. Thomas Belcher, of the Castle Tavern. It was reported Hudson was upwards of twelve stone, having increased so much during his training. This operated against him in the opinion of the amateurs. At one o’clock Hudson, dressed in a white great coat, appeared, and threw his hat into the ring, attended by Oliver and his brother Josh. Green shortly afterwards entered the ropes, with Randall and Martin. The “President of the Daffies”[33] was appointed the time-keeper. Five to four on Hudson.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On stripping, Green appeared in the highest state of condition, but it was thought that Hudson was much too fat. The combatants, on placing themselves in attitude, stood looking at each other’s eyes for upwards of four minutes, without making the least offer to hit. Green made a trifling offer to put in a blow, when Hudson got away, and they dodged each other over the ring till they made another complete stand-still. Green made a hit, but Hudson parried it. Both the men seemed under orders, that is to say, not to go to work too quickly. Green got away neatly; and Hudson also stopped a severe left-handed hit of Green’s. The latter then put in a body blow, when David returned. The battle had now commenced. Green put in a facer, when Davy stood to no repairs, and tried to slaughter his opponent, till they got into a struggle, when they both went down side by side. (Loud shouting from the “over-the-water boys,” the Chelmsford fanciers, and the Jews, who all united in backing Davy for anything.) This round occupied nearly fifteen minutes.

2.—This round was altogether short. They both complimented each other upon the nob sans cérémonie, and “Pepper Alley” was the feature, till Green went down undermost. (Six to four on Hudson.) The mouth of Davy showed claret.

3.—Not quite so fast as before, and some little science necessary. Hudson undermost.

4.—The claret was now running from the cheek of Green. Both combatants appeared a little distressed. In struggling, Hudson was again undermost. These were two tie rounds; but some of the spectators thought Green had the best of them.

5.—Hudson took the lead gaily. Some severe exchanges took place, when Green was hit down. (Loud shouting, “Davy, repeat that, and it’s all safe to you.”)

6.—Hudson got away well, and nobbed Green, who followed him. Some heavy blows passed between them till both down.

7.—This round spoilt Green. The latter, with good courage, gave hit for hit with his opponent; but Davy, in finishing the round, had the best of the blows, threw Green, and fell so heavily upon him that the claret gushed from his nose, the shock was so violent. (The East-enders were now uproarious, and two and three to one were offered on Davy.)

8.—David fell on Green again.

9.—Almost the same, as well as the best of the hitting.

10.—It was really a capital fight, and Green fought like a trump. He could not, however, change the battle in his favour. Hudson undermost.

11.—Green experienced another dreadful fall. (Four to one against him current.)

12.—Hudson now endeavoured to take the fight out of Green, and planted four facers in succession that Green went staggering from the hits; he, nevertheless, made several returns, till both down. (Five to one.)

13, 14.—In the first round a most determined rally; but in the second Green was hit down on his knee. (“You can’t lose it, Davy.”)

15.—Hudson fell heavily on Green, and nearly knocked the wind out of him. (“It’s all up.” Any odds.)

16.—The nob of Green was now terribly punished, and the left side of his throat much swelled. He was quite abroad, hit open-handed, and went down exhausted. (“Go along, Davy; it will be over in another round.”)

17.—Green repeatedly jobbed Hudson in the face; but none of the blows were to be seen—they did not leave a mark. As Green was falling from a hit, Hudson caught him in the face with a right-handed blow that almost sent him to sleep.

18.—“Look here,” said Oliver, “my man has not a mark upon his face.” Green came up to the scratch much distressed. He, however, fought like a man; and at the ropes Hudson again fell upon him. The claret was running down in profusion.

19.—Green still showed fight, and put in several facers. Hudson went away staggering from one of them; but the latter followed Green up so hard and fast that he could not keep his legs, and went down. (The poundage was here offered, but no takers. “Take him away; he has no chance.”)

20 and last.—Green behaved like a man, and he stood up and fought in a rally till he went down quite done up. When time was called he could not come to the scratch, and Hudson was proclaimed the conqueror. It was over in forty minutes.

REMARKS.—Davy, either fat or lean, out or in condition, is not to be beaten easily. A strong novice must not attempt it; and a good commoner will be puzzled, and most likely lose in the trial. There is a great deal of gaiety about Hudson’s fighting: he will always be with his man. He has a good notion of throwing, and also of finishing a round. Green was not destitute of courage, and it was not a little milling that took the fight out of him. He endeavoured to win while a chance remained; in fact, till he could fight no longer; but he is too slow for Hudson. It was an excellent battle, and the amateurs expressed themselves well satisfied. One of Hudson’s eyes is defective since he fought with Martin, which operates as a great drawback to his execution, particularly in judging his distances; but nothing can abate his courage. Both the Hudsons stand so high in the opinion of the amateurs as out-and-out bottom men, that they are designated the “John Bull” boxers. They increase in flesh rather too fast; and, from being “light ones” when they first appeared in the prize ring, they are now termed “Big Chaps.”

This was Dav. Hudson’s last victory. We find it noted, incidentally, in the remarks on the above fight that the sight of one of David’s eyes was defective. Under these circumstances, it was indeed unfortunate to match him against the “Streatham Youth,” Ned Neale. It is true that Ned’s wonderful fighting qualities were then comparatively unknown. He had defeated Deaf Davis (a slow man, but a hard hitter), one Bill Cribb (called “the Brighton Champion”), and Miller (the “Pea-soup Gardener”); but these, as well as Bill Hall, were looked upon as mere stale men or “roughs.” The defeat of Hudson (September 23, 1823), on the appropriately named Blindlow Heath, will be found in the Memoir of NED NEALE, Period VI., Chapter V.

David’s last appearance in the prize ring was with an Irishman, Mike Larkins,[34] who had beaten Simon Byrne in Ireland, in 1825. The battle took place at Bulphen Farm, Essex, May 8, 1827, when “One-eyed Davy” was defeated in twenty-eight fast rounds, occupying twenty minutes. David, in his latter days, assisted “brother Josh.” at Leadenhall; and when the latter died, in Milton Street, Finsbury, in October, 1835, David lost his best friend. He was already in ill health, and survived his brother but six weeks, his death taking place November 27, 1835, in the London Hospital.

PERIOD VI.—1824–1835. FROM THE RETIREMENT OF TOM SPRING TO THE APPEARANCE OF BENDIGO.

CHAPTER I. JEM WARD (CHAMPION).—1822–1831.

Albeit this period does not mark any change in the “school,” or style, nor in the rules which govern the practice of public boxing, there are reasons to be found for a division, in the more copious, accurate, and systematic reports of the prize-fights of this and the following periods, due greatly to the exertions and ability of the late Vincent George Dowling, Esq., of the Morning Chronicle, the editor, founder, and establisher of Bell’s Life in London, for many years afterwards “the Oracle of the Ring,” a title and function now well-nigh abdicated. About this time, too, other able pens lent their aid. George Daniels, Esq. (the D—— G——, whose criticisms on the drama lent large value to the series known as “Cumberland’s Plays,” and who was for a time editor of the Weekly Dispatch), was among the number. That journal also had the services of George Kent (an enthusiastic milling reporter, whose son and grandson yet wield the stylus of manifold writers for the daily and weekly press),[35] and of Mr. Smith, during the period of his editorship. “Paling its ineffectual fire” before the rising glories of Bell’s Life, and having lost its best writers, a late Old Bailey attorney and alderman, finding the Dispatch had lost caste with the sporting community, turned his coat, and betook himself with the zeal and virulence of a renegade to revile and slander the sports by which his journal had grown and prospered. But this is by the way. From the period we have mentioned the chronicles of pugilism have been more accurate and minute, and therefore more worthy of preservation; hence the greater bulk and volume of this portion of our history.

On the retirement of Spring, which that boxer announced shortly after his second battle with Langan, the public attention was occupied with discussing the worthiest candidate for the vacated belt. In the first instance Langan was spoken of as the “coming man;” but though there was some correspondence, as already noticed, with Tom Shelton and Ward, the Irish champion suddenly retired without making a match, and went into business at Liverpool. The champion was now to be looked for elsewhere. Three men had at this time their respective admirers and partisans—Tom Cannon (the great gun of Windsor), Josh. Hudson (the John Bull fighter), and Jem Ward (the Black Diamond). The friends of Josh. urged his claim, on the ground that he had defeated Ward on the 11th of December, 1823; but then a fortnight after the second fight of Spring and Langan (on June 23rd, 1824), Tom Cannon had beaten Hudson in twenty minutes and seventeen rounds, and again (see Memoir of CANNON) in the November following, in sixteen rounds, twenty minutes. This led to Cannon’s challenging Ward for the championship, the details and results of which we shall notice in due course. We now return to the biography of Ward.

Jem Ward, the eldest of seven children of Nat. Ward, a tradesman in the vicinity of Ratcliff Highway, was born December 26th, 1800, the day of all days of the year, known as “boxing day,” and at an early age exhibited the talents of a boxer and wrestler, which afterwards won him fame. At the age of sixteen, his father having failed in business as a butcher, Jem was put to the then lucrative, but heavily laborious calling of a coal-whipper. Jem soon became the lion of a sparring club held at Bromley New Town, where he dimmed the shine of those who were ambitious of a turn with “the Black Diamond,” and was never loth to accommodate any customer, regardless of weight or strength. Ward’s fame spread, and it was resolved by his admirers and friends that he should quit the narrow circle of his triumphs, and give the general public the opportunity of judging of his qualifications. Accordingly, on Tuesday, January 22nd, 1822, on the occasion of the benefit of Sutton and Gybletts, at the Fives Court, Jem was introduced to the aristocratic patrons of pugilism. His appearance is thus recorded in the “Annals of Sporting” for that month. “The principal novelty was the introduction of a new Black Diamond, and although a little bit in the rough, yet now and again his shining qualities so far peeped out that curiosity asked, ‘Who is he?’ ‘Where does he come from?’ ‘Is he a novice?’ The replies were ‘His name is Ward; he is an East-ender; he has put the quilt on all who have tried him; he is a sharp one in a turn-up, but what he may do in the ring is another matter. However, he can be backed against anything of his weight (twelve stone) barring the Gas (Tom Hickman).’ Ward was pitted with Spencer. Like most newcomers, he displayed too much eagerness, and more milling than steady science. He received good encouragement from the amateurs present, and his nob was pronounced to be a fighting one.”

The fancy were not slow in discussing the merits of Ward, and a purse was immediately raised for the purpose of testing his capabilities. Dick Acton,[36] considered a resolute boxer, was named as Ward’s opponent, and on Wednesday, June 12, 1822, the battle came off on Moulsey Hurst. Josh. Hudson (soon after to meet and vanquish his principal) seconded Ward, assisted by Tom Jones. Acton was waited upon by Tom Spring and Eales. The fight is thus reported in the Dispatch:—

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Acton on the defensive, as if wishing to ascertain what novelties in the art he was likely to be that day treated to by Ward. The latter, after a little dodging about, let fly with his left, but was short. Acton likewise missed; he, however, followed Ward, who kept breaking ground and retreating. Acton tried it on, but some exchanges followed without effect. The Diamond suddenly put in a straight one on Acton’s nob, and got away smiling. Acton followed him to the ropes, where he got a sharp blow on the cheek; Ward making good use of his legs and getting out of the corner; nor was he long before he planted a heavy blow on the right side of Acton’s conk, which drew the claret. (“That’s as good as a pinch of snuff to him,” cried Josh.) A pause. Ward’s left hand now took liberties with the other side of Acton’s nose, and the pink followed. Ward got away. (“Mind and keep your hand closed,” said Josh.) Some more blows passed, when Ward again got away. Acton already seemed tired and slow; indeed he had been following the new one to a very poor purpose. Ward put in a heavy hit under Acton’s right eye that produced the claret, then closed, and after some hitting both were down, Ward undermost. This round occupied eight minutes and a half, evidently to the disadvantage of Acton. (Eleven to four on Ward offered.)

2.—Acton could not stop Ward’s left. The latter put in several facers, and got away without receiving any return. In closing, Acton pummelled away, and both went down, Ward again undermost.

3.—Acton made play and put in a heavy one on Ward’s mug, but on endeavouring to repeat it, Ward stopped him neatly. Acton bored his opponent to the ropes, and, after a sharp struggle to obtain the throw, Ward got Acton down. (Shouts of applause for the new man.)

4.—This round decided the fight. Acton seemed to depend more on stopping than hitting, and Ward had it comparatively all his own way. He made a good right-handed hit, and again got away laughing. Acton also got nobbed right and left; but Ward following him to force the fighting, received some heavy hits that drew the claret from his nose. A pause, the men looking at each other. Ward made play and put in so severe a body blow as to make Acton drop his arms. In the close, Ward had also the best of it, and in going down Acton was undermost. (“It’s nearly over,” was the cry.)

5.—Acton came to the scratch staring. Ward put in two or three nobbers, and ran Acton to the ropes; but in the fall Ward was undermost.

6 and last.—Heavy counter-hits. Ward planted a severe blow on Acton’s left eye that made him wink again. The left hand of the former was repeatedly at work, and by a sharp blow on the left ear Acton was finally floored. When “Time” was called, he was deaf to it, and three or four minutes elapsed before he was able to get out of the ring. Time, fourteen minutes and a half.

REMARKS.—The science, activity, and quick hitting exhibited by Ward satisfied his backers, that, with a little more experience, he was calculated to make a noise in the milling world. Acton was too slow for his opponent.

Ward, who was now anxious to do business, challenged Jack Martin for £150; and in order to keep the game alive, after Josh. Hudson had defeated Barlow, at Harpenden Common, on the 10th of September, 1822, a subscription purse was entered into to give Ward another chance of showing off with Burke, of Woolwich, brother to the pugilist who fought with Jack Randall. After he had put on his clothes, Hudson went round the ring with his hat, and collected the needful. This fight lasted only seven minutes, it being rather a display of wrestling than milling on the part of Burke. The Woolwich hero was seconded by Tom Oliver and Abbot; Ward by Tom Shelton and Harry Holt. It was a mere gift to Jem.

Some meetings were afterwards held between the parties as to the weight of Ward, and he was eventually backed to fight Bill Abbot, for £50 a-side. And here it devolves upon us, as faithful biographers, to detail a circumstance in the life of our hero, over which we would fain draw a veil. In order that we may not identify ourselves with any party, we prefer giving the account of the matter as it was published at the time, leaving our readers to decide for themselves:—

Pugilism between Ward, the Black Diamond, and Abbot, the conqueror of Oliver, for £50 a-side, at Moulsey Hurst, on Tuesday, October 22, 1822.

An unusual degree of interest had been excited throughout the fancy, respecting the event of this battle, in consequence of the superior milling talents displayed by Ward in his fight with Acton, and also in his various exhibitions at the Fives Court, but more particularly in his set-to with Cy. Davis. At one o’clock, Abbot threw his hat into the ring, followed by Richmond and Josh. Hudson, as his seconds; and, in a few minutes afterwards, Ward attended by Eales and Tom Jones, made his appearance.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Both men appeared in fine condition; and a minute or two elapsed, when Ward hit short with his left hand; but he soon rectified this mistake, by nobbing his opponent, getting away, and laughing at him. In a close, both went down, but Ward had the throw.

2.—It was already seen that Abbot was a plaything in the hands of Ward, for he not only nobbed him with the utmost ease, but put in so severe a hit on the body that Abbot went back three yards, staggering, and must have fallen, had not the ropes prevented him. Abbot, however, returned to the charge, when the round was finished by Ward hitting him down. (Seven to four.)

3.—Ward, from his tapping, light play, was denominated the Chinaman; nevertheless, the head of his opponent was so much at his service that he kept pinking without getting any return. Abbot was severely thrown.

4.—The backers of Ward were in high glee—it was all right; and Abbot received another fall ready to burst him.

5.—Abbot received a severe hit, and fell on his knees.

6 to 8.—In all these rounds Abbot appeared perfectly stupid from the repeated conkers he received, and the severe falls he experienced. (Five and six to one.)

9 to 12.—Abbot was so much at a loss that his blows were thrown away; in fact, he had not the shadow of a chance. In the last round he received a tremendous cross-buttock.

13 to 17.—The whole of the minds of the amateurs were so much made up in consequence of the superior talents displayed by Ward, who did as he liked with his opponent, that ten to one was offered, but no takers.

18.—Abbot hit down, and the battle was considered all but over; so much so that Belcher left the ring to get his pigeon to convey the intelligence to town of the defeat of Abbot. On crossing the river at Hampton, the first party he met in a boat he asked who had won the battle. “Abbot,” was the reply. “Impossible!” said Belcher. He also inquired of another party. “Abbot,” was the answer. “It can’t be—you certainly must be mistaken,” rejoined the hero of the Castle. In the third boat he saw Abbot and his second, when he repeated his inquiries; and on being informed that Abbot was the winner, Tom replied, “I’m now satisfied,” and immediately sent up the pigeon, with Abbot’s name attached to it instead of Ward’s.

19.—At the conclusion of this round, Eales, observing something wrong in his man, called out to Ward’s backer, who immediately stepped into the ring, when Eales, with much indignation, observed, “Ward says he means to cut it this round, he shall lose it.” “No,” replied his backer.

20.—Ward now endeavoured to drop fighting, in order to give Abbot a chance; and actually, in an under tone, said to Abbot, “Now hit me.” When Eales remonstrated with him for such conduct, he observed, “I know my orders—I must not win it.” (A hundred to one on Ward.)

21.—Ward gave his opponent all the opportunity he could; but Abbot was so distressed that he could scarcely knock a fly off a leaf. Ward took care to go down.

22 and last.—Ward went down after a slight skirmish, and on being picked up and placed on his second’s knee, he smiled, but recollecting “his orders,” and for fear that Abbot should give in, he went off in a swoon, and when “Time” was called, he would not notice it till he thought proper to come to, and quit the ring.

REMARKS.—It is impossible to describe the consternation, as well as the indignation, expressed by the amateurs; so bare-faced a robbery was never before witnessed in the annals of pugilism. The umpire, when asked his opinion, replied, “He could not swear it was a cross; but he was quite satisfied there was wrong conduct somewhere.” The most honourable part of the sporting people declared they would not pay at present; and several gentlemen who had lost heavy stakes agreed to meet next evening at the One Tan, in Jermyn Street, in order to investigate the matter. Ward, on recovering from his swoon, made his way out of the ring, and in his eagerness to get across the water to Hampton, jumped with the utmost ease over some ropes.

Thus far the ring-reporter of the day. On Wednesday evening, October 23rd, a numerous meeting of sporting men took place at the One Tun, Jermyn Street, to investigate the suspicious circumstances connected with this affair, when, after hearing evidence, all bets were declared off, and a second meeting appointed at Tattersall’s, on Monday, November 4, 1822; on this occasion, after a great deal of chaffing and murmuring amongst the betters, the president of the Daffy Club, who held the stakes, offered the £50 a-side to each of the backers, but they refused the offer, and the president put the £100 into his pocket, and left the meeting. It was ultimately agreed that the matter should be laid before the Pugilistic Club and Mr. Jackson, and that their decision should be final; however, after considerable disputes upon the subject, the stakes were drawn, and the backers of Ward and Abbot agreed to receive £50 each.

We cannot help remarking here, that although it was proved beyond a doubt that Ward committed the cross above alluded to, there was also sufficient evidence to prove that it was more an error of the head than of the heart; for, on his being called upon for an explanation, at the meeting at the One Tun, in Jermyn Street, he burst into tears, hung down his head, and admitted it was a cross. He further stated that he had been instigated to commit it by his backer, who promised him £100 if he lost the fight. Eales, the second to Ward, also stated, “that towards the conclusion of the battle, he wished him to go in and win it, but was greatly surprised to hear Ward say he had his orders, and must not win the battle.” Towards the conclusion of the meeting, Tom Cribb came forward, and in a very animated manner said, that he had never done wrong in his life; that Ward was a deluded and ignorant young man; that he believed he had been led away, and that he had told the truth; as a proof of his opinion he should make him a present of a sovereign, which he did, several gentlemen present following his example.

Ward also addressed the following letter, publicly confessing his fault:—

“To the Editor of the WEEKLY DISPATCH.

“SIR,

“I trust you will excuse my obtruding upon you in requesting the insertion of a letter from me, whom I hope the sporting world will consider as much sinned against as sinning. My late fight with Abbot having given rise to much, I may say much merited animadversion, I hope in extenuation some consideration may be made for my inexperience in the world, and a too great reliance on those who have seduced and deceived me. Had I taken the advice of my trainer, in lieu of lending a too ready credence to the apparent friendly promises of my backer, I should not have to deplore the commitment of an act which has caused me the most bitter regret. I should be most happy, by way of retrieving in some degree the credit I have lost, to fight Abbot again for the present stakes. If I ask for too much in this, I am willing to meet him in the same ring with Hudson and Shelton, on the 19th instant, for a purse, or even for love.

“I am, Sir, with the greatest respect, “Your obliged servant “JAMES WARD.

“November 12, 1827.”

At this time Ward was considered completely defunct in the milling world; the P.C. expelled Jem from the use of their ropes, and it was the general opinion that he would never again be permitted to enter the prize ring. In fact, so strong was the feeling entertained against Ward, that, on a proposal being made shortly afterwards to back him for £100 against Barlow, the friends of the latter scouted the proposition, and said that he should not disgrace himself by contending with a man who had been expelled the P.C. ropes.

Ward now remained quiet for a short time, expressed his sorrow for his misconduct, and promised his friends to do all in his power to gain the confidence of the sporting world. It was not long before an event occurred which brought Ward again before the fancy, and which tended greatly to do away with the ill-feeling which existed against him. After the fight between Hall and Wynnes, at Wimbledon Common, on Tuesday, February 4, 1823, he entered the ring for a subscription prize of the value of £5. His opponent was White-headed Bob, then unknown to the London ring, but by no means a novice. This was a good battle, Ward finishing his man in twenty rounds, nineteen minutes.

The judges now pronounced Ward the best twelve stone man in the ring; and he, in order to reinstate himself in the good opinion of the amateurs, inserted three separate challenges in the Weekly Dispatch; but that not having the desired effect, he determined to rusticate for a few months. He therefore started on a sparring tour with two or three of his pals. Bath races was the first object. There a match was made between Rickens, a Bath man, and Jem Ward, for £20 a-side, and a subscription purse. The battle took place at Lansdown, on Friday, July 2, 1823, Ward winning it without a scratch on his face or body.

Jem and his pals pursued their excursion, and now determined upon astonishing the natives at Portsdown Fair. A sparring-booth was soon knocked up for the edification and instruction of the yokels, and the amusement of the younger branches of the “Green” family, who had never had an opportunity of witnessing a bout at the Fives Court, in which his companions gave their assistance. The Black Diamond (who showed himself a brilliant of the first water) did all he could to accommodate the numerous customers who wished for a taste of the mufflers. Much mirth was excited by a “Knight of the Rainbow,” whose length, weight, and vanity, led him to believe he could polish the Diamond. Jem’s mawley was constantly rap, tap, tapping on Johnny Trot’s frontispiece, and occasionally rung the bell of his ear, until poor Trot did not know whether he had his own hair or a wig on. “Why don’t you look?” says Jem; “and not wink your peepers in that way.” “Because,” says Sir Rainbow, “you play so sharp, and I’ll have no more on’t.”

Ward next went to Southampton races to fight a man of the name of Johnson, alias Jemmy the Black. The battle took place on Shirley Common, August 24, 1823, and Johnson was beaten to a stand-still in three rounds—time, seventeen minutes.

These victories induced our hero to think that he might now venture to show with a good grace in London; accordingly, at the Fives Court, in September, he informed the amateurs that a nobleman would back him against Josh. Hudson for £100 a-side. The match was made to take place at Moulsey Hurst. Ward’s peace was now considered to have been made with the fancy in general, who were anxious to witness the fine fighting of our hero, opposed to one of the highest-couraged boxers upon the list; but, unfortunately for Ward, on November 11, 1823, in the course of fifteen rounds, occupying thirty-five minutes, he was obliged to strike his colours to resolute Josh. (See Life of HUDSON).

This defeat was attributed by many to mere want of condition, and his friends readily came forward to back him for £100 a-side against Phil. Sampson, the Birmingham Youth.[37] On this occasion Sampson weighed twelve stone three pounds, height five feet ten and a-half inches; and Jem weighed but three pounds more, and was of equal stature. The match was therefore in these respects even. The battle took place on the 21st of June, at Colnbrook, in the same ring as that in which Barney Aaron and Arthur Mathewson had just decided their differences. Aby Belasco and Harry Harmer waited on Sampson: Tom Oliver and Tom Owen esquired Ward.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Ward stood with the left arm extended, and Sampson ready with both hands. Five minutes passed in sparring—attitudes of both beautiful. Sampson backed to the ropes. Ward threw out for a draw. Sampson returned and hit short. Sampson dropped, from a slip. No mischief.

2.—Sparring again. Sampson evidently afraid of his man. Ward let fly—stopped; again at the body—stopped. Sampson countered, and slipped half down. Ward stood over, made up to hit as he rose; but at the moment Sampson put his hand to the ground and saved his bones.

3.—Sampson began left and right. Ward broke away in gallant style, then countered upon him, and tapped the wine-vat. Sampson followed. Ward met him again. Sampson rolled down. (Three to one on Ward.)

4.—Sampson backed to the ropes, and made up for counter-hitting. Ward showed fine science to get at him. Sampson let fly; Ward stopped it, went to work, but Sampson dropped on his knees to avoid Ward’s wrestling.

5.—Ward closed on him, and played left and right on his head. He seemed to lay Sampson across his right hip, while he jobbed him with the left hand until Sampson slipped away and went down.

6.—Sampson made play, and got one hand on Ward’s left eye. Ward hit, and Sampson stopped well, and tried his long shots, but he could not make them tell; he then dropped. It was easy to tell how all this was to end.

7.—Ward made play—whack on the head at both sides, then at the wind. (“Well stopped, Sampson.”) Ward then hitting out plump, he knocked him down.

8.—Sampson, furious from punishment, was kept writhing, from the rapidity of Ward’s blows, up and down. Ward chopped him on the ear, under the chin, and as he pleased, the blood flowing in a broad stream. Sampson went down.

9.—Ward broke away from a desperate hit, and Sampson followed, giving the chance away. Ward met him, and closed for a fall, but Sampson again dropped. (Six to one on Ward.)

10.—Ward caught him in the wind. Sampson went away nearly doubled. A good rally. Ward unwise to stand it. Sampson made his right hand tell a trifle. A close, and open fighting again. Ward’s hand, darting like a viper’s tongue, scarified Sampson’s face all over. Ward aimed a settler. Sampson ducked and dropped.

11.—Ward chopped him over his guard on the ear, and then bang on the nose. Sampson, all blood and bluster, followed him like a savage. Ward played with him and dropped him easy.

12.—Ward hit him left and right. Sampson down in an instant.

13.—Sampson had no chance. Ward put all his fine fighting aside.

14.—Sampson got Ward into a wild rally. (“Softly, Ward. What are you at?”) A round hit sent him under, but he jumped up merrily without his second’s aid.

15.—Sampson made play, but Ward met him and knocked him clean down.

16.—This round was all in favour of Ward.

17.—Ward closed Sampson’s left eye, which blinked a little, and chopped his ear, while the blood flowed profusely. Sampson all abroad, looking sick and sorrowful. Down he goes again.

18.—Ward got away from some desperate body blows. Sparring a little. (“Fight, Jem!” on all sides.) Jem did fight, and threw his man like a plaything.

19.—Sampson hit out well, but Ward, all coolness, stopped him and dropped him.

20.—Sampson made play, but was at once felled by Ward.

21.—Sampson down again. Ward without a mark.

22.—Ward began—one, two, both on the head; three on the ribs. Sampson, nearly up, rushed for a chance. Ward stopped a mill from him.

For the next three rounds Sampson was brought up but to receive, and in the twenty-fifth round he gave in, after fighting fifty minutes.

REMARKS.—It was delightful to witness the fine tactics of Ward, who reminded the spectators of the renowned Jem Belcher. His winning so easily against a skilful boxer and hard hitter like Sampson was a great feather in his cap. He won his battle in a style seldom witnessed, without a scratch. Another report simply adds to its description, “Ward may be champion if he does the right thing. He is far the best big man out, as a natural fighter.”

Shortly after this Cannon beat Josh. Hudson (June 23rd, 1824), and as Josh, engaged Cannon for a second trial, Jem issued a challenge to fight Langan for £300 a-side. This was not accepted, and Ward put forth another challenge for the championship, in which we read,—“Having observed in the sporting journals a great deal about who is entitled to the championship—some saying it is Langan (who has retired), others that it belongs to Shelton; while Hudson and Cannon, who are about to fight a second time, have intimated that the winner of their battle will claim it,—I beg to inform the public that I will fight any man in England, Ireland, or Scotland, for £300 a-side; and if I do not meet with a customer in a month, I shall lay claim to the title myself.” This offer was not accepted; but his old antagonist, Phil. Sampson, soliciting a second meeting for £100 a-side, Ward cheerfully closed with the proposition, and a match was made to come off December 28th, 1824. In the interim Tom Cannon and Josh. Hudson had fought a second time, and Cannon had utterly crushed up his brave and broad-bottomed antagonist.

The second mill of Jem Ward and Sampson came off at Perry Lodge, on the estate of the Duke of Grafton, about four miles beyond Stony Stratford. The attendance of the London division was not large, but from the neighbouring counties the muster was numerous. The total of the whole assemblage is estimated by a contemporary chronicler at 5,000 at the least; and although heavy rain fell throughout the day, every spectator remained till the conclusion of the interesting contest. The men arrived upon the ground about half-past twelve; Paddington Jones again attended upon Ward, and had upon the same side, as his brother second, Tom Oliver, known till our own time as the Commissary of the P.R. Peter Crawley and a Birmingham Friend (not a Quaker) picked up Sampson. Both men were in excellent condition; Sampson, whose weight was nearly thirteen stone, is praised for “looking better than in their former encounter;” we suspect the lack of physiological judgment in the reporter here, and should say “there was too much of him.” Ward was twelve stone seven pounds. The betting was anything but brisk—Ward, the favourite; but his partisans were lukewarm, and the “hardware lads” wanted long odds.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The men were brought to the scratch at a quarter to one, and instantly threw themselves into position. Sampson’s manner was firm and imposing, and his looks betokened a determination to do his best. Ward gathered himself into as narrow a compass as possible, and, throwing his head and shoulders back, worked about his terrific left hand with an evident intention to bring it into action as speedily as circumstances would admit, while with his right he kept a steady guard. Sparring for a short time. Ward let fly his left, but was stopped. Sampson countered, but was stopped also. Sampson broke ground, but was again stopped, when Ward rushed to fight, and caught Sampson on the pudding-trap, rattling his grinders in a very musical manner. Sampson returned very slightly, and in a close, Ward was thrown, Sampson on him. Ward picked himself up and laughed.

2.—On coming to the scratch, Sampson showed first paint, from the larboard corner of his muzzle, but he was still firm and cheerful. Ward came up steady, and after a short manœuvre threw another chattering smack on Sampson’s gob with his right. Sampson rushed in to fight, but was well stopped. In the close, Sampson fell, and Ward close to him.

3.—All doubts of Ward’s meaning to win had now passed away, and two to one was offered freely upon him, but no takers. Sampson, anxious to go in, hit out at Ward’s nob, and caught him slightly. Ward was with him, and returned with interest. Sampson, not dismayed, went at him again, and caught him on the face. Ward fell from the slippery state of the ground, and the force of the blow.

4.—Ward stood for no ceremony, but delivered right and left on Sampson’s canister. Sampson rushed to a rally, but Ward got away with his customary activity. Ward then jumped in, was stopped at first, but repeating his effort, he hit Sampson on the auricular, and then dropped him by a blow on his frontispiece.

5.—Sampson came up rather open-mouthed, and a little worse for the paintbrush. Ward commenced fighting, hit out with his left, rather out of distance, and slipped. Sampson, anxious to take off Ward as he rose, rushed in. Ward, however, was quickly on his pins, and met his determined antagonist with a slight tap on his victualling office. Sampson, in getting away, fell outside the ropes. Ward stood up fresh and full of spirits.

6.—Good stops on both sides. An excellent rally followed, in which nozzlers were interchanged. Sampson, in getting away, fell on his nether end.

7.—Ward came up merry, and Sampson was not a whit less disposed for mischief. Sampson bored in, but Ward got away. The men came again to close quarters, when Sampson delivered a slight compliment on Ward’s snuffler. Ward fell on his knees.

8.—Ward delivered another unpleasant compliment on Sampson’s mouth. Sampson returned quickly. Ward rushed to in-fighting, when hits were interchanged, and Ward again fell on his knees. As this latter fall was supposed to have originated in the desire of Ward to escape punishment, there were some slight marks of disapprobation.

9.—Sampson came up game, although rather in the piping order. Ward, after a flourish, once more tapped him on the mouth, and got away. Sampson followed him up, and on going to in-fighting, Ward again slipped down.

10.—Ward busy rapping at Sampson’s ivories. Sampson rushed to rally, but two well-intentioned visitations to Ward’s nob were stopped, and Ward catching him round the neck, fibbed him severely. It was a ratti-tat-tat. Sampson fell, and Ward also slipped.

11.—Sampson came up blowing like Boreas. He was determined not to be idle, and went in right and left. Ward, cautious, caught the blows on his wrists as they were given, and, in retreating, Sampson dropped, through the slippery state of the ground.

12.—Ward again took the lead, and hit Sampson a terrific blow on the nose, which immediately entered into co-partnership with his mouth, in the claret line. Short sparring. A rally, in which blows were interchanged, and Ward fell, through a slip.

13.—Oliver was now in the highest spirits, and exclaimed he would lay ten to one that Ward would not get a black eye. Sampson came to work a little the worse for wear, and went in manfully to fight, but Ward stopped him with inimitable skill, and then rushing in, delivered facers left and right. Sampson fell on his back, and Ward fell on him.

14.—Sparring for a short time, when Ward again went to work with his left, and napped it slightly himself on the mouth from Sampson’s right. A spirited rally followed, in which Sampson received three flush hits on the nose and lips. Sampson received with the courage of a lion, and returned on Ward’s head; but Ward was with him again, and hit him down with a tremendous gobster.

15.—Sampson still preserved his game, and attempted to plant a left-handed lunge on Ward’s head. Ward parried the blow, rushed in, and delivered three times in succession on Sampson’s now disorganized physog. He then jumped away, followed by Sampson, who, on receiving another tap, went down.

16.—It was now manifest that, however well disposed Sampson might be to punish his man, he was unable to get at him, and his blows left but little impression, although we observed a slight tinge of claret from Ward’s proboscis. This was a short round; Ward, endeavouring to put in a body blow, over-reached himself, and fell on his hands and knees.

17.—Sampson put in a slight blow on the side of Ward’s head. Ward jumped back, but again returned to the charge, hit Sampson on the sore spot, threw him heavily, and fell upon him.

18.—Ward planted a severe blow on Sampson’s wind, again caught him a rap on the nose, closed, and threw him, adding his own weight to the impetus of the fall.

19.—Sampson came up boldly, although more cautious than heretofore. At last, on coming in, Ward hit him a terrific right-handed whack on his face, and floored him, in a twinkling.

20.—Sampson rather more on the standoff, from a deficiency of wind, and a consciousness that he was getting the worst of the in-fighting. Ward, not disposed to let him remain long in suspense, rushed and peppered his mug with great severity; and at length catching him round the neck, fibbed him with effect on the nut-crackers, and grassed him.

21.—Ward scarcely bore marks of the effects of his engagement,

“And had everything now, as Bill Gibbons would say— Like the bull in the china-shop—all his own way.”

Two to one was offered on Ward, but no takers; and the Brummagem, though no counterfeit, was evidently fast on the wane. Still he came up manfully, and in no way inclined to cry “enough.” Ward, with his customary caution, met Sampson as he came in, and fought at him with vigour; when Sampson fell, Ward on the top of him.

22.—Sampson came up groggy. Ward saw his situation, and rushed in. Sampson fell weak, Ward again on him.

23.—Sampson, although unsteady on his supporters, again went boldly up, when Ward floored him with a heavy spank on the throttle.

24.—Ward, as fresh as at the commencement, came up cool and collected. Sampson was almost stupefied. Ward tapped him on the snuff-box, and again downed him, falling upon him. It was thought it was all over, and Ward went to shake hands with his friends at the side of the ring. To the surprise of all, however, Phil. came again.

25.—Sampson tried a rush, and just reached Ward’s head. The latter laughed and popped in a right-hander on the body, when down went Sampson. Two more rounds took place, but they were all one way. Sampson, although the spirit was willing, had not the strength to carry out his intention, and at length, at the end of twenty-seven rounds, and thirty-seven minutes and a half, his friends took him away.

REMARKS.—The reporter adds: Ward, by the result of this battle, and the manner in which he conducted himself throughout, entitled himself to the approbation of the fancy, and we trust he will not now find any difficulty in obtaining backers against a more worthy opponent. We believe him to be the best fighter in the ring, and we know not with whom his chance of success would not be equal to his merits. With regard to Sampson, we should be unjust if we were not to say that he fought with a bravery and determination worthy of a better result. His confidence was certainly mistaken; but having done his best, his backers have nothing with which to charge him. He is a good man, though somewhat slow, and there are many men in the ring with whom he may be fairly matched; but with Ward, it was “Mr. Justice Burroughs’ wig to a farthing rushlight” against him.

This last conquest placed Ward upon “the topmost round of Fortune’s ladder.” He at once proposed to try his weight of metal and accuracy of aim against the “Great Gun of Windsor,” Tom Cannon, and thus he framed his—

“CHALLENGE FOR ONE THOUSAND POUNDS TO THOMAS CANNON.

“SIR,

“I am happy to inform you that my friends possess so much confidence in me that they have asked me, unsolicited on my part, to have ‘a shy’ for the championship of England. In consequence of this unexpected and very liberal support of my backers, I am enabled to dispute your self-elected right to the above title. My heart is in its proper place on the subject; my hands are ready to support my claim; and my legs are on the alert to perform their office, when called upon, in the hour of battle. It now only remains for you, Tom Cannon, to name your day to make a deposit; also the time when it will be most convenient for you to peel, and I to strip; and likewise the sum you will put down, to set the thing a-going. In order to show you that it is no bounce upon my part, and that the sporting world may not be baulked as to a mill between us, to obtain that pugilistic honour which Tom Cribb so nobly maintained for many years, Pierce Egan has authority from my friends to make a match on my behalf for £1,000. A letter addressed to P. E., 113, Strand, respecting your answer, the blunt will be fobbed out in a twinkling.

“Now, Tom, having made myself perfectly agreeable as to the terms of your challenge, and which I am sure, must also prove agreeable to your feelings (as I am well assured you fancy me as a customer), I have only to add that I sincerely wish you in good health, and likewise success in all your undertakings, except obtaining the honour of the championship. On that head I profess myself your rival; but if the chance of war should prove you the better man, the £1,000 will be awarded to you, without any grumbling on my part, and the proud title of champion into the bargain. Till then, Tom, I remain, with a couple of hands at your service,

“JAMES WARD.

“February 20, 1825.”

Ward felt highly delighted when the match was made between him and Cannon for £500 a-side.

We have now arrived at the mill which decided definitively Ward’s right to the championship. On the 26th of May, 1825, Tom Spring took a farewell benefit at the Fives Court, when he finally retired from the ring. After some excellent setting-to, Spring addressed the company, and took his leave of them in the character of a boxer; and in his address, he impressed, upon his brother pugilists the importance of integrity. He said this was the key-stone to their success, and without it they would find it impossible to preserve the respect or support of their patrons. In the course of the evening Tom Cannon, after a set-to with Tom Oliver, came forward and said that he could be backed to fight Jem Ward, who had challenged him, and would make the match for £500 a-side. He had promised Mr. Hayne, his backer, that he would never more enter the P.R., but that gentleman finding he was extremely anxious to fight Ward, had not only absolved him from his promise, but, as on former occasions, had consented to post the coal on his behalf. This declaration on behalf of Cannon was received with acclamations, and a friend of Ward’s at once intimated that he would attend at Tom Cribb’s, and make the match. During the same evening, Peter Crawley also advanced to the edge of the stage, and said he had intended to challenge Ward, but as Cannon had been beforehand with him, he would only put forward his claim to fight the winner. At the meeting at Old Tom Cribb’s, in Panton Street, articles were duly signed, and the men were sent into training, Cannon to Henley-on-Thames, and Ward to York. The meeting was fixed for the 19th July, 1825. As the day of battle approached, Cannon removed to Marlborough, and Ward to Stony Stratford. With regard to weight there was little difference, Cannon being twelve stone eight pounds, and Ward twelve stone three pounds.

The celebrity of the battle, combined with a second treat—between Dick Curtis and Warren—produced many competitors for the honour and profit of fixing the scene of action, and at length the inhabitants of Leamington and Warwick wrote and made a liberal offer to the men, if they would fight in their district. Freedom from interruption was guaranteed, and the combatants had the choice of the race-course, or an enclosed ground adjoining a factory, which would contain 10,000 persons, and to which no person could obtain admission without leave. The latter spot was fixed upon, and the bustle on the road and in the town was fully equal to that which was witnessed on the occasion of Cannon’s last fight with Josh. Hudson. Cannon, accompanied by Mr. Hayne, and some friends, arrived at Leamington on Sunday evening, but being refused admission to the principal hotel there, they adjourned to Warwick, from whence, after dinner, they moved to Stratford-on-Avon. Ward arrived at Warwick the same evening, and took up his quarters at the Hare and Hounds. Preparations commenced early on Monday morning, but before they had proceeded far, the Mayor of Warwick intimated an intention of spoiling the sport. He said it would be too much to permit two mills during one mayoralty in his bailiwick, or he would be called the “Fighting Mayor.” On enquiry it turned out he was influenced in his determination by the clamours of certain spoilers of sport who are always busy on such occasions. It was known that his worship was fond of the art pugilistic, and would not interfere of his own free will. It was represented to him that the fact of the mill coming off at Warwick would materially benefit the tradespeople of the town, and other good reasons for non-interference were also brought forward, but in vain, and at length it was determined, in order to be on the safe side, that two stages should be erected, one in the factory-yard originally selected, and one on a spot not far distant, which was beyond the jurisdiction of the mayor; and as it was still thought that his worship would not, in reality, prove “rumbunctious,” it was ordered that the men should meet at first in the factory-yard, and only resort to the second stage in the event of necessity.

The bustle in Warwick on Monday night was something extraordinary; every house in the town was crammed to suffocation. Some of the fancy, who had been to Stratford, returned with the intelligence that Cannon was in the highest condition and spirits, but still they were shy of backing him. What little was done was at five to four on Ward.

On the morning of fighting both stages were complete, and around that in the meadow beyond the jurisdiction of the mayor, wagons were placed for the spectators. These vehicles were not required in the factory-yard, in which there was ample accommodation for every one to see without difficulty. At ten o’clock the mayor, accompanied by other magistrates, intimated his final resolution that no fight should take place in the borough, and consequently there was no alternative but to take advantage of the second stage. Mr. Hayne arrived in the town at twelve o’clock, and with the friends of Ward, proceeded to choose umpires and a referee. Sir John Radford and Mr. Mann officiated in the former capacity, while Mr. Osbaldeston, “the Old Squire,” obligingly accepted the office of referee. After this ceremony, a little more betting occurred, at five to four on Ward, and then a general move took place to the scene of action, which was about a mile from the town, on the Birmingham road. By the time the men arrived, there were about 12,000 persons present, including an unusual number of the patrician class. The heat was intense, the thermometer standing at 91 degrees in the shade. By half-past twelve the men were on the ground; they were in first-rate condition, but both were affected by the heat. They quickly mounted the stage, which was similar in form to that on which Spring and Langan fought at Chichester. Cannon was seconded by Tom Spring and Tom Cribb, while Ward was valeted by Tom Oliver and Jack Randall. On peeling, both seemed thin, and Cannon appeared to have aged considerably since his last encounter, at least there was not that ruddy plumpness observable on former occasions. Ward was fair and sleek as a greyhound, but there was a slight rash on his body, produced, no doubt, by the heat. He smiled, and had an air of confidence, which put his friends in high spirits. The toss for corners was won by Cannon, who was, of course, placed with his back to the sun.

At the moment of setting-to, there was a general bustle, and some confusion in the crowd, but order was soon restored, and all eyes were fixed on the stage. The men were brought to the scratch at five minutes to one, and the seconds and bottle-holders retired to their corners.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Cannon came up as if determined to lose no time in going to work. The position of Ward was firm; he seemed armed at all points for defence. Cannon advanced towards his man, broke ground, and hit right and left. Ward stopped him, retreated, and smiled. Cannon followed him, when Ward let fly with his right, and caught Cannon over the eye, and drew first blood. Cannon still busy, came in, but was stopped with a left-handed hit in the throat, and a ruby tinge was again visible. A sharp rally followed, Ward retreating, stopping, and nobbing his man as he came in. At length they closed and, after a short struggle, went down together. (Cheers for Ward, who decidedly had the best of the round.)

2.—Cannon came up on the bustling system, and tried for an opening. Ward stopped him right and left, and, stepping backward a pace, jobbed him as he approached, with his right hand, over the left eye. Cannon, not dismayed, took this compliment kindly, and returned slightly on Jem’s cheek. A sharp rally followed, in which Cannon bustled to his man, and got to a close. Ward twisted his leg between the legs of Cannon, and threw him heavily, adding his own weight to the severity of the fall.

3.—On coming to the scratch, Ward let fly with his left; it was cleverly stopped by Cannon. Cannon then bored in, and Ward retired fighting. As he retreated he succeeded in putting in two facers, but was at length bored down at the rails, and Cannon fell over him. Ward had a lucky escape from his head coming in contact with the board which skirted the stage, in this round. Had this accident happened, in all probability his fate would have been decided. The chance of such injuries forms one of the strongest objections to stage-fighting.

4.—On coming up it was seen that Ward had not received a blow which left a mark. He smiled, and stood to his guard, while Cannon, all energy, rushed to the attack. Cannon made a right-handed hit, but Ward was awake, stopped it, and drew back. Cannon immediately rushed in, and after a short struggle both fell, Ward under.

5.—Cannon again endeavoured to take the lead, but Ward was too quick, and delivered several facers. Cannon, not discouraged, continued his assault in gallant style, and finally Ward, in endeavouring to escape a right-handed blow, slipped down on his hands. This was claimed by Spring as the first knock-down blow, but we did not view it in that light.

6.—Cannon renewed the bustling system, but fought wildly, and was evidently exhausting himself by his own exertions. He missed several well-intentioned blows, and as he followed his man he was met with a nozzler. A sharp rally followed, in which Ward received a severe blow on the side of the occiput, and finally slipped down close to the posts.

7.—Both came to the scratch panting. Cannon hit out right and left with great wildness. Ward retreated to the corner of the stage, and Cannon closed in to him. Ward met him as he advanced with a facer, but was unable to break away. In this situation they both stood for a few seconds. Ward fibbed slightly; when at length Cannon threw him heavily. (Shouts for Cannon; and a bet of £15 to £10 was taken by a good judge.)

8.—Both men were the worse for their efforts in the last round. The excessive heat of the sun seemed to oppress them, and, on coming to the scratch, Cannon, for the first time, sparred cautiously, while Ward waited for him open-mouthed. At last Cannon broke ground, and hit Ward under the ear. Jem retreated, but Cannon fought to a rally. In a close Ward put in a severe muzzler, threw Cannon a heavy fall, and at the same time dropped upon him.

9.—On Cannon being lifted to his second’s knee, the mischievous effects of the last fall were obvious; he appeared quite groggy, and was evidently much exhausted. On time being called, however, he came up to the scratch with his accustomed game. He lost no time in rushing to his man, but Ward stopped him with a tremendous blow on the side of his nut. Ward then retreated to a corner of the ring. Cannon followed him, and as it were fell into his arms. In this state they stood for some seconds, and both were apparently exhausted. Ward smiled, and attempted to fib, but his hand fell almost powerless. At length Cannon dropped nearly senseless, and Ward, unable to stand, fell upon him. It was now clear that the game was nearly up, and five to one was offered on Ward, but not taken.

10.—Cribb and Spring both exerted themselves to restore their man to animation, but he seemed quite stupefied, and came up reeling as if tipsy. Ward saw his advantage, and instantly came up, hit him right and left, on each side of the head, and on the nose, and the poor fellow dropped to rise no more. He was immediately lifted on his second’s knee, but was deaf to all encouragement. His head dropped powerless on his shoulder, and the carmine was seen trickling from his nose and mouth. Loud shouts of congratulation burst from Ward’s friends, and he walked to the side of the stage and shook hands with several of them. He afterwards approached Cannon, and took him by the hand, but the latter was insensible to his kindly feeling. Ward then descended from the stage, and mounting his straw tile, he was placed on a grey pony, and was conducted out of the ring in triumph. A surgeon who was on the ground mounted the stage and attended to Cannon, but a full half hour elapsed before his senses were restored, and he was then so weak that it became necessary to lift him into the carriage of Mr. Hayne, which was drawn up at the side of the stage to receive him. The fight lasted but ten minutes, and the amount of money which changed hands upon the result was immense.

REMARKS.—This battle afforded but little scope for observation, and still less in the way of a pugilistic treat to the amateurs who were present. Cannon, from the outset, pursued his bustling system, and seemed to think that upon that alone depended his chance of success. By his exertions in this way, however, from the excessive heat of the day, he only tended to expedite his defeat; and we have no hesitation in saying that his final overthrow was more occasioned by exhaustion than by punishment. In fact, on looking at him while in a senseless state, there appeared to be no very great severity in the blows which he had received. His principal injuries were to be attributed to his falls, which were certainly very heavy. Ward fought throughout with great steadiness, presence of mind, and caution, and may be said to have won without a scratch; but, like Cannon, we do not think he could have stood up much longer, notwithstanding the excellence of his condition. He had two severe falls, but received only one blow of any importance, which was under the left ear.

The friends of Ward, in the course of the evening, sent up a message to Mr. Hayne, at the Swan Hotel, that Ward should fight any man in England for £500 a-side. Spring, being present, immediately waited on Ward’s backers, at the Warwick Arms, and said Brown should fight Ward for the sum mentioned; but Brown was objected to on account of his weight. Spring then said he would fight Ward for £500 a-side, and come within a stone of Ward’s weight, and he would put down immediately a hundred sovereigns to make a deposit. This challenge was not accepted; when Spring observed, Langan should fight Ward for £500 a-side. However, after some conversation on the subject, the parties retired without making any match.

Harry Holt took a benefit at the Fives Court, on Friday, the 22nd of July, when Ward was introduced. Jem ascended the stage amidst loud approbation, followed by Harry Holt, who, in a neat, appropriate speech, introduced the belt, which was put round the body of Ward by Oliver. The belt consisted of the blue and crimson colours worn at the late fight, bound with the skin of a tiger. The clasp or buckle was made of highly-polished steel, encircled with emblematical designs, and in the middle of the clasp was a heart, worked with gold, on which was engraved the following inscription:—“This belt was presented to James Ward, at the Fives Court, St. Martin’s Street, Leicester Fields, on the 22nd of July, in commemoration of his scientific and manly conquest of Thomas Cannon, at Stanfield Park, Warwick, on the 19th of July, 1825. This battle, at the present time, entitles him to the high and distinguished appellation of the British Champion.” Ward had scarcely got the belt on, when he said to a friend with a smile, “I have got it, and I mean to keep it.” Ward, on meeting with Cannon, shook hands with him, and asked him how he felt himself. “Very well,” was the reply; “the heat licked me, Jem, and not the blows. The hits that passed between us could neither hurt you nor me, Jem.” “I feel rather stiffish,” observed Ward: “it was hot, indeed; and at one time I had no power to strike. They all talk of fighting me now; but I shall not enter the ring for twelve months. Let some of the big ones fight—Peter Crawley and Brown; but, Cannon, if you wish to fight me again, I will fight you when you like.” “I am very much obliged to you, Jem, for the preference; and if I can raise the blunt, you may depend upon it I will make another match.” Harry Holt returned thanks on the conclusion of his set-to with Ward; and the court was cleared.

A great muster of the heavy betters took place at Tattersall’s, on Monday, July 25, to receive and pay on the above milling event. Considerable surprise was manifested throughout the circle, when the following letters were read by the stakeholder:—

“DEAR SIR,—

“Mr. Hayne has desired me to request you will not deliver up the stakes of the fight between Cannon and Ward until the umpires and referee meet to decide the fairness of the battle.

“Yours, etc. “W. A. CARTER.

“Furnival’s Inn, July 25, 1825.”

* * * * *

“Furnival’s Inn, July 25, 1825.

“SIR,—

“In consequence of serious doubts expressed by Mr. Hayne of the character of the late fight between Thomas Cannon and James Ward, and those doubts having been confirmed by others, I feel it my duty as umpire on the part of Cannon, both for the sake of Mr. Hayne and the sporting world, to request that you will retain in your hands the stakes until a meeting shall have taken place between the umpire of Ward, the referee (Mr. Osbaldeston), and myself. The articles specify, ‘that the stakes are to be given up according to the award of the umpires and referee;’ and no award having been made on the spot, I am perhaps justified in begging this short delay. In the interim I shall expect that any evidence which can be produced to sustain Mr. Hayne’s doubts will be brought forward. By Monday next our decision will, no doubt, be accomplished.

“I have the honour to be, etc. “J. R.”

The delay required, “as to something wrong,” was objected to by almost every amateur present; it being asserted there was no necessity for time, as it was the general opinion that a squarer fight had never taken place in the annals of boxing. After some little argument in the subscription room on the subject, it was decided that, as the umpires and referee made no objection at the conclusion of the battle, Ward was entitled to the stakes, and the stakeholder had a right to give up the £1,000 to the backers of Ward. Cannon was present, and stated that he had lost the battle against his will; and, as he went £200 in the battle-money, he desired, at all events, that sum might be given up to Ward. An indemnity was offered to the stakeholder, should any legal proceedings be brought against him. The stakeholder, with much promptness, immediately gave up the stakes, to the satisfaction of all sporting men. In consequence of the decision of the stakeholder, some thousands of pounds changed masters in the course of an hour. The conduct of the stakeholder prevented shuffling in any part of the kingdom.

It was generally expected that Jem’s easy conquest of Tom Cannon would at once bring forward Peter Crawley, to redeem the promise he had made in print to make a match with the winner. Peter, however, remained silent; nor did he make any response when Ward issued a challenge to fight “any man in the world” for £200 or £300 a-side. It was at one time thought that a match would be made between Ward and Tom Spring—a “tiff” having taken place between the champions,—but when the thing was proposed Spring stated that he would not re-enter the ring, and Ward said he would not fight Spring unless the latter would confine himself to thirteen stone. No other claimant at this juncture appeared to dispute Ward’s title to the championship. Wishing to enjoy some retirement from milling, and, like a star belonging to another stage, to make good benefits in the provinces, he issued the following notice of his future intentions:—

“To the Editor of ‘PIERCE EGAN’S LIFE IN LONDON.’

“SIR,—

“It is my intention to start on a sparring tour for a few months. I beg you will do me the favour, through the medium of your journal, to inform those who have a wish to meet me in the P.R., that I shall not be at leisure for seven or eight months. In the interim, the various aspirants to the championship may contend with each other, and I shall be happy, at the expiration of the time specified, to accommodate the winner of the main.

“I am, Sir, yours respectfully, “JAMES WARD.

“Mulberry Tree, Commercial Road, July 26, 1825.”

In Bell’s Life of the 2nd of July, 1826, the turn-up with Sampson is stated to have been the result of a quarrel as to the division of the proceeds of some sparring exhibition given by the erewhile rivals at Norwich and elsewhere. It says: “Ten determined rounds were fought, in which as much mischief was done as in many of those fights which have cost a hundred miles trot to witness. The superiority of Ward was, however, conspicuous throughout. He met Sampson’s fierce rushes with coolness and scientific precision, drew his cork, and floored him in every assault. Sampson succeeded in planting some heavy facers, and was even with Ward in the claret way; but still he was overmatched, and although he proved himself no mean opponent, he was constrained, as he had been before, to knock under to one who may be fairly pronounced the most accomplished boxer of the age.”

In the same paper, of the following week, a letter from Sampson appears, denying the accuracy of the above account, and stating that it was not caused by a quarrel, but was the result of a mutual agreement to see which was the better man, and that it took place, with the gloves, at York. Sampson further affirmed that he had the best of it throughout, and that he intended again to enter the ring with Ward, when the public would have an opportunity of judging which was entitled to pre-eminence. This intention, luckily for the “Birmingham Youth,” he never carried out, for in two months after he made a match with Ned Neale, the Streatham Youth, an inferior boxer to Ward, by whom he was defeated in eleven rounds, occupying sixty-six minutes. (See Life of NED NEALE).

Seventeen months had elapsed, notwithstanding all his challenges and industry to get a job, before Ward met a customer in the person of Peter Crawley. During this period Jem was viewed as champion of England. The backers of Ward having consented that he should fight for £100 a-side, a match was made between them; and on Tuesday, January 2, 1827, the battle was decided upon Royston Heath, Cambridgeshire. In twenty-six minutes, occupying eleven rounds, the title of champion passed to Peter Crawley, as will be found in the memoir of Peter. The backers of Ward were so satisfied with his brave conduct, although in defeat, that at Holt’s benefit, two days after the fight, at the Tennis Court, they offered to make another match for £1,000. Peter, however, refused, said he would not fight any more, and left the championship open to those boxers who wished to fight for it.

In the same paper with the speech of Crawley at the Tennis Court appears a letter from Ward, in which, after regretting that Peter would not give him another chance, and declaring that to the accidental blow in the second round his defeat was attributable, he says, his friends will back him against any man in England for £200 to £300 a-side. He concludes by saying, “I still hold the champion’s belt, and certainly shall not resign it to any man who will not fight for it.”

On Tuesday, the 6th of January, 1827, Ward took a benefit at the Tennis Court, which was crowded by his patrons, who then bore testimony to their approbation of his manly conduct in his fight with Peter Crawley. Ward was anxious to get up a fight with Brown, of Bridgnorth, but as the latter would not come to the scratch under £500, for the present the match went off, Ward’s friends not being strong in the shiners to that extent. The challenge, however, was again sent by Brown, and accepted at the price by Ward, in May, but went off after much dispute on the point of fighting on a stage, Brown declining to fight on turf. To this Ward’s backers would not allow him to agree. Their objection was that a stage fight with so big a man would be such a manifest disadvantage to Ward, that it would be throwing away too great a chance. Brown, they urged, would fight all fifteen stone, while Ward would be twelve stone four pounds to twelve stone seven pounds; and it must be obvious that on a stage a heavier body propelled against a lighter must increase the danger to the latter, as the chances were that the lesser man would more frequently come in contact with the rails, planks, or skirting boards, and thus suffer twofold punishment from blows and contusions. At a meeting at Tom Cribb’s, in April, 1827, they said, “It was true that Ward himself had no objection to the stage, that he would as soon fight Brown there, or even in a saw-pit, and it was only to be lamented that Brown did not show a similar spirit. It was their duty to curb the natural and courageous impulses of Ward’s heart, and to mix up, on his behalf, prudence with valour. The stake to be fought for was not only great in a pecuniary point of view, but great in point of glory, for the winner would be champion of England. This was a prize of too much magnitude to be treated lightly, or to be risked without due foresight, and without equality in point of advantage.” Cribb, on the part of Brown, could not make the match except on the terms authorised by Brown himself, and therefore nothing was done. A long angry correspondence, not worth preserving, ensued, in the course of which Brown offered to stake £320 to Ward’s £300, if Ward would fight on a stage. Ward, on the other hand, offered to fight for £100 a-side on a stage, or for £300, or even £1,000 a-side, on turf. This was declined by Brown. Finally, the question of superiority was decided in another way. Phil. Sampson (thrice defeated by Ward), challenged Brown, and beat him, April 28, 1828, after forty-two hard-fought rounds in forty-nine minutes. This, in the judgment of those who can get “a line” by the comparison of performances, set at rest the question of the respective merits of Brown and Ward.

Bell’s Life remarks on this fight: “Brown turned out a blank in the wheel of fortune. His main dependence seems to be on bodily strength and a terrific hit with the right hand. These requisites may be fearful when opposed to a novice, but with a scientific professor they prove of little avail.” These remarks must convince any one that the big man of Bridgnorth would have proved a chopping-block for the skilful and ready Jem Ward.

An accident happened at this period which had nearly deprived the ring of Jem’s services. On the day after the battle on which Ned Neale (see Life of NEALE) a second time conquered Jem Burn (November 13, 1827), the defeated man took a benefit at the Tennis Court, Windmill Street. The principal sparring bout was between Ward and the gigantic Bob Burn. The fine science of Jem was greatly admired, and he jumped in and out, nobbing the big one with both hands till Bob was so hit to a stand-still as to hold on the rail for support. Another round was called for, when Jem drove Burn, hitting away rapidly; Burn’s back came forcibly against the rail of the stage, which broke, and he fell backwards to the floor of the Court. Jem, who was in the act of delivering, pitched after him head foremost, and every spectator feared a disastrous result. Jem, who was lying partly upon Burn, was first picked up. He was partially stunned by the fall, but soon recovered, and said that, except a sprained feeling in the back of his neck, and a barking of his shins over the lower rail which added to the ugliness of his descent, he was scarcely hurt. Burn escaped with even less injury—“a surprising fact,” says the reporter, “seeing he weighs sixteen stone. That neither man was killed, or had broken bones, is astonishing.”

We have seen Jem engaged in all sorts of correspondence with leading pugilists, especially Simon Byrne and Big Brown, when, at the beginning of 1828, a challenge appeared from the once-renowned Jack Carter, the “Lancashire Champion,” a former opponent of Tom Spring. Jem had been on a tour in Lancashire, and his Liverpool patrons testified their esteem by giving him a bumper-benefit at the Gothic Rooms, at the close of the year, and he, together with Dick Curtis, Young Dutch Sam, and Stockman, reaped a rare harvest in that metropolis of the north at the commencement of 1828. Being now in capital feather and high favour, he returned to London, and on Friday, the 28th of February, 1828, a strong muster of the fancy took place at the Castle Tavern, to witness the arrangements for the match between him and Jack Carter. Jem, who had come up from Liverpool to answer Carter’s challenge in person, and who looked extremely well, was early at the scratch, and was soon after joined by Carter. Jem said he was ready to post the pony forthwith, according to Carter’s proposition, to fight for a hundred; but Jack’s friend having, on reflection, backed out of his original pledge, and all of a sudden discovered that he liked Ward too well to lay his money against him, poor Jack was thrown on his beam end. In this dilemma he proposed to match himself for £50, and trust to fortune to enable him to get the goldfinches. Ward objected to fight for so small a sum, on the ground of its letting him down from that station in the ring which he had hitherto maintained. When being hard pressed, however, and entreated as a particular favour to oblige his customer, his good nature would not permit him to resist, and, to the satisfaction of all present, articles were drawn up and signed, by which it was agreed that the men should fight for £50 a-side, in a twenty-four feet roped ring, half-minute time, on the 27th of May, within a hundred miles of London. Ward then offered to fight Simon Byrne, of Glasgow, who had been “chaffy,” for £250 to £200, and after this took his departure for Liverpool, where he had at this period many staunch friends.

Carter had not fought since his battle with Spring, in 1819, and, at the time of his present match, was thirty-eight years of age. In this respect of course Ward had an immense advantage, his years only numbering twenty-seven. In height and weight Carter had the advantage, in the proportions of five feet eleven inches, and thirteen stone six pounds, against five feet nine inches and a half, and twelve stone seven pounds. In science Ward was known to be A1, and of course the odds in his favour were very considerable. The fight took place on Shepperton Range, on the 27th of May, 1828, in the presence of a large muster of the fancy. Ward was seconded by Phil. Sampson and Dick Curtis, and Carter by Tom Oliver and Young Dutch Sam. On stripping, Ward was in fine condition. Carter also was in robust health, but his corporation partook a little too much of civic importance.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Both men looked “unutterable things,” and each approached the other as if perfectly conscious he had his work to do. Ward worked his guard, and poised himself on his toes in his customary form, ready to let fly as an opportunity might offer. Carter stood erect, hands back on his breast, rather on the defensive than otherwise. Some time elapsed in mutual caution, Carter getting away, and keeping out of distance. At last, after nearly four minutes had elapsed, Carter threw out his left, but Ward was awake and stopped him. The blow was too short for effect. Twice did Carter try the same manœuvre, with as little success. Ward now crept in, and caught Carter with his right on the side of the head. Another little pause, when Ward again got in, and hit left and right. Carter now fought to a rally, but hit wildly, while Ward showed great quickness and tact in in-fighting, planting a heavy blow on Carter’s mouth with his left. Carter returned slightly on Ward’s cheek with his left, and in the close was thrown.

2.—More caution on the part of Carter, while Ward worked his left for a shy. Carter hit out with his left, but it was short, and stopped, as was another trial of the same sort. Ward now got within distance, planted his one, two, and three, and catching Carter round the neck with his left, hit up with fearful precision, gave him another deep cut on the lip, and floored him. (Five to one on Ward.)

3.—Carter came up bleeding from the lip, and flushed in the face. Jem was ready, and all on the tip-toe for mischief. Carter again tried his favourite left hand, but was prettily stopped. Jem made a feint; but, although Carter left himself open, he did not go in. Carter kept away for a time, and got away from a well-intentioned smack from Ward’s left, and smiled. At last Jem stood on no ceremony, but rushed in right and left, jobbing well on Carter’s nob. Carter fought with him, but wildly, and received a fresh visitation to his mouth. In the close for the fall, Carter was thrown over on his head.

4.—Each stopped a left-handed compliment. Carter at length went in left and right, in rather a scrambling manner and open-handed. Jem drew back and jobbed him severely on the mug. Carter caught him round the neck, but Jem was alive to his opportunity, and his in-fighting was excellent; he hit up well, and in the close threw Carter a beautiful cross-buttock, falling heavily upon him.

5.—Carter stopped Jem’s left with great quickness. Jem neatly rushed in with his one, two, and then drawing back, hit up in admirable style. Carter broke away, but Jem was with him, and counter-hits were exchanged. Jem now made himself up for execution, and having tried his right at Carter’s body, got to a rally, hammering away with all his might. Carter stood manfully to him, and popped in a good left-hander on the side of the nose. This roused Jem’s choler; he rattled in, delivering left and right, and hitting up. A long struggle ensued for the fall, during which Jem fibbed with great quickness. Carter got down, Ward falling easily upon him.

6.—Carter hit short at the body, and stopped Jem’s right and left with excellent precision. He then planted a slight blow on Jem’s nob. Jem, all alive, saw his opening, and hit away left and right with the rapidity of lightning, and the activity of a two-year old. His execution was wonderful, and Carter’s left eye was puffed to a close; still Jem peppered away, until at last Carter fell on his knees somewhat groggy.

7.—Carter came up game, but Jem gave him no time for reflection. He at once rushed to work, delivering with terrific precision, left and right. Carter was wild in his returns, and on closing was dropped.

8.—(Thirty to one on Ward.) Jem jobbed severely with his right, and then with his left, drawing more crimson. Carter fought manfully with him, but without precision. Jem was busy at in-fighting, and in getting away fell on his back, while Carter remained standing.

9.—Carter stopped Ward’s left and right with good science, but Ward was quick upon him, made a good left-handed job, and was ready to let fly, but Carter kept his distance. Carter made a good stop with his right, but left himself open, and Ward, alive at every point, went in to work left and right, and again hit up with wonderful rapidity. Carter fell on his knees, the claret visible from all parts of his face, his left eye completely dark.

10.—Carter came up strong on his legs, though winded, and stopped Jem’s left. Jem then closed for in-fighting, and hit as he liked with telling effect, and Carter was grassed without a hope.

11.—All in favour of Ward, who had it his own way and dropped his man, after he had hung for a short time on the ropes.

12.—Carter was not to be stalled off; he hit short with his left. Ward stopped a well-intentioned delivery, but in a second attempt he was not so successful, as he caught Carter’s left on the nose, and a slight effusion of blood followed. Jem now rushed in, and catching Carter round the neck, jobbed and hit up repeatedly. Carter’s arm got entangled in the ropes, and he tried to grapple Jem; but Jem was too leary, and continued to pepper him in the face till he fell.

13.—There was now a general cry for Carter to be taken away; but he would not have it, and again came up strong on his legs. He bored in wildly, and Ward jobbed him left and right in every direction. The deliveries were dreadful, and at length poor Jack was hit down.

14.—Carter came up in a melancholy plight. (Cries of “Take him away.”) Ward went in to finish, hitting left and right, and cutting away without leaving Carter the shadow of a shade of a chance. Carter down.

15.—(Renewed cries of “Take him away.”) Carter came up, and was immediately dropped.

16.—Jem delivered right and left, and hit Carter down weak and groggy.

17.—Spring and Peter Crawley, who were time-keepers, now entered the ring, and entreated Carter to give in, but he would not, and having received additional punishment, was dropped by a flush hit in the face. It was now clear that to prolong the fight would be inexcusable, and the referee entreated Carter to desist, as there was no chance in his favour. “Oh!” said the gallant fellow, “I can foight longer yet; there’s nought the matter with me.” The primâ facie evidence of the contrary was so obvious, however, that his seconds being convinced it would be inhuman to suffer him to be further exposed to the severity of Ward’s hitting, gave in for him, to the general satisfaction of the spectators, who, although they could not but admire Carter’s game, felt that the seconds performed their duty in the humane course they had adopted. The fight lasted thirty-two minutes, and Ward, on shaking hands with his vanquished opponent, generously forewent a claim to a purse of £5 3_s._ 6_d._, which had been collected previous to the fight. Such was the favourable impression which Carter’s conduct had made in the ring, too, that a further subscription was made, which increased the original sum to £16.

REMARKS.—Few remarks are necessary where the moves were all one way. Ward had the lead throughout, and may be said to have won without a scratch; in fact, we do not think he ever had an easier, but we must add, a gamer customer. Youth and science completely served age, and poor Jack showed that in matching himself with such a man as Ward he had suffered his imagination to get the better of his judgment. His punishment was entirely about the head, and he walked from the ring with great firmness, being still quite steady on his legs, a proof that he had paid every attention to his training.

Some few months after his defeat of Carter, Simon Byrne, then “Irish Champion,” challenged Ward to fight upon a stage. To this Ward’s friends could not consent, contending that a champion was not bound to grant any unusual terms to his challengers, and that the modern and fairest practice was to fight on turf. After some correspondence, Ward gave way, and a match was made, to come off on the 8th of September, but went off by a default of Simon’s backers, who forfeited £50 to Ward. A second match was made at Tom Spring’s, on the 1st of October, to fight on a stage for £150 a-side, on the first Tuesday in February, 1829. This also went off, and a third was made for £100, to be decided on March 10, 1829, Byrne consenting to Ward’s terms. This event proved another shadow on Jem’s career, which, were we not honest chroniclers, we would have omitted, as other biographers have done. By this suppressio veri, however, men’s lives cease to “point a moral,” however they may “adorn a tale.”

The 10th of March, 1829, arrived in due course, being nearly one year from the first challenge. We will not trust our own pen on this occasion, but rather give the account fresh and fiery as it came forth at that period.[38] It is headed thus:—

“HOAX UPON THE FANCY.—JEM WARD AND SIMON BYRNE.—DISGRACEFUL SCENE AT LEICESTER.

“Our readers are all aware that the fight between Jem Ward (the champion of England) and Simon Byrne (the champion of Ireland, although acting under Scotch auspices, for he was generously backed by certain liberals at Greenock) was fixed to take place on Tuesday last, at the Cricket Ground, Leicester. It would be tedious to recall to the recollection of our readers all the ‘fine spun’ correspondence which preceded this match, or to reiterate the terms of abuse in which each man addressed his opponent. It ought not to be forgotten that Ward, or his friends for him, assumed the title of ‘Champion of England,’ and that the would-be Champion of England—the most accomplished boxer of the age, and the darling of the East—was publicly charged by Irish Byrne with being a coward! To the honour of the British ring this could not be endured, and, at last, out came Ward’s friends to back him for £150. We pass by the disinclination of the Wardites to go towards Glasgow, and the spirit with which Byrne conceded, and agreed to fight within a hundred miles of London; but we cannot forget the avidity with which Ward’s friends grasped a forfeit of £50, because Byrne’s deposit came a day too late, nor avoid contrasting the conduct of the northern fancy with that of those of the south, by reminding our readers that the distinct request of Byrne’s friends was, that no such advantage should be taken of Ward. Suffice it to say that, after the forfeit of £50, the match was renewed for £100 a-side, and that Jem went into training, determined, as he said, and his real friends anticipated, on taking ample vengeance on the bouncing Patlander, who had dared to brand him with the epithet of coward. Indeed, so strong was the provocation that, many of Ward’s admirers looked on nothing more certain than that, in the very first round, Byrne would have been burst like a mealy potato.

“The morning of Monday was ushered in by much bustle at Leicester. The Fair Play Club, Tom Oliver, the commissary of the ring and his suite, the élite of the fancy, and the most distinguished amateurs thronged the streets. Other matches were made, and all appeared in high spirits; ‘but,’ says Mr. Vincent Dowling, ‘during all these scenes, we were surprised to observe the apathy which prevailed in the betting circles: scarcely a bet was offered, and nothing less than five to two on Ward would be taken, while few seemed disposed to risk such odds. There was, in truth, a mysterious backwardness on all hands, which we could not comprehend.’

“The morning of Tuesday at last broke, and a finer day was never witnessed at this season of the year. Every hour brought fresh accessions to the visitors in the town, and horsemen and carriages came rattling in from every point of the compass. Among the former were most of the distinguished members of the hunts in the neighbourhood of Melton Mowbray, whose scarlet costume and high-mettled cattle as they dashed through the streets gave a sporting feature to the assemblage peculiarly in character. The bustle and crowd in Leicester increased to a ferment: hundreds were assembled in front of the sporting houses. All calculated on a glorious day’s sport, and in turn ventured an opinion on the merits of the combatants; but still scarcely a betting man would open his mouth, either to offer or take the odds on the event.

“The Fair Play Club’s ropes and stakes were pitched by Tom Oliver, and a capital ring formed in the cricket ground. Anxiety now prevailed for the arrival of the men; that on the part of Ward was soon dissipated by his entering from a gate at the lower end of the ground in a carriage drawn by four horses. He alighted amidst the congratulations of his friends, and was conducted to the house of a private gentleman, which opened by a back way to the cricket ground. Simon Byrne arrived at an early hour in a fly with Tom Reynolds, and was soon attended by Tom Spring, who had agreed to act as his second.

“An interference on the part of the magistrates disturbed at this time the arrangements of the ring, and Tom Oliver took up the stakes and toddled to Humberston, within ten miles of Leicester. At the same time that Oliver received his directions, the post-boys of Ward’s carriage were also desired to draw up to the door, for the purpose of taking him to the ground. So far not a hint had escaped that any impediment existed to the fair decision of the fight according to the articles.

“During all these arrangements a number of gentlemen, and several persons connected with the betting circles, were congregated as a sort of council in a garden behind the house in which Ward was. In this garden was a privy, and to this privy Ward was seen to proceed, attended by Peter Crawley, who seemed to keep a steady eye on his motions. We spoke to him as he came out: he said he was very well, and again returned to the house. Shortly after this Crawley came forth by himself, and a consultation of a private nature took place between him, the gentleman who brought Ward down, and one or two other persons, which ended in Spring, the stakeholder, and the reporters of the London papers, being called into a private room. Peter Crawley now said he could no longer withhold the fact that Ward was unfit to fight, and had determined not to enter the ring that day. Had a thunder-bolt burst among the auditors it could not have produced more astonishment or dismay than this declaration. Crawley went on to say that Ward had told him he had passed a pint of blood on his last visit to the garden. To this all were disinclined to give credit, and Crawley, who saw he was on tender ground, did not persevere in this assertion, but remarked he was sure something was wrong, and that, in fact, Ward could not win the fight on the one hand, and would not lose it on the other, from a sense of duty to those gentlemen who had behaved so kindly to him. He then talked of some message which Ward had received on the previous day, the nature of which he did not know, and in fact spoke so undecidedly that no clear understanding could be formed on the subject. Ward was then called in and interrogated, when he repeated Crawley’s story of the blood, and said he was not fit to fight for twopence. He denied having received or having been promised any money to lose the fight, but said he knew some of his friends would lose thousands by the result, and he thought it was better not to put either his backers on the one hand, or those who had taken the odds on the other, in jeopardy. It was in vain to endeavour to elicit more: all he added was, that ‘he could not win, and would not lose.’ As the only alternative, it was then determined by his backers that he should forfeit the money down.

“Thus ended this extraordinary bubble. Ward was left to the enjoyment of his brandy and water; and those who had an interest in the remaining sports of the day set out for the ring, around which twelve or fourteen thousand persons of all degrees had already assembled, including at least two thousand horsemen, all of whom, being ignorant of Ward’s conduct, were anxiously awaiting his arrival. Upon this affair observation would be superfluous, as all must agree that it admits of no apology, although Ward, having got himself into the hobble, perhaps did that which, under the circumstances, was best. It was a question with him, too, whether he would have been permitted to lose the fight, for there was a party present who were backing him, and who, their suspicions being aroused, would not have failed to manifest their feelings by acts of violence.”

Thus far the leading sporting paper of the time. Heavy was the visitation on Ward for his misconduct from all quarters. His backers left him, his friends forsook him, the Fair Play Club expunged his name from their list, and the supporters of the ring, to a man, turned their backs upon him. His name was never heard until the August of the same year, when a gentleman proposed to back an anonymous person against Byrne for £500 a-side. The challenge was accepted by Byrne’s friends, but they barred Ward; and as the party alluded to turned out to be Ward, the challenge went off amidst groans and hootings. Byrne, however, got “chaffy,” and offered to have a turn-up with Ward wherever he met him, for love, not for money. Ward, in reply, insisted on fighting for a sum, and Byrne retorted by an historical sketch of Ward’s conduct and character, not in the brightest colours, concluding with a threat to “treat him as a street ruffian” whenever he met him.

This nettled Jem so excessively that he answered in a letter from Southampton, and offered to fight guineas to pounds, and as Byrne objected to meet him in the ring, he said, in conclusion, “I will fight him in a saw-pit or on the outside of a coach.” More letters of the same kind followed in their turn, Byrne still taunting Ward, but declining to meet him in the ring. Ward now found a strong advocate in a party who wrote under the signature of an “Old Patron of the Ring,” and public opinion took a slight turn in his favour.

On St. Patrick’s day, 1830, Simon Byrne had a benefit at the Tennis Court, and took the opportunity, being in high spirits and excellent humour, to propose a fight with Ward. The challenge was eagerly accepted, and the men met the next evening at the Castle to “post the coal” and settle the preliminaries. Ward and Byrne shook hands and took a drop together to make things right, after which it was agreed that the match should be made for £200 a-side. A previous battle between Byrne and M’Kay coming in the way, it was agreed that Jem and Simon should have their grand turn-up four months afterwards. The second deposit was made good on the Friday following, when Ward expressed great anxiety to prove, by his conduct in this contest, his wish to secure the respect and confidence of the sporting world.

The fatal fight between M’Kay and Simon Byrne came off on Wednesday, the 2nd of June, and terminated in the defeat and death of poor Sandy M’Kay, and the consequent arrest of Byrne. The following Wednesday had been appointed for making the third deposit on the match between Ward and Byrne. The friends of both parties attended with the money, but Simon’s backers suggested that the stakes should be drawn, as it was not decent to carry on arrangements for another fight while one pugilist was lying dead, and the victor, a party to the present match, in prison on a charge of manslaughter. Ward’s friend, however, claimed forfeit if the cash was not put down, and Simon’s party thereupon paid up the deposit, the match still standing for October the 5th. Ward, however, in the next week, despite his greedy adviser, agreed to withdraw the stakes, receiving £10 for his trouble, and the match was altogether off, thereby, as was said at the time, obtaining by his conduct the approbation of every honest man. Simon Byrne stood his trial, was acquitted, and duly feasted and dinnered by the sporting world. Ward renewed the challenge immediately for £100, but £200 was required by Byrne, and much ink-shedding, but no battle, ensued. Pugilistic protocols again passed between the parties, but still, as Byrne wanted £200, and Ward could not get it, the fight was as far off as ever, and thus ended the year 1830, Ward having now rested three years without a round.

At last, however, but not without another preliminary misunderstanding, the match which “did come off” was made at the Castle, Holborn, on Tuesday, March 17, 1831 (St. Patrick’s Day). The tin was posted, the articles formulated and signed, and the whereabouts fixed. Ward was to fight Byrne in a twenty-four feet ring, half-minute time, for £200 a-side, on Tuesday, the 12th of July, within a hundred miles of London, on the road to Liverpool. There was a clause, that if any money should be offered for the honour of the combat it should be equally divided between the men. Such an offer was made from Warwick to the amount of £60, and accepted; and, in consequence, the men received orders to shape their course in that direction—Ward from Liverpool, where he had taken his exercise, and Byrne from Norwood, where, under the surveillance of Ned Neale, he had taken some degree of training. That he had not done sufficient work, the following remarks, taken from Bell’s Life in London, will sufficiently show:—

“Both men were far beyond their weight when the match was made, topping, perhaps, not less than fifteen stone each, and to the reduction of this Ward immediately applied himself, by constant exercise; while Byrne remained in Ireland till within six weeks of the day of action, without taking any steps to qualify himself for the important task he had in view, and at that time arrived in London with all his work before him. That this was imprudent no judge will deny, and the consequence was, that a week before fighting he was full a stone heavier than he ought to have been; and even on the Thursday previous to entering the ring he took a sweat, which reduced the strength he then possessed and gave a shock to his system which common prudence should have induced him to avoid. On Sunday also he got drenched to the skin in a shower of rain, and caught a cold, from the effects of which he laboured on entering the ring. Ward, on the contrary, neglected nothing which either sense or judgment could dictate, and could not have been in better trim. We state these things as matters of fact, forming some apology in the minds of Byrne’s friends for his defeat; but we have no hesitation in saying, had he been as well as skill and strict training could make him, he would have had no chance against the matchless tactics of his antagonist, who fully realized the high opinion that had been formed of him.”

It being known that Warwick was the fixture, an extraordinary number of patrons of milling betook themselves to that celebrated fistic locality several days before that appointed for the contest. On the Saturday, however, a meeting of “beaks” took place, at which it was resolved to stay proceedings, either in the town or county, and a polite justice called upon Tom Spring, who was in attendance on Byrne, to inform him of the determination of those in authority. It being clear that their worships were in earnest, a council of war was held, when it was determined that as the inhabitants of Warwick had given the men £60, the affair should be settled as near as possible to the town, without infringing upon the bailiwick of those who had interfered. Accordingly the neighbourhood of Stratford-on-Avon, a very few miles distant, was selected, and in a field at Willeycutt an admirable ring was formed by Tom Oliver and his then assistant, the renowned Frosty-faced Fogo. There was a good gate to the field, at which a considerable sum was collected. As it was not known in London and elsewhere that Warwick had been tabooed, that town, despite the officiousness of the “blues,” reaped considerable benefit from the mill, since almost all the cognoscenti betook themselves thither on the Saturday and Monday, and sojourned there until the morning of fighting. This was exceedingly fortunate for the inhabitants, who were thus in some degree enabled to repay themselves the sum they had disbursed to induce the men to come into their district. The interest was not quite so strong as it had been on the occasion of the fights between Cannon and Hudson, and Ward and Cannon, but still the muster was very great, and on the morning there was such a demand for vehicles as far exceeded the supply; in fact so great was it that poor Simon Byrne was compelled to proceed to the ground in a mourning coach, which was looked upon by the superstitious as a most decided ill omen. The morning was anything but favourable for milling: the rain descended in torrents from an early hour until twelve o’clock, soaking many of the “toddlers” to the skin. Happily, however, at this period the clouds disappeared, and left the sky free from speck, a change which had an immediate effect in raising the spirits of the company.

At five minutes past one o’clock, Ward, attended by Harry Holt and Peter Crawley, flung his castor into the ring amidst the deafening cheers of his friends. The brave Irishman was not long after him, and on entering the arena, attended by Spring and Tom Reynolds, he also received a warm welcome. The betting at this time was £300 to £200 on Ward. On the latter being completely unshelled, he looked in admirable condition. His countenance was clear and healthful, and his eye bright and playful; his deep chest and broad shoulders gave him the appearance of prodigious strength, while the general symmetry of his person presented a fine study for the anatomist. He had evidently paid great attention to his training, for, despite the immense reduction he had undergone—from fifteen stone to twelve stone eight pounds—his vigour and muscle were unimpaired.

On turning to Byrne there was a wide contrast. He was heavier than Ward by a stone; but this bulk was more to his prejudice than in his favour, for it threw a shade of sluggishness over his form that forbad the impression of active vigour: the fat hung in loose collops over his drawers, and his full habit of body showed that he was not the thing; still he assumed an air of confidence, and prepared for action with a smiling mug.

The men and their seconds having crossed mawleys, and umpires and a referee having been selected, the heroes were left at the scratch to commence—

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Both men stood on their guard, eyeing each other with steadiness, and each waiting for the other to commence. Byrne made a slight dodge with his left, but Ward was prepared. Byrne held his right low, and his left ready for a counter-hit. Ward made a feint with his left; Byrne drew back alarmed. Ward now covered his man in good style, and gradually drove him back to the corner of the ring. Byrne was ready for the assault, when Ward, quickly playing with his right and left, rushed in to hit. Byrne stopped the blows and closed, when both tried the fibbing system. Byrne hit up slightly, and Ward caught him on the mouth. In the close and try for the fall both went down, and on rising Byrne showed first blood from a slight scratch under the nether lip. Shouts for Ward, who showed a slight flush on the chin and right ear.

2.—Ward came up all life and smiling. Byrne steady on his guard, his right still low, and his left ready for countering. Jem made play to try his man. Byrne again gradually retreated to the corner, when Jem made himself up for mischief, rattled in, and planted his left on Byrne’s mouth. A short rally followed, in which Ward had the advantage; and in the close Byrne went down to avoid in-fighting.

3.—No great harm done on either side. The friends of Ward on the chaffing system, and exclamations of “We want no Irishman for champion.” Byrne’s friends called on him to be leary; he smiled, and said, “don’t bother me.” Ward stretched out his left and nearly reached Byrne’s face, but Byrne still kept his right down. “He’ll stand it,” cried Dick Curtis, when counters were exchanged from the left. Ward stopped Simon’s blow, but popped in his own. A short rally, in which Ward stopped beautifully, and closed. Byrne would not have it, and got down.

4.—Ward made a feint with his left. Byrne steady on his guard, but made no attempt to commence fighting. Ward again made play, left and right, and darting in, planted his left on Byrne’s mug. In the counter-hitting which followed, Byrne was too short, and his right no use. He caught it again on his muzzle, and fell on his knees. Ward hit up with his right as he was going down, and Byrne showed more claret from his mouth.

5.—Cheers for Ward, who evidently out-fought his man; and Byrne gave symptoms of timidity, his legs trembling under him. Ward again made a feint with his left, and Byrne drew back. Ward smiled. Byrne tried his left, but was stopped with great precision. He then hit round with his right, but Ward caught it on his shoulder, and got away laughing. Counter-hits with the left, Ward getting home first, and drawing more blood from Simon’s mouth. Byrne’s left was short of its mark. Ward again planted his left and rushed to in-fighting. Byrne was confused, and went down amidst cries of “Stand up and fight like a man.”

6.—Jem exhibited his generalship in fine style, and Byrne could make nothing of him. Again did Ward pop in his left on Byrne’s nose, and got away. A sharp rally, in which both stopped well. In getting away, Ward fell on his knees, but was up in a moment and at it again; popped in his left twice in succession on the old spot. Byrne weak on his legs; Ward all alive. In the close, Byrne down, amidst renewed cries of “Cur!” Byrne saw he had no chance in the close, and was coming the cautious.

7.—It was clear Byrne could not hit his man, who was always so well covered as to render assault dangerous. Byrne looked bothered, and was evidently alarmed for the result. The ruby was flowing from his nose and mouth. He stopped Ward’s left cleverly, and tried his right on Ward’s canister, but Ward caught it on his shoulder, which he threw up so as to cover his lug. Jem jobbed twice in succession with his left. Byrne’s left, in attempting to counter, fell short. Jem stopped right and left. Byrne open-mouthed. Jem again busy with his left. A rally, in which slight hits were exchanged right and left, and Jem fell on his inexpressibles. The first knock-down blow was here claimed for Byrne, but disputed. The referee, we understand, pronounced it a knock-down.

8.—At the commencement of this round a wag let go a crow from a bag, which flew across the ring. Some cried “a pigeon,” others “a crow,” and a Hibernian praty-dealer exclaimed, “Oh, by Jabers, you’re not going to crow over us neither.” Loud laughter from all parts of the ring. Ward stopped a left-handed compliment, and smiled; he then popped in a left-handed snorter; but Byrne, in return, caught him a heavy body blow with his right. Ward popped in his left twice in smashing style, and in a third visitation of the same sort hit Byrne down. This was proclaimed a decided knock-down blow.

9.—Byrne weak, and bleeding profusely. Ward jobbed him with his left several times in succession with great severity. Byrne, still game, tried to plant his left and right, but was beautifully stopped. A rally, in which Ward, busy as a bee, planted right and left, hit up with his left, and, as Byrne was going down, caught him across the throat with his right, and dropped him on his seat of honour.

10.—The fight had now lasted twenty-eight minutes, and Jem had not a mark visible, save on the chin, and a trifling effusion of blood from the gums. Byrne tried his right, but Jem up shoulder and stopped him. Jem now made play, and in went his left at the mouth and nose and no mistake. Byrne tried to return, but was stopped, and in the close Byrne went down weak.

11.—Jem walked strong from his second’s knee. Byrne tried his right at the mark, but Jem caught it on his elbow, and Byrne having dropped his head, he caught him cleverly an upper-cut as he recovered himself. Byrne was broken-hearted from the scientific way in which he was stopped, but again tried a rally, in which he received pepper left and right, and in the close went down weak. (Cries of “Byrne, you’re a game fellow, but you haven’t a chance.”) This was obvious, but still Byrne’s friends looked forward to Ward becoming weak.

12.—The punishment had been heretofore all on Byrne’s mouth and nose, and they continued to bleed freely. Ward caught a visitation on his mouth, amidst cries of “Well done, Byrne.” A rally, in which Byrne missed his hits, but received on the nose, and went down by the ropes.

13.—Ward ready, and determined not to throw a chance away. Byrne tried a body blow, but was stopped, receiving in return a smasher on the nose—more claret. Jem’s shoulder again shielded his lug from a visitation. Counter-hits: Ward’s told first, and Byrne’s was stopped. Byrne rushed in; Ward hit up heavily, but missed, and Byrne went down.

14.—Thirty-three minutes had now elapsed, and Jem showed slight symptoms of fatigue. (“Take your time,” cried his seconds, “the day is long, and you must win without a scratch.”) Byrne appeared to have got his second wind, and went in with spirit, but was stopped right and left. Ward was busy with his left, and again stopped a right-hander with his shoulder. A short rally, in which Byrne was unable to plant a blow, but was hit down with a flush hit from the left. (Twenty to one on Ward, which Neale offered to take, but no go.)

15.—Ward made a feint with his left, and the next instant popped it in in good earnest. Counter-hitting. Byrne could not get home, and had it smartly on his mouth. Several left-handed jobs, and a dreadful upper-cut from Jem, when Byrne went down groggy.

16.—Byrne tried, the left at the body, but missed, and went down without a blow.

17.—Jem jobbed twice with his left, and got away. Byrne’s hits were well meant, but out of distance. Byrne received an upper-cut from the left, and went down.

18.—Ward, all confidence, had recovered his temporary weakness. Byrne tried his left, but was stopped. Jem, after his feint, popped in his left three times, and Byrne was dropped.

19.—Counter-hitting with the left. Ward’s blows told, but Byrne’s were short. Jem stopped right and left, and got away. Byrne was completely puzzled, and did not know what to be at. Jem tipped him a left-hander. Byrne once more tried the right, but Jem’s shoulder was in the way, and he laughed at the impotent attempt. A rally, which ended in Byrne being hit down by Ward’s right.

20.—One hour had now elapsed. Ward was as fresh as a kitten, completely belying the rumour that he could not stand forty-five minutes. Poor Byrne received several severe jobbers, and went down.

21.—Things were now apparently fast drawing to a close. Ward did as he liked, hitting left and right. Byrne down.

22.—It was now admitted on all sides that Byrne showed game. He would not be taken away; and after receiving additional jobbers, was hit down, catching the upper-cut as he fell. (“Take him away,” was the general cry.)

23.—Byrne made a bold effort to get a turn in his favour, and rushed to a rally, but his opponent was too good a general, stopping him at all points, and returning with great severity; in the end hitting him down with a sweeping blow from the left.

24.—Jem tapped his man with his left. Byrne nodded, showing that he was still in hopes. Byrne made play with unexpected vigour, but Jem out-generalled him, popped in his left-hand teazer, and dropped him.

25.—A guinea to sixpence on Ward. Byrne made a desperate effort, and left-handed counters were exchanged, Byrne catching Ward on the throat. (Cheers for Byrne, and the Wardites astonished.) Byrne fought away, and gave Ward his work to stop him. He at last fell from a left-handed nobber.

26.—Byrne rather exhausted by his exertions in the last round, but still determined to do his best. Hits were exchanged—slight on the part of Byrne, but heavy from Ward; and in going down, poor Byrne received a heavy upper-cut.

27.—Ward’s friends again up in the stirrups, twenty to one going a begging. Ward ready at all points and full of confidence. Byrne a heavy receiver, and hit down with a flush tap in the mouth.

28.—Ward, fresh and jolly, hit with his left twice. Byrne bored in, and tumbled Ward down at the ropes, falling upon him.

29.—One hour and ten minutes had now elapsed, and Ward, instead of getting weaker, gained strength, showing the excellence of his condition. Byrne got away from a left-handed finisher. In a new attempt he was caught. He popped in his left at Ward’s bread-basket, but as he went down had a left-handed upper-cut.

30.—Counter-hits with the left on the mouth; both told, and were allowed to be the best exchanges yet made, all before being on the side of Ward. Byrne went down, but Ward caught him as he fell with a left-handed muzzler.

31.—A slaughtering round for poor Byrne, who had it repeatedly on the mouth with the left, and in going down received the upper-cut from Ward, who was never astray.

32.—Byrne greatly distressed. Ward went in to finish; planted his left three times. Byrne down.

33 and last.—Byrne now came up to make his last effort, but he was too far gone to make a change, and this more from exhaustion than hard hitting, for the blows were not delivered in dangerous places; still he was constantly receiving, and now again he had pepper in abundance, without being able to make any adequate return. In going down, Ward made a desperate back-handed offer with his right, but missed. It was clear to Spring and Reynolds that their man had no chance, and they prudently acknowledged Ward to be the better man. Jem immediately gave an active bound, shook hands with his fallen foe and his friends, and quitted the ring amidst loud cheers. The fight lasted one hour and seventeen minutes.

REMARKS.—Thus ended Ward’s last battle for the championship of England, to which it may now be said Byrne had not the slightest pretensions. He had the vanity to hold his antagonist too cheap, and, unfortunately, deceived his friends, who followed his example. Ward, throughout, proved himself a consummate general, and never gave his opponent a chance, nor did he himself throw a chance away. He fought skilfully and scientifically, and has fulfilled that high character of his talents which was never doubted. Byrne proved himself an easy customer: he was clearly not in tip-top-condition; but it was never in his nature to beat a man like Jem Ward. He must now look for a second-rate customer, and profit by experience. That he is a game man at receiving, no one will doubt; but he was clearly afraid of his opponent after the first few rounds. It puzzled his friends to account for his never trying to stop Ward’s left, nor to rush to a ruffianing fight; but the fact was, his spirit was broken, and he had not his wits about him. He says, after the third round his arms felt as heavy as lead, and that he never was so transmogrified before. It is a singular fact that neither of the men had a black eye; neither had an external cut worth mentioning; nor was there a single good fall or cross-buttock throughout the fight. Byrne was beaten solely by exhaustion and repeated slaps on the nose and mouth, which would not have prevented his coming again had such a step been wise.

The men reached London on Wednesday night, Ward without a scratch, and Byrne only exhibiting a swollen mouth and nose, rather a surprising state of his phiz considering the repetition of Ward’s left-handed jobs.

On the Thursday following the fight Jem Ward was presented with a second champion’s belt by Tom Spring, at the Tennis Court, Windmill Street, on the occasion of Reuben Martin’s benefit; and on the following evening, when the battle-money was given up, he (Ward) offered to make a match to fight any man in the world for any sum from £100 to £500 a-side. This challenge was not accepted. Young Dutch Sam, however, offered to fight Ward if the latter would confine himself to twelve stone, and stake odds; but of course, as Ward could not so far reduce himself, the offer was not accepted. On the 25th of June, 1832, Jem wrote a letter to the editor of Bell’s Life in London, in which he stated that he had taken the Belt public-house at Liverpool, that it was his intention to retire from the ring, and to hand over the champion’s belt to the first man who proved himself worthy of it. Several challenges were subsequently issued to Ward, but none of them ever led to any meeting, and Jem adhered to his intention of not again entering the prize ring. He carried on business as a tavern keeper, first at the Star and then at the York Hotel, Williamson Square, Liverpool. In 1853, Ward removed to London, and became host of the Rose, in Jermyn Street. This speculation proving unsuccessful, his friends placed him in business at the Three Tuns, in Oxford Street, renamed the Champion’s Stores. Thence Jem Ward removed to his native locality, the east end of London, becoming landlord of the George, in Ratcliff Highway. The generation, however, who knew Jem as “the Black Diamond,” had passed away, and Ward once again migrated westward, this time opening the theatrical house, opposite Old Drury, known by various signs, and then as the Sir John Falstaff, in Brydges Street, a name now merged in Catherine Street, of which it is a continuation. We last saw Jem at the ring-side, looking, as a daily paper observed, “like a grey-moustached half-pay major,” at the wretched burlesque of a championship-fight, performed by Jem Mace and Joe Goss, at Farningham, Kent, on the 17th of May, 1866.

We must not omit to note that Ward possessed an inborn gift of artistic talent. His favourite pursuit was the wielding of the painter’s brush and maulstick. On several occasions Ward’s pictures were received with credit at the Liverpool Exhibition, and were mentioned approvingly by the public journals as displaying a remarkable degree of natural talent; so much so that an art critic wrote, “had Ward devoted himself to the study and practice of painting in his earlier years he would doubtless have attained eminence.” The writer, on his visit many years ago to Williamson Square, inspected in Jem’s studio, paintings (some sea-pieces especially) which bore marks of peculiar talent and no mean skill in manipulation. At this time too (she has retired from professional life), Miss Eleanor Ward, a pupil of Sir Julius Benedict, was fast rising in public esteem to the first ranks of pianoforte performers in the best of our concert-rooms. Ward’s hobbies, painting and music, adopted late in life, we fear injured his worldly calling as a sporting boniface, and, after several failures, he retired, by the assistance and votes of his friends, into that admirable institution, the Licensed Victuallers’ Asylum, in the Old Kent Road; in the parlour of one of the snug separate dwellings of which we conversed with him, still cheery and animated, in the month of June of this present year, 1880, in his 80th year; Jem dating his birth, as we have already stated, from “Boxing Day” in the last twelvemonth of the last century.

CHAPTER II. PETER CRAWLEY, ORIGINALLY KNOWN AS “YOUNG RUMP STEAK”—1818–1827.

The “ponderous Peter,” who in the year ’65, passed quietly, and with the fame of a fair, courageous, and honest man, from the scene of “the battle of life,” made his first public bow to the fancy in a trial set-to with a Mr. Thomas Watson, a skilful amateur and patron of the ring, whose name continually occurs in “match-makings” of that period. This took place at George Head’s sparring saloon, in East Harding Street, Gough Square, on Wednesday, February 11, 1818, Peter being then a florid youth of eighteen, six feet in height, eleven stone ten pounds in weight, and of a courage well tested in several boyish and youthful encounters. Among a collection of disjointed newspaper scraps in the second volume of “Boxiana,” p. 493, is a notice of this set-to, which is there called “a glove combat of two hours and a half.” Pierce Egan adds: “The above set-to was pronounced by the judges upon this occasion one of the best things of the sort ever witnessed.” We learn from another source, “This severe trial proved so satisfactory to his friends, from the science, coolness, and straight hitting displayed by Peter, that he was pronounced to be capable of having a shy in the P.R., and in the enthusiasm of the moment, the sire of Crawley exclaimed, ‘My boy bids fair to be champion of England!’” Before, however, we trace his rise in the ring, we will glance backward to his “birth and parentage.”

Mine host of the Duke’s Head and French Horn first saw the daylight at the house of his father, a butcher, at Newington Green, on the 5th of December, 1799, and was in due time initiated in the art and mystery of “cutting up.” Peter, who was an open-hearted lad, somewhat given to milling when attempted to be imposed upon by “the lads of the cleaver,” was placed by his father with a butcher in Clare Market, he having an idea that a boy learnt his business best away from home. Here the “ruling passion” displayed itself. Having been called upon to act as second in “the Long Fields” to a “boy” belonging to the market, words took place between the seconds as to the fairness of the fight, and one Hurst, a big blacksmith, of Holles Street, at once “pitched into” Peter before he could get his hands up. “A ring” was called, and in no more than three rounds “Young Rump Steak” had so satisfied the blacksmith’s milling appetite that he had no more “stomach for the fray.”

George Colman, a man of superior age and some milling repute, had a short drawn battle with Peter; and the same result followed a mill with a dog-dealer of the name of Bennett. Tom Price, a well-known “kill-bull,” of the same region (Clare Market), had talked much about “serving cut” “the boy Peter,” if he got a chance. He sought an opportunity, and promised him a sound thrashing. “Come along,” said Peter, “I’m quite ready to do it at the price; in fact, I’ll do it for nothing.” This contemptuous mode of treating the boxing pretensions of Price so angered him that his coat was off in an instant; and a convenient spot having been found—for in those days “peelers” were not, and day-constables only in the form of street-keepers in the great thoroughfares—a stable-yard saw the two heroes of the market thoroughly peeled, with seconds and the other appliances selon le règle. Price showed more impetuosity than skill, but was so steadily met that, at the end of twenty minutes, he declared he would not fight any longer, unless Peter would allow him time to get his wind. To this curious request Crawley agreed, and Price immediately took a walk, as his second termed it, to get a little air; but he never returned to finish the battle, leaving Peter master of the ground.

Crawley changed his place of residence, and Bloomsbury Market became the scene of his exploits. The Bloomsbury boys had quarrelled with the lads of the Coal-yard in Drury Lane, and a strong muster on both sides of the question met in battle array to decide the dispute. The pals of Crawley became panic-struck, bolted, and left Peter in the lurch. Harry Buckstone, the leader of the Coal-yard party, pitched into Peter, and had it not been for a gentleman who was passing at the time in all probability Crawley must have been soundly drubbed by the whole of the squad. The gentleman offered his services as a second to Peter, to see fair play. Crawley set-to hard and fast with Buckstone, punishing him in all directions; the latter took to his heels and bolted, followed by his mob, the spectators laughing and Peter receiving their applause.

The next customer that came in the way of Peter was Tim M’Carthy, in the Long Fields. The late Jack Randall witnessed this battle. The match was regularly made for 5_s._ a-side, and contested with as much spirit as if it had been for £500. In the course of twenty minutes poor Pat was done over.

During a visit to Bermondsey, Peter was abused by a saucy waterman of the name of Tom Tyler, who had flattered himself that, in consequence of a skirmish with Deaf Davis, he could fight a “tiny bit.” He was most egregiously disappointed in standing before Crawley. One punch from Peter, perhaps not altogether unlike the kick of a horse, so alarmed and satisfied Tyler that he would not fight any more. This ludicrous circumstance took place opposite the Green Man, in the Kent Road.

Peter had scarcely passed his seventeenth year, when he had an accidental turn-up with a strong carman, weighing twelve stone and a half, and about twenty-five years of age, belonging to Messrs. Shirley, the distillers. Peter was driving his father’s cart to collect skins, when he was met in Warwick Lane by the carman, who would not give way, although on the wrong side of the road. Crawley remonstrated with the carman on the impropriety of his conduct; but the “knight of the thong” threatened to horsewhip Peter for his impertinence. “Stop a bit,” says Crawley, “two can play at that fun.” Shirleys’ carman was well known in Newgate Market as a troublesome customer; but Peter tackled him without the slightest fear or apprehension of the result. The science of Crawley soon told on the upper works of the carman; and, although a strong fellow, in the course of less than half an hour he was so severely punished by Peter as not to be able to keep his pins. He was carried into the distillery of his master, and, notwithstanding every care was taken of him, some little time elapsed before he resumed his daily occupation. So much for the decisive handy work of Peter.

Crawley accidentally went one evening to the King’s Head, in Cow-heel Alley, Whitecross Street, to treat an acquaintance with something to drink, when he was rudely accosted by some Irishmen, and otherwise roughly treated. Peter begged the Grecians not to interfere with his company, when words arose between them. A row commenced, when Peter and his pal Oliver (not Tom), disposed of several of the hod-men in succession, and ultimately cleared the room of the Patlanders; but not until one of them had made use of the fire-shovel belonging to the landlord to crack Peter’s sconce and let out the claret. The Charleys were brought in to take Peter and his friend to the watch-house; but the landlord behaved like a trump, and planted Crawley in his bar until the watch had left, when Peter departed in safety.

Owing to some trifling dispute between Crawley and an athletic brewer’s servant in Whitecross Street, a turn-up was the result; but in the course of four rounds the big drayman was glad to acknowledge he had received too much.

One Paddy Flanagan, an Irishman, full of pluck, and not less than six feet in height, much heavier than Peter, and having also the advantage of ten years in age, had a turn-up with Crawley. Flanagan purchased a loin of pork at the shop of Peter’s father during the bustle of Saturday evening, and appearing well satisfied with his bargain, went away; but in a short time he returned with the pork, after he had cut off on the sly two of the ribs of the loin, and insisted they had deceived him with short weight. Of course this insinuation produced a row and great confusion in the shop, and Peter, at the request of his father, endeavoured to turn out Flanagan. Paddy showed fight, and for a short time was a strong, troublesome customer on the stones. Peter was thrown flat on his back into the running kennel, and was completely wetted through to the skin, and almost choked by the grasp of his antagonist upon his throat. On rising, however, from this rushing hug, Peter changed the scene. He stopped Paddy Flanagan’s rush and nobbed him, one, two, got the lead and kept it; indeed, he tipped it to Paddy Flanagan so completely, that at the end of half an hour he gave in. But Flanagan had recourse to the strong arm of the law. He appeared before the magistrates at Worship Street police office, complaining of the unmerciful treatment he had experienced at the hands of Crawley; indeed, “his face bespoke a heart full sore!” Armstrong, the officer, was despatched to execute the warrant, but the father of Peter made it right at the expense of £2. The senior Crawley, from the striking abilities displayed by Peter over the powerful Flanagan, formed an opinion that “his boy” would stand a good chance in due time with the best pugilists in the prize ring.

About three weeks after the above row, Peter was standing during the evening at the corner of Redcross Street, when three Patlanders of the same squad rudely assailed him, and nearly pushed him off his balance. Remonstrance was in vain, but Crawley said to them, “Do not attack me altogether; only stand in a line, and I will lick you one after the other.” This speech had not the desired effect—they all pitched into Peter at once; but he soon floored two of them, and the third bolted without waiting for a taste of Crawley’s quality.

We have seen, in the opening paragraph of this biography, how Peter began the year 1818 by a promising bit of gloving, and he was not slow to follow up the impression thus made. A Westminster election in those days of fierce Whig and Tory battles was a sight to see, and the newspapers of the time teem with accounts of the “scrimmages” arising out of the fierce political partizanship of the rival factions. Peter had been sworn in extra-constable at Sir Samuel Romilly’s and Sir Francis Burdett’s election, and in the discharge of his duties was threatened by Ben Sutliffe, also a butcher, and an understanding was come to that their personal differences should be settled when the political contest was over. This grew into a regular match, £20 a-side was deposited, the F. P. C. ropes and stakes engaged, and on Friday, August 7, 1818, after Ned Painter[39] had defeated Tom Spring, Crawley and Ben Sutliffe sported their colours. Sutliffe was the favourite for choice; he weighed about twelve stone ten pounds, and stood full six feet in height. Peter did not exceed eleven stone eight pounds, and was not so tall as his adversary by half an inch. There was no time for training, and the combatants fought off-hand. In the short space of nine minutes and a half, the science of Peter was so excellent, his hitting so decisive, and his generalship so complete, that Sutliffe was defeated without a shadow of a chance, being punished dreadfully.

This victory brought “Young Rump Steak” into high favour with the amateurs, which Peter’s civility, respectful demeanour, straightforwardness, and good temper, strengthened and confirmed. He was now, however, matched against a desperate boxer, no less an antagonist than Tom Hickman, the formidable Gas-light Man, whose exploits will be found recorded in pages 118–137 of this volume. Peter was as yet but nineteen years old, and was declared by the ring-goers to have “more gristle than bone;” and Pierce Egan observes, “Crawley had outgrown his strength,” which was only partially true. It is true, in this battle Peter was not disgraced, although defeated; he fought bravely, and he convinced the tremendous Gas that he (Peter) was a dangerous customer. Crawley afterwards sent a challenge to Hickman, which was declined on the ground of other engagements.

At several benefits at the Fives and Tennis Courts the sparring of Peter with Tom Spring, and all the first-rate boxers on the list, was much admired by the amateurs.

Peter about this time sent the following reply to a challenge inserted in the Weekly Dispatch:—

“MR. T. SHELTON,—

“At the time of my addressing a letter to you in the Dispatch of the 20th ult. I was not aware but my bodily health would have admitted of my doing the thing in ‘Neat’ style. At the request of my friends, I was advised to have the opinion of a medical gentleman, whose certificate is below, from which, I have no doubt, the pugilistic world will see no fault arises on my part in not meeting my challenge.

“I am yours, etc., “PETER CRAWLEY.

“Royal Tennis Court, February 1, 1822.”

“I do hereby certify that Mr. P. Crawley is not in a fit state to enter the ring with any one at present (labouring under a serious body calamity), neither do I think he will be able so to do for five or six months.

“THOMAS HUGHES, Surgeon.

“5, Waterloo Road, February 1, 1822.”

Thus forbidden to take part in a ring contest, owing to an inguinal rupture, Peter went on a sparring tour, and in May, 1822, he set-to with Jack Carter at the Cock-pit at Chester, at the time of the races. During the above exhibition, a chap denominated Bully Southerns, of the above place, offered to take the gloves with Carter. Southerns weighed seventeen stone, and in height he measured six feet two inches; notwithstanding, he was light as to flesh. Southerns, full of confidence, threatened to serve out both the fellows from town, and also reduce the consequence of Carter, who at that period styled himself “The Champion of England.” Carter could not get the best of Southerns, and, after two rounds, he sat down, when the bully boasted that he would mill Peter off-hand. The contest was long and severe between them, occupying fifty minutes; and numerous rounds were truly terrific. The strength of Southerns enabled him to carry on the war; but, after the first three rounds, he was so nobbed by the fine science of Peter, floored frequently, and punished in all directions, as to be laughed at by the whole of the company for his vain boasting. Crawley was not only applauded for his high courage in finishing the bully in such first-rate style, but also well rewarded for his trouble by the amateurs who viewed the contest. Peter was nearly five stone under the weight of his powerful adversary—a fine example of the advantages of science over downright ruffianism.

On Peter’s return to London, Dick Acton,[40] well known in the prize ring, sent forth a challenge to our hero, who returned the following answer:—

“TO RICHARD ACTON.

“SIR,—

“As I understand you have several times expressed a particular wish to meet me in the prize ring, I hereby inform you that I am ready to fight for £50 or £100 a-side, which may be most convenient to you and your friends; and in order to give every accommodation you can reasonably require, meet me at Mr. How’s, Duke’s Tavern, Seven Dials, on Wednesday evening, the 26th inst., between the hours of seven and ten o’clock, when my friends will be ready to make a deposit, or before that time if you like it best.

“I remain your humble servant, “PETER CRAWLEY.

“March 13, 1823.”

The friends of both the pugilists met according to appointment, and a match was made for £25 a-side. This battle was decided at Blindlow Heath, in Sussex, twenty-five miles from Westminster Bridge, on Tuesday, May 5, 1823.

For four years Peter had exhibited only in sparring exhibitions; and, labouring under hernia, it was generally understood that he would not appear again in the prize ring. Acton had at this time won a battle with Kendrick, but had been defeated by Ward. Crawley was the favourite at seven to four and two to one. At one o’clock, Peter, attended by Ben Byrne and Harry Holt, threw up his hat in the ring; and shortly afterwards, Acton, followed by Eales and Scroggins, repeated the token of defiance. Acton was in fine condition, and to all appearance weighed fourteen stone. Crawley looked thin, but was well, and about twelve stone four pounds.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—No time was lost, and Crawley, with his left hand, marked the body of his opponent. Acton missed in return, when an awkward sort of hugging took place. Both down, Crawley undermost.

2.—Young Rump Steak endeavoured to cut up his opponent, and his fine science gave him the lead. He nobbed Acton, and got away; he also endeavoured to repeat, but Acton stopped him with considerable skill. Crawley made himself up, and by a well-measured hit, planted under Acton’s right ogle, the latter went down like a shot. A more tremendous hit was never witnessed in any battle. (In the pride of the moment ten to one was offered, and the general opinion was that Acton would not come again.)

3.—If Acton had not been a truly game man, he would not have again appeared at the scratch. Milling on both sides, till Acton and Crawley found themselves both on the ground. (Seven to four.)

4.—Acton had rather the best of this round, and Crawley went down. (Loud shouting for Acton. “You shall have plenty of wittles to-morrow,” said Scroggins.)

5.—Some excellent science on both sides. Acton napped so much pepper that he turned round from the punishment he received; but, in closing, threw Peter out of the ropes. (“Well done, Acton.”)

6.—Both were distressed. Acton hit Crawley very hard, and the latter was again down. (“Go along, Acton; Crawley is getting weak.” Indeed, it was no two to one at this moment.) Acton stood up to his opponent, and fought like a truly brave man.

7.—A turn took place in favour of Peter, and the skill of Crawley in this round won him the fight. Acton received at every step, but endeavoured to ruffian it with Peter. Acton, for his temerity, napped a blow in the middle of his head, and the claret flowed in torrents; he, nevertheless, bored Young Rump Steak down. (Great applause on both sides.)

8.—Acton appeared at the scratch much better than was expected. He gave Crawley a severe body blow, calculated to do mischief. A short, but sharp rally, when Crawley fell down, and Acton on him.

9.—This was a scientific round on both sides. Acton got away well, and parried some tremendous blows. The latter received a chancery nobber, but contended every inch of ground till he went down.

10.—Acton terribly distressed, and Peter piped a little. They soon closed, and Crawley, to avoid struggling, got down in the best manner he could. (“Mind what you’re after,” from the friends of Acton.)

11.—This round was decidedly against Peter. Acton put in several blows, and, in closing, fell heavily on Crawley. Peter was getting weak.

12.—Acton had the best of it; and Crawley, to avoid punishment, went down in rather a doubtful manner. (“Foul,” “fair,” etc., when Belcher, one of the umpires, told Crawley to recollect it was a stand-up fight. “I assure you,” replied Crawley, “I went down from a slip.”)

13 and last.—This was a most terrific round, and a better one was never witnessed in any battle. Crawley hit Acton all to pieces, and followed his opponent all over the ring till he was floored, and fell on his face. When time was called, Acton was insensible to it. The battle was at an end in sixteen minutes; but before Crawley was taken out of the ring by his seconds an inquiry was made whether he had won the battle, to make all right. The umpires answered “Certainly.”

REMARKS.—It was a fine battle. Crawley won it in superior style; Acton proved himself a game man, and fought till nature deserted him.

Peter, in order to fill up his leisure time and increase his stock of blunt, opened a butcher’s shop in Seven Dials. Here he likewise taught the art of self-defence in his rooms up stairs, and was honoured with the patronage of several swells, who became his pupils. During the time of his residence at this place, he was employed at Westminster Hall to assist in keeping order at the coronation of George the Fourth, and also at the time the Hall was shown to the public. After having dined sumptuously at the Exchequer Coffee House, and drank the health of George the Fourth, he retired to his domus rather jolly, and fell fast asleep. Peter’s rib having occasion to go a small distance on some particular business, was most rudely insulted in the street by a fellow of the name of Sullivan. The proposals made to her were of the most insulting description, accompanied by offer of money; he also laid his hands upon her. All entreaties on the part of Mrs. Crawley to desist were in vain, and he followed her home to the door. It was some time before Peter could be awakened from his sleep to come to her assistance. Sullivan, with the most unblushing effrontery, told Peter, on his expostulating with him for his improper conduct towards his wife, “Your wife, indeed; she’s my wife as much as yours.” “Say you so; then take that,” said Peter, and immediately planted such a tremendous blow on one of his ogles as to produce a serious cut over it, and making Sullivan measure his length on the pavement. The fellow, as soon as he recovered the use of his pins, started off, leaving his hat behind him. Crawley, as a token of victory, publicly hung out the hat at his shop door; but Mr. Sullivan never had the courage to claim his topper.

Crawley, while standing at his door in Lumber Court one evening, in company with Peter Brookery, a pugilist of light weight, the latter was rudely attacked by an engineer, a rare big one. Crawley told him it was no match, when the engineer threatened to put his foot on the seat of honour of our hero. This insult so raised the choler of Peter that he pitched into the engineer sans cérémonie, and polished him off in the course of four rounds.

In September, 1826, Ward again put forth a challenge to the world, which was at length taken up by Peter Crawley, who affirmed that it was not from fear of Ward, but from the want of “corianders,” that he had been unable to make the match before. He said he could not now get £200 a-side, but would fight Ward for £100. This did not suit Jem, who said it was beneath the dignity of the Champion to fight for so small a stake. Crawley repeated that he could not get more money, and at length Jem Ward, fearful that his pretensions to the championship would be called in question, consented to meet Peter on his own terms, and on the 17th of October, 1826, articles were drawn up at Tom Belcher’s, Castle Tavern, Holborn, to fight on the 2nd of January, 1827. The men shortly went into close training, and got themselves into admirable condition.

In Bell’s Life of the week previous to the fight between Ward and Crawley we find the following remarks on the subject of the mill between Crawley and Acton:—“It was an excellent fight. Each man did his duty manfully; but Crawley took seven rounds more than Ward had done to polish off the same customer, as well as a little more time. It was thought also, by good judges, that he did not do his work half so well. To this it must be answered, however, that he was labouring under hernia, and was by no means so fresh as Ward, who has not the fault of being fond of lushing. In comparing the fights, it must not be forgotten that it was Ward’s first fight, and Crawley’s last, and also that Crawley punished Acton more severely than Ward had done.”

The mill now under notice took place on the appointed day (the 2nd of January, 1827). According to articles the fight was to come off within a hundred miles of London, and the neighbourhood of Royston was selected as most convenient, there being three counties handy in the event of any interruption. A special messenger was sent down a day or two previous, who made application to a gentleman possessing large landed estates to grant a site for the combat. The trump in question liberally granted the required permission, and a farm called Haydon Grange was selected. Here, by the day appointed, an excellent spot was prepared by Tom Oliver and Cannon in which to pitch the ring. In fistic circles even in those days, however, there was the same jealousy and wilfulness we have to deplore at the present time. The then Commissary, Bill Gibbons, in direct opposition to his instructions, thought proper to choose a place for himself, and instead of proceeding with the ropes and stakes to Haydon Grange, where Oliver and Co. had prepared a place for them, he went off to Royston Heath, and there pitched his ring, thus frustrating the comfortable arrangements that had been made, and throwing out many old patrons of the fancy, who went to the place first mentioned, and were thus prevented from witnessing the greatest treat that had been enjoyed for many years. Among others who were put to inconvenience was Mr. Jackson, the Commander-in-Chief. The throng was by no means so numerous as had been anticipated, many gentlemen absenting themselves on account of the expected death of the Duke of York, which did not take place until the following Friday. The betting in Royston on Monday, and also at Tattersall’s, was two to one on Ward, which odds were taken to some amount, but still much money went “a begging;” and the friends of Ward were so anxious to be “on,” that on Tuesday (the day of battle) they advanced another point.

At ten minutes before one the heroes entered the ring, Ward attended by Josh. Hudson and Reuben Martin, and Crawley being under the auspices of Tom Belcher and Harry Harmer. They approached each other with good humour and shook hands cordially. Some time elapsed in appointing umpires and a referee; but this done, they soon peeled for action, Tom Belcher winning the choice of corners for Peter. As soon as they were in fighting costume, their condition was eagerly scanned. Both were extremely well. Crawley weighed twelve stone twelve pounds, while Ward did not exceed twelve stone seven pounds. The odds were now eleven to five on Ward. All being in readiness, the men were conducted to the scratch, and commenced

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Short sparring, each man looking out for an opening, and both cautious. At last Crawley, anxious to begin, went in and hit out ineffectually with his left. Ward was awake, stopped him with his right, countered with great cleverness with his left in return, and catching him severely on the right eye, dropped him as if he had been shot, amidst the cheers of his friends. The blow produced first blood at the corner of Crawley’s eye, and thus decided at once the bets on the first two events. The Wardites were in extasies. (Odds three to one.)

2.—On coming to the scratch the effects of the blow on Crawley’s ogle were clear, the flesh being a good deal puffed: still he was cheerful and prepared for mischief. The men again sparred for the first hit, when Crawley threw out his right, but was stopped. Ward then went in and hit right and left at Crawley’s canister, but did not make any impression. More caution. Ward again made play, but Crawley was awake, stopped his left with great precision, and smiled confidently. Crawley then commenced fighting; but Ward threw up his right and left, and got away in beautiful style. More sparring and mutual caution. At last Crawley saw a vulnerable point, pushed in, and delivering a thundering hit with his right on Ward’s forehead, just above the eye, dropped him in turn. (Loud cheers, and exclamations of “Peter, it’s all your own.”)

3.—On Ward’s being lifted on his second’s knee he looked wild, and was evidently suffering from Crawley’s tickler. Josh., however, shook him, and brought him to the scratch ripe for action, although a little posed. After some sparring and admirable stops on both sides, evincing the superior science of the men, Ward hit short with his right at the body. Crawley smiled, and collecting himself up for work, threw out his right and caught Ward slightly on his nob. Ward, in endeavouring to get away, fell upon his hands and knees. Crawley was about to strike him jocularly on the part that was uppermost, when Ward jumped up, and both went to their seconds.

4.—More good stops on both sides, when a tremendous rally commenced, in which the deliveries right and left excited the loudest applause. Ward retreated towards the ropes, and Crawley closed with him. In this situation there was some good exchanges, and claret was freely drawn from the conks of each. In the end Ward went staggering down, Crawley upon him. The greatest agitation was here exhibited among the spectators. The outer ring was broken in, and confusion prevailed to the conclusion of the fight, although the pugilistic corps, under the auspices of the Commander-in-Chief, did wonders in endeavouring to preserve order. Many persons got inside the roped ring, and were with difficulty ejected.

5.—Both came up bleeding and a little puffy from their late exertions. After some sparring for time, Crawley hit out with his left, but was stopped, and in turn Ward was stopped by Peter, who had all his senses about him. At last the men came to a rally, and desperate hitting ensued, each countering with great force, and making due impression by their handiwork. Ward, in getting away, repeatedly hit up with his right, but missed his blows. In the end they closed and went down, Crawley uppermost, and both bleeding at the mouth and nose. During this round Josh. repeatedly cheered his man by cries of “Fight, Jem; fight, Jem; fight, my boy!” and Jem bravely, though imprudently, followed his advice, and thereby greatly distressed himself.

6.—A good weaving round, in which Ward caught Crawley round the neck with his right, and as he pulled him across the ring hit him several times with rapidity. Crawley at length closed, and both went down in a scramble, heavily punished and distressed.

7.—The men came up piping, and as if mutually feeling the necessity of recovering their wind, sparred with caution for some seconds. At last Crawley let go his left, but Ward got away. Another short spar, when Ward hit with his left, but was cleverly countered by Crawley’s right. A terrific rally ensued, in which all science seemed to be set aside, and the weaving system went on in a style of manly indifference to the result. Each appeared bent alone on making an impression, and the appearance of their pimples showed that mischief alone was intended. The whole ring was electrified, and a more courageous attack was never witnessed. The Burgundy flowed freely from each. Crawley retreated towards the ropes, Ward still with him, till at length Ward rushed in, and seizing him with the grip of a Hercules, threw him an appalling cross-buttock, which not only shook Peter himself, but the very earth on which he fell. The fall was allowed by Crawley’s seconds to have done him more harm than all his previous punishment; and a good judge who was within the ring rushed out and offered ten to one against him, but found no takers.

8.—Peter came up open-mouthed and greatly distressed. It was thought Ward would have gone immediately to finish, but to the surprise of most he kept out, and only sparred at arm’s length. It was pretty clear, however, that he was himself the worse for wear, and did not consider it politic to throw a chance away. After some time Crawley tried with his left. Ward stopped this intended visitation, and returned with his right. More sparring; when the men having recovered their wind, once more got to work on the weaving system, and the interchanges were sufficient to daunt the stoutest heart; but still both gave and took without shrinking. Their cocoa-nuts echoed again with the quick following blows, till Ward, becoming weak, or desirous of avoiding further compliments, went down on his knees. Crawley went to his second’s knee, and was evidently coming round.

9.—This round commenced with distant sparring. Ward attempted a blow at Peter’s mark, but hit short. Peter laughed, and kept out. A few seconds were occupied in this light play, when another terrific rally took place. Both men again went to work, putting science aside, and rattling away at each other’s nobs with downright good will. Hit followed hit with the rapidity of lightning; neither would give an inch, but stood to each other with as much sang froid as if sparring with the gloves. Nothing could exceed the fearless execution of this rally, and the shouts of the multitude bore testimony to the determined game of the men. Ward, who repeatedly hit up, was met by Crawley’s left, who preserved his self-possession and never lost sight of his object. At length, as a sort of climax to terrific weaving in all parts of the ring, Crawley retreated to the ropes, where a close took place, and both fell, Crawley uppermost. Both were much distressed, and evidently fast approaching the close; but Ward was still the favourite, and two to one was bet upon him by one who professed to be a good judge.

10.—Notwithstanding the severe exertion in the last round, Crawley came up smiling. Sparring was continued for a short time, when another most desperate rally commenced: it was clearly a most powerful effort on both sides to bring the fight to a close. Nothing could exceed the resolution which both men displayed. They followed each other from place to place, hitting with unprecedented game and courage, Ward repeatedly having recourse to his under hits. In this extraordinary way did the conflict continue, till both men, on approaching the ropes, were so exhausted as to be incapable of lifting their hands or striking another blow, and at length both went down, unable longer to stand, although supported for some time against the ropes. A more terrible encounter was never witnessed in the prize ring, and the repeated jobbing of Crawley’s left produced the most fearful effects on Ward’s face.

11 and last.—Such was the state of the combatants on coming up at the commencement of this round, that it was impossible to form an opinion of the probable issue. Both were piping, and in painful distress, but Crawley appeared to stand best on his legs. Very little time was lost in consideration, and Ward, open-mouthed, attempted to go in. Crawley, as if aware that this round must terminate the fight, collected all his strength, struck out lightly with his left, and then drawing back a short step, he rushed in, and catching Ward a severe job with his left on the mouth, dropped him to rise no more. He fell flat on his back, and drawing his hands up towards his stomach, became to all appearance senseless. Josh. lifted him from the ground, and placed him on Martin’s knee, but he was no longer “himself:” he was deaf to the call of his friends and admirers, and, with the battle, lost his claim to the championship. Crawley stood looking at him, satisfied that his labours were at an end. He endeavoured to shake hands with his fallen foe, but poor Ward was insensible to this noble conduct, and Peter walked to his chaise. Ward was shortly after carried out of the ring, and from thence to his inn, in a state of insensibility. All was surprise and confusion. The multitude collected en masse in the centre of the ring, and the congratulations of some, and the complaints of others, were scarcely less astounding than the confusion of tongues in the Tower of Babel. It was too true, however, the champion was stripped of his laurels, and the bold Peter was borne off in triumph, one of his backers declaring that he had won £530 by the issue. How many followed his example we know not; but it is certain many thousands changed hands.

REMARKS.—In taking a review of the whole of this fight, it would be impossible not to say that both men exhibited courage and game of the most unquestionable description; in fact, a better battle had not been fought for many years. Independent of patience under severe punishment, great skill and science were displayed. The stopping of both men, under trying circumstances, was admirable. Neither flinched from his duty, and, with the exception of Ward’s slipping down on his knees in the early part of the battle, there was not a suspicion that he was not as game a man as ever peeled. In the second round Josh. Hudson described Ward as having been nearly blinded by the force of the blow on his head, but he very soon recovered his presence of mind; and in the last round there were not wanting some who were disposed to think that he might have come again. Judging impartially, however, from all that passed before us, we should say there was not a shadow of ground for complaining of Ward’s conduct in the ring, or for doubting the sincerity of his intention to win throughout. His deliveries were severe, although their effect might not have been so decisive as we had anticipated. It was clear that he tried his utmost to gain the ascendancy, and in this endeavour he reduced himself, in the tenth round, as well as his antagonist, to a state of complete helplessness, hitting with all his force, until both fell without the power of striking another blow. Had his object been other than honest, this never would have been the case. In plain truth, however, he had been over-rated, whilst the probable improvement which Crawley might have obtained in two years was altogether lost sight of. In point of length, and weight, and bodily strength, we may also say Ward was overmatched, while in science he was fully equalled; for although Crawley’s style of setting-to may not be so elegant, nor his stops so frequent, still the severity and quickness of his counter-hitting, and the rapidity of his motions, added to his calm reception of punishment, gave him on this occasion equal advantage; added to which, Peter, in having Tom Belcher for his second, had at least two points in his favour, for a better second never entered the ring, nor a man whose knowledge of the art better qualifies him to give good advice. We must admit that we have seen Ward fight in better style, and make a better use of his acquirements. We do not say this with a view of disparaging his good qualities; but had he exercised a better judgment, we think he would not have rushed into desperate rallies, intent only on administering punishment, without regard to the consequences which might follow to himself, but would rather have availed himself of his tact of hitting and getting away, and only going in when an opportunity occurred of closing for the fall—and his superiority in throwing has been repeatedly established. In the present instance he seemed to have lost his usual caution, and to have forgotten that in fighting against superior weight and strength he was completely giving a chance away by standing to be hit in close quarters. Such another fall as that he gave Crawley in the seventh round must have decided the battle, but the opportunity when offered was neglected, and having at length become weak, he was unable to keep his right hand sufficiently high, and thus lay exposed to the terrific jobbing of Crawley’s left. We have no doubt his seconds acted to the best of their knowledge; but situated as Ward was towards the close of the fight, it was anything but good advice to incite him to go in to rally: he should rather have played round his opponent, and kept at a distance till his wind was restored, and fresh opportunities were afforded for bringing his scientific and wrestling powers into play. With so vigorous an opponent as Crawley, it was clear he must have the worst of in-fighting; and that this was the case the result of the conflict has shown. These are points which naturally strike an observer, but which a man in the heat of combat, and unassisted by a cool and dispassionate counsellor, may not duly appreciate. It is certain that Ward never had so good a man to deal with before, and, barring the few remarks we have felt it our duty to make, it was impossible for him to have done more to attain the ends of his backers. In falling, he has fallen nobly, and must only hope for better luck another time. We may add that he has still few equals in the ring. We cannot close these remarks without stating that, in losing Tom Oliver as a second, Ward may be said to have lost his battle; for Tom’s prudence and good sense would have taught him the folly of bustling with superior weight. The fight lasted twenty-six minutes.

Ward was conveyed in a state of unconsciousness to the Red Lion, at Royston, and was immediately put to bed between warm blankets. A surgeon was then sent for, who found his pulse scarcely perceptible; he, however, took proper precautions, and by six o’clock he recognised those about him. He complained very much of his head, where he received the knock-down blow in the second round, and said that such was the effect of that hit that four rounds elapsed before he had recovered himself. Ward arrived in London on the following Wednesday, much cut up in mind, but still determined to put in a claim for another trial to recover his laurels. He declared he had lost the fight by holding Crawley’s abilities as a boxer too cheap, and had resorted to an attempt to fight him down, in which he had exhausted his strength and his power of hitting. He considered, too, his chances in milling Crawley as greatly increased from the fact of the latter having hernia. This would seem without good foundation. It is a singular fact that Joe Grimaldi—than whom, in his pantomimic exertions, no man encountered more violent exercise—had been ruptured from his youth, but never experienced inconvenience in his labours.

On the 4th of January, 1827, two days after Peter’s victory, the Tennis Court was crowded for the joint benefit of Harry Holt and Ned Baldwin, and to get a peep at the heroes who were admitted to “show.” Ward, on mounting the stage, was loudly applauded. His nob was covered with a handkerchief, and his face exhibited marks of severe punishment. The “Cicero of the ring” (in buff) addressed his patrons for Ward. He said, “Ward had lost the battle, and, what was dearer to him, his proud position; but still it was cheering to him to think that he had not lost his honour. (‘True,’ and applause.) It was not in man to command success, but he had done all that a brave man could do to win the battle. One must lose, and Crawley was the conqueror. By every person who had seen the battle it was admitted that Ward had established his character as a game man, and he had no doubt, by such conduct, he would never want friends. (Approbation.) He was sorry to observe the subscription on the ground was trifling indeed (25_s._); but he well knew the generosity of the fancy would be displayed to him in town. For himself, he would subscribe a sovereign; and he was perfectly satisfied other persons would subscribe their mite.” (“Bravo, Harry!”)

Jem’s backer presented himself, and said he would back Ward, without any hesitation, against Crawley, or any other man in the kingdom, for from £100 to £1,000. (Great applause.)

The hero of the tale, Peter Crawley, now mounted the stage, and was welcomed by loud plaudits. His face was rather damaged, but not so much as his opponent’s. With considerable modesty Peter stated, “He had been a winning man, but he had never been opposed to a better one than Ward; in fact, he thought him as good a man as himself. He had been lucky, and gained the fight; and he felt proud he had obtained that honour, because Ward had been considered the best man in England. It was impossible, therefore, that he could have got more honour, or gained a higher conquest. (‘Well done, Peter; you are a liberal, brave fellow.’) He was determined not to accept any challenge, and he had also made up his mind to give up all pretensions to prize-fighting, and, to please the King of England, he would not again enter the ring. He meant no disrespect to the patrons of the art of self-defence; but if he were to fight for seven years, he could not have obtained a higher place in the fancy. Fame was his object, and not money; he therefore left the championship open for those who wished to fight for it, and gave up all pretensions to that high milling honour. He hoped Ward would be dealt with according to his merits; and, as a losing man in general stood in need of support, he should give him two sovereigns.” (Cheers.) Peter made his bow amid loud applause.

Peter, acting upon the adage that “all’s well that ends well,” and having obtained a most brilliant conquest in the eyes of the sporting world, sensibly made up his mind to leave the P.R. for aspiring heroes to bustle in, and commenced publican. He therefore, without delay, opened the Queen’s Head and French Horn, in Duke Street, West Smithfield, and the fancy in general gave Peter their support.

Crawley’s “free and easy,” aided by the musical talents of his father, brought overflowing houses. Mr. Crawley, senior, was a first-rate chaunter, and, as a room singer, his voice in “Tom Moody,” “The Sapling Oak,” etc., was the delight, again and again, of admiring audiences.

At the Queen’s Head and French Horn, soon after Crawley became landlord of the house, he was visited by a blade of the name of Grays, and with that respect and civility which always marked the conduct of our hero, he invited Mr. Grays into his bar, to drink his wine and crack his walnuts. But before the bottle was finished, and during the short absence of our hero, who was waiting upon his customers in various parts of his house, Mr. Grays made free with the character of Peter to Mrs. Crawley, or, to use the vulgar phrase, he was nosing upon the inconstancy of our hero, and his amours out of doors, and boasting that he was a better man at any price than the host of the Queen’s Head and French Horn. On Crawley becoming acquainted with his conduct, he told Mr. Grays that he had not conducted himself like a man or a gentleman, when Grays repeated the insult, that he was a better man in every point of view. “That shall soon be decided,” said Peter, with a contemptuous sneer. An appeal to arms was the result, and, in the course of two short rounds, Mr. Grays so napped it for his impertinence that he staggered about like a man overcome with liquor, and the boaster, as he lay sprawling on the ground, gladly acknowledged, to prevent further punishment, that he had been egregiously deceived in his estimate of his own prowess, and promised Peter the next time he took wine and walnuts, not to crack jokes at his expense behind his back, and to keep his tongue within proper bounds.

Although Peter was one of the mildest and most inoffensive of men, the lion slumbered within him. We will cite a small specimen of this. When Harry Broome fought the Tipton Slasher, at Mildenhall, in September, 1851, there were strong misgivings of a wrangle, and the writer and others firmly declined the thankless office of referee. It looked as though there would be no fight, for the Tipton’s friends rejected several gentlemen nominated, as being backers of Broome. Johnny Broome rode up, and proposed to fight “without a referee.” This was very properly declined; but at last Peter Crawley was agreed to by both sides as an impartial arbiter. The details of the fight will be found under the Life of HARRY BROOME, in the Seventh Period. Suffice it to say, the Tipton hit Harry foul, and Peter gave it against “the Tipton.” Remonstrance did not shake Peter’s decision, and the Slasher, who thought himself hardly dealt by, used disparaging language to Peter. Fired at the imputation on his honesty, Peter proceeded to uncase his huge carcass, declaring he was “good for a few rounds,” and nothing but the gentle violence of his friends, and those of the Slasher, who separated them, prevented the brave Peter from there and then having a turn-up with the well-trained Tipton for “love and a bellyful.” We have seen other instances of Peter’s readiness to resent insult, though the most placable of men if an apology was offered.

From the period he retired he held but one house, the Duke’s Head and French Horn, in Duke Street, West Smithfield, a house interesting for years to “country cousins,” the fancy, and those who wished a “wrinkle” upon sporting topics. As a teacher of the art of self-defence Peter acquitted himself with great credit, being perfectly master of the science. Several of his Guardsmen pupils have shown their acquaintance that they can hit, stop, and get away with the best of glove amateurs. Peter died, generally respected, on the 12th of March, 1865, in the 66th year of his age. Peace to his manes!

CHAPTER III. TOM CANNON, “THE GREAT GUN OF WINDSOR” (CHAMPION)—1824–1827.

For a short time the name of the hardy Tom Cannon was a word of strength in the annals of the ring. Tom, however, came out too late in life as a public exhibitor of the art pugilistic; his first great victory being over Josh. Hudson, in June, 1824, his last a defeat by Ned Neale, in February, 1827; a career of little more than two-and-a-half years, throwing out his victory over Dolly Smith, in 1817.

Eton, renowned for its College and the classic memories which surround it, gave birth to our hero, but it does not appear that Master Tommy profited much in the literæ humaniores by the accident of his birth under the shadows of the pinnacles of “Henry’s Sacred Fane.” On the contrary, the son of a “Windsor Bargee,” he grew up an athletic uncultivated young colt, distinguished for his speed as a runner, his activity as a jumper, his strength as a wrestler, and was known as “a lad who could box a bit.” The only parts of Gray’s “Ode” which could apply to the young Cannon being, that he could—

“Ply the oar, And urge the flying ball.”

Indeed, his rowing and cricketing qualifications endeared him to the youngsters who practised on the silver Thames and verdant Brocas; as a quoit thrower and a single-stick player, at “the Revel” in Bachelor’s Acre, young Cannon distinguished himself, and was known throughout the neighbourhood as “good at any game.” Tom followed alternately the calling of a fisherman and a “bargee,” or rather mixed them both, more majorum suum, and “the Merry Wives of Windsor” often relied on Tom’s net or tackle for the delicacies of speckled trout, glittering umber, or slippery eel, from “Thames’ silvery flood.” Apropos of this, we find from contemporary records that Tom, acting in the spirit of Charles Dibdin’s song,

“I be a jolly fisherman, I takes all I can get, Still going on my betters’ plan, all’s fish that comes to net,”

forgot one night—if ever he knew them—the privileges of the corporation of Windsor. He was detected, with a companion, fishing, contrary to Act of Parliament, within the preserved waters of the corporation, whereby a fine of £5 to “our Lord the King” was incurred. Tom demurred to swelling the royal exchequer by impoverishing his own: he put in “leg-bail,” and for a time migrated from ungrateful Windsor to live an exile at Newbury, whither he does not appear to have been pursued, for he was here known as the “milling bargee.” This was in 1814. We will therefore “hark back.”

Thus, in his early manhood, our jolly bargeman lived a life of labour, independence, and humble competency, and like

“The jolly miller who lived on the river Dee, He work’d and sung from morn till night, no lark more blithe than he.”

Tom’s earlier practice with his bunch of fives appears to have been at wake, fair, race, or revel, with the military always abounding at Windsor and its vicinity, and with such “rough chawbacons” as, feeling strong in the spirit of fight, might offer themselves to his notice.

Tom’s first recorded engagement was with one Tom Anslow, a grenadier belonging to the Staffordshire militia, in the year 1809. Anslow was the crack boxer of his regiment, and the audacity of young “bargee” (Tom was nineteen years of age) was laughed at by the red-coats, for Anslow was fourteen stone in weight, and all six feet in height. The battle-money was three guineas a-side. Cannon, on the day, was a little under twelve stone, and stood five feet nine inches and a half. It was a desperate battle for thirty-two minutes, when the soldier gave in, and Cannon was carried off in triumph by his fellow-townsmen. “Boxiana” fills some pages with notices of casual fights with nameless men, on Eton Brocas, at Maidenhead, at Egham Races, and elsewhere, embellished with the usual lively skimble-skamble of the inventive author. The first time Cannon had to do with a “professional” was in this wise. At a raffle in Peascod Street, Windsor, Dolly Smith,[41] of Hammersmith, was present, and threatened to chastise Cannon for interfering in a dispute. “Although I know you’re a fighting man,” said Tom, “I will not be frightened into submission.” Dolly threw off his coat, and they adjourned to the street. After a smart turn-up, in which Cannon claimed best, they were interrupted. This led to a match for twenty guineas a-side, which came off in a field contiguous to Shirley Common, near Windsor, May 6, 1817. The battle proved a most determined one. The swell stage-coachmen—for Dolly was a horse-keeper, known on the Great Western road—sported their gold freely on their man, though there was a remarkable disparity in size and weight. Smith, who was a round-built sturdy fellow, measured only five feet five inches, and weighed eleven stone four pounds. Cannon stood five feet ten inches, and weighed thirteen stone. The men were in the ring as early as eleven o’clock, Dolly being esquired by the veteran Caleb Baldwin and Dick Whale; Cannon attended by a couple of stout countrymen. The battle was half-minute time. Six to four on Smith offered.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Neither combatant seemed disposed to waste much time in sparring, and they went to work sans cérémonie. Cannon from his height, length, and strength, seemed completely to overshadow his opponent, but “Dolly,” not in the least dismayed, planted two heavy body hits, and fought at half-arm gaily, till in closing both were down.

2.—Both on their mettle, and some sharp blows exchanged. Dolly manœuvred cleverly till he hit up through Cannon’s guard, and gave him such a teazer on the side of the head, that it seemed to electrify the “bargee’s” upper works. He seemed confused for a few seconds, then went in a rattler, and fought till both were down, Dolly first to earth.

3 to 17.—During the whole of these rounds the combatants were far from being idle, and much severity of milling occurred. The claret had long made its appearance upon both their nobs, and their mugs had undergone some little change, from the repeated thumps they had reciprocally and liberally bestowed upon each other. Upon the whole, Dolly as yet might be said to stand forward in the most favourable point of view, and betting continued on him.

18.—In this round Dolly gained great applause, he fought his opponent in the most gallant style, and milled him in all directions, and, by way of finishing, planted such a tremendous hit in Cannon’s “middle piece,” that he went off his pins in such quickness of style, resembling more the celerity of a cannon shot than being floored by the fist of a man. (Loud shouting, and seven to four on Dolly.)

19 to 60 and last.—Punishment was the order of the day in all these rounds. The gaiety of Dolly never forsook him, and he contended against an opponent every way so superior with the most determined courage and manhood. It was a good fight throughout, and both men displayed true resolution. The claret flowed profusely, and both were so equally painted that it was remarked by a spectator they both belonged to one flock of sheep, they were so regularly “ruddled.” Their peepers were nearly obscured, and such a punishing mill has not been witnessed for a long time. One of Dolly’s arms was so much beaten, and his wrist so terribly sprained and puffed up, that he was reluctantly compelled to relinquish the contest at the expiration of an hour and four minutes.

REMARKS.—Cannon was so much exhausted that, on his being declared the winner, he was led out of the ring, and upon being lifted into a coach by three men immediately fainted. The battle had scarcely finished one minute when a magistrate appeared to put an end to the sports; but his worship was politely informed there was no necessity for his functions then to be brought into action, as it was all over for that day. A great number of sporting men from the neighbouring counties and from London witnessed the encounter, and much money changed hands.

As this is not a record of sack-jumping, quoits, foot-racing, jumping, and cricket playing, we shall omit the contents of some pages of “Boxiana,” with the remark that Tom, who was good at all these, has numerous victories for small sums placed to his account during the seven years between 1810 and the mill with Dolly Smith just reported. For several years Cannon remained a spectator of prize battles, until fired with pugilistic ambition on witnessing the fight between Josh. Hudson and Jem Ward (November 11, 1823), he publicly announced his readiness to enter the ring with either of those boxers. The “John Bull Fighter” hearing of the circumstance, on meeting Cannon, asked him if the report was true. Tom replied in the affirmative, when Josh. instantly produced a “fiver,” which was covered by Cannon, to make a match for £200. At this period Mr. Hayne (known by the sobriquet of “Pea-green,” and his breach of promise with Miss Foote, Dowager Countess of Harrington) had just returned from the “grand tour,” and recollecting the numerous sporting feats of Cannon during the time he, the “Pea-green,” was one of the alumni of Eton, he became Tom’s patron and backer. Articles were drawn up at Mr. Clode’s New Inn, Windsor, April 26, 1824, in which Cannon agreed to fight Josh. for £100 a-side, on Wednesday, June 23, 1824, within forty miles of London. The match was laughed at by the fancy, as “a good thing” for Hudson, and the £100 looked upon as a “sweetener” to “keep his hand in” till he should grasp the championship.

On the appointed morn the Western road displayed a thick sprinkling of swells and equipages, the place selected being Yateby, in Hampshire, thirty-three and a half miles from London, on the borders of the counties of Berks and Bucks, in a field near Everfield Churchyard. Everything being ready, at a quarter to one Cannon entered the ring, in a dark drab great coat, and threw up his hat, followed by Tom Cribb and White-headed Bob as his seconds. He walked about with the utmost composure, and was loudly cheered by the audience. His legs were decorated with white silk stockings. In a few minutes afterwards Hudson appeared, supported by the President of the Daffy Club and “the Nonpareil,” threw up his “castor,” and rolled himself into the ring. Oliver and Randall were his attendants. During the time the combatants were preparing for action the backers of Hudson went round the ring offering two and a half and three to one; but the friends of Cannon were shy, and no takers were to be found. The colours, pink for Cannon and chocolate for Hudson, were tied to the stakes. The office was then given, and the men set-to.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On peeling, Cannon appeared so highly improved in condition as to excite the astonishment of every person present. He was cool and confident, and looked firm and “all right.” The “John Bull Fighter,” always “big,” in spite of the most rigid rules of training, was now bigger than ever; indeed, to use the words of a wag, who laughingly observed to his companion, “My dear fellow, you are mistaken as to Josh. Hudson going to fight; it’s Sir John Falstaff in buff.” On placing himself in attitude, Josh. smiled at his opponent, but still was cautious. Cannon tried to go to work, and let fly at Hudson’s victualling office, but the latter hero, to prevent a row in the interior, got away. The “Popper,” full of bustle, again tried it on, but, in a counter-hit, received an ogler that made his pimple shake again, and put him on the winking system. Hudson was anxious to administer pepper; but in rushing in he received a slight topper, and slipped down on one knee. Cannon lost no time, convinced the amateurs by his conduct that he was not the novice he had been previously represented, and kept hitting away sans cérémonie. We were surprised that Hudson did not finish the round by going down; as on his getting up he received a severe facer. A short pause. Cannon aimed a tremendous blow at his opponent’s nob, but he missed. (“Never mind that,” said Richmond; “he means to win it, and nothing else.”) Cannon showed he was not destitute of science; he got away from a slogger, but immediately commenced an exchange of blows, and had none the worst of it. Josh. stopped well, and also planted an ear-wigger, that rowed the upper works of Cannon. (A pause.) The bargeman went boldly up to his adversary to commence mischief, when Josh., in retreating, ran against the stake. Both the combatants found their way into the corner of the ring. Here a little fibbing occurred, and Josh., after a desperate struggle, succeeded in placing the Popper on the ground. (The East-enders in high spirits, cheered their hero, and offered five to two.)

2.—Hudson came piping to the scratch; his bad condition was visible to all the ring. He was no longer the smashing hero as to effective quality, and a pause was the result. He was now aware, but too late, that he had treated his adversary too lightly, and also that Cannon was not a novice as to prize milling. But, like a trump, acting upon the good maxim that “dangers retreat when boldly they’re confronted,” he stood up to his man with the true courage of a lion. Cannon, extremely active, endeavoured to take the lead; but Josh. made two good stops. The bargeman received a heavy topper; but he would not be denied. A desperate rally occurred, and the claret first made its appearance on Hudson’s lip. Josh. tried milling on the retreat; but the bargeman rushed upon him, bored Hudson to the ropes, and, after having the best of the hitting, got Josh. down, and fell heavily on his abdomen. (The Windsor folks and Johnny Raws now gave a loud shout for joy. “Why, Cannon, you fell on a soft place, didn’t you? a feather-bed, wasn’t it?”)

3.—The last fall distressed Hudson so much that he appeared scarcely to have a puff of wind left in his body; his face was also covered with claret. The mind of Josh. was eager to administer punishment; but his energy was leaving him fast. Cannon was determined to bustle the John Bull boxer, and attacked him gaily. The bargeman saw the exhausted situation of his opponent, and would not allow Hudson to recover himself. Josh. retreated, but fighting all the time, till he was bored to the ropes, when Cannon obtained the superiority so clearly, that Josh. was fibbed severely down. The East-enders were now on the funk: hopes and fears alternately succeeded; but disinterested spectators were satisfied that Cannon must win.

4.—This was a good round. The blows of Hudson were heavy; and Cannon found out, if not stopped, they were likely to prove dangerous. The bargeman put in a sharp hit in the wind which made Josh. blow again; however, Cannon’s mug showed the handiwork of Josh., and the claret was conspicuous about it. Another rally, hit for hit, but which ended to the advantage of Cannon, who again got Josh down. (The Windsor folks were full of joy, and opened their mouths as wide as barn-doors, vociferating, “You have done the job.”)

5.—Hudson, game as a pebble, stuck to his man like glue, and a terrible rally was the finishing stroke of the round. Both down; by a sudden effort of Hudson he threw Cannon over him.

6.—The bargeman was piping a little, but nothing in comparison to his opponent. Some ugly thumps passed on both sides. In struggling for the throw, Cannon was undermost. (“Well done, Josh.!”)

7.—Cannon found he had his work to do, although his adversary was so fat and out of condition. Josh. stopped his attempts; but Cannon bored in and nobbed Hudson. The latter in turn administered pepper; however, in closing, the strength of the bargeman gave him the best of it. He fibbed Hudson, got him across the ropes, and punished him down. (“Foul, foul!” “Fair, fair!”)

8.—This was a fighting round altogether; but if Josh. put in a heavy blow Cannon planted two for it. The John Bull boxer was punished terribly till down. Twelve minutes and a half.

9.—In this early stage of the fight the backers of Hudson saw, with tears in their ogles, that the chance was against him, therefore they now had only his game to stand upon. In closing, both down.

10.—In all the previous battles of Hudson he was never so roughly handled before, without returning the compliment. Josh. now felt that his own weight was too much for his legs, and he staggered about and missed two well-intended nobbers. Cannon, in a most determined and clever style, floored the John Bull Fighter like a shot. This blow operated like the shock of an earthquake upon the nerves of the backers of Josh.; their peepers seemed too big for their heads, and they stared like stuck pigs. (The odds were dropped, and Cannon decidedly the favourite.)

11.—Hudson had not strength enough to follow up his wishes; indeed, it was Sir John Falstaff in trouble. “Go it, my Joshy; it’s all your own.” “You can lick twenty countrymen yet.” “When you say ‘No,’ it will be a fine treat for Cannon;” and a thousand other things were uttered to inspire the John Bull Fighter with new ardour for conquest. But Josh. seemed to have lost all his chaffing—the customer before him was rather too serious for a joke, and his time was too much occupied to attempt to be funny. Hudson, full of pluck, endeavoured resolutely to take the lead, and certainly was mischievous; but the bargeman was too good: he had the best of it, and threw Josh. across the ropes.

12.—This round was unimportant. Cannon slipped, and fell down while attempting to plant a hit. (“He’s getting weak, Josh.; Cannon will soon cut it.” “Walker,” replied Tom Cribb. “Cut it, indeed; why, he’s won it. But never mind; go on, and you’ll soon find it out.”)

13.—This was a bang-up round on both sides, and Cannon full of mischief. A terrible rally; no favours asked; hit for hit given, till Hudson was almost abroad. In this rally Josh. put in a tremendous facer, that for an instant Cannon seemed almost at a stand-still, and in a state of stupor. He, however, recovered, and got Hudson down. The Windsor folks were now all happiness, laughing at the poor Cockneys and the knowing ones. During the time Cannon was on the ground he also showed great distress; and if Hudson had possessed anything like his strength in former battles, he might have gone in now with a great chance of winning. But poor Josh., on leaving the knee of his second, was twice as much exhausted as Cannon; the chance and betting was now six to four against him.

14.—Nothing else but hammering on both sides. Hudson tried the pepper-box, but the Cayenne was wanting. Josh. retreated from wisty-castors, but Cannon would not be denied. Hudson received a tremendous nobber that made his peepers roll again, and the upper works of Master Cannon were a little disordered. In closing, Hudson got his nob through the ropes, and in this unfortunate situation Cannon played upon it as on a drum till he was tired, and then let him down in a state of distress truly piteous.

15.—The exhausted state of Josh. at this period beggared description. A gasp of breath seemed worth “a hundred” to him, so dreadfully was he distressed. He was like a man almost suffocated with asthma. Yet, anxious for victory, in opposition to the powerful effects of nature against his mind, he came to the scratch full of pluck. Cannon determined to turn everything to good account, again put Josh. on the bustle. He closed with the John Bull Fighter, and fibbed him down till nearly all the wind in his body had deserted him. (Two to one on Cannon.)

16.—The bargeman had taken several good doses, and was a little sickish; but, nevertheless, he was the best man now—a guinea to a shilling. Hudson’s bottom was good to the end of the chapter; but it might be urged he was fighting for breath as well as for glory. It was impossible he could win: he was almost choked with fat. The bargeman planted a nobber that made the John Bull boxer quite abroad; fibbed him till he was tired, and finally floored Josh. with the utmost ease. The bargemen, the yokels, and the Windsor folk united in one general shout for Cannon, and offered any odds. It was Windsor Castle, the Great Park, and all the deer in the bargain, to a potato patch against Hudson, and no chance to win.

17 and last.—The exit of the John Bull boxer from the ropes was at hand. He was brought up to the scratch with great difficulty. Hudson still showed fight, but it was little more than putting up his hands. Cannon, very unlike a novice, saw there was no time to lose; he rushed in and administered pepper, then, with a tremendous blow on the side of the head, he floored his opponent. Oliver and Randall picked up Josh., but he was nearly insensible, and when time was called he could not come to the scratch. Some little demur took place, and also some time elapsed in debate between the umpires on the subject; but Spring being appealed to as a referee, decided that Cannon was the conqueror. The bargeman left the ring amidst the shouts of the populace, and was driven off the ground in the barouche of his patron, with the colours flying, etc.

REMARKS.—

“Can such things be, And overcome us like a summer’s cloud, Without our special wonder?”

The John Bull Fighter defeated by an “outside” boxer in twenty minutes and a half. Tell it not in the West! Hear it not in the East! How are the mighty fallen! How will the yokels triumph! and how will the Cockneys get rid of their grief? It is a severe lesson for the John Bull Fighter. Want of condition was the ruin of Broughton. We trust it will not prove the overthrow of Joshua, and hope he will be remembered for what he has done, and have another shy to recover his lost laurel. In the above battle the only thing sound in the John Bull Fighter was his heart; and with all the dilapidating powers of Messrs. Sherry, Black Strap, and Co., added to their immense partnerships and overflowing capital of eau-de-vie, daffy, ginger-beer, heavy-wet, etc., they had not subdued that invaluable article, the heart of the brave but fallen Joshua Hudson. But it should seem that his friends, instead of training the John Bull of the P.R., rather adopted the mode pursued by the members of the Agricultural Society, in fattening prize animals for the Smithfield Show. We were told Hudson had nothing to fight against—a mere novice, a muff, a yokel; in fact, anything but a milling cove. Under this mistaken notion, the heart of Josh. intimated to him it was no matter if he was as big and as full of turtle-soup as an alderman, or possessed the rotundity of abdomen of a Falstaff. He had only to peel in the ring, show his laughing, jolly face, fight a few rounds to put the polish on his adversary, and the battle was his own. Josh. trusted alone to his heart, and if that only had been wanted, his out-and-out true courage doubtless would have brought him through the piece. If the truth can be ascertained, we verily believe he weighed nearly, if not quite, fifteen stone. He is almost twice as big at the present period as at the time he commenced fighting in 1816. It is true, Josh. cannot be compared to, or called a second Daniel Lambert; but it will not be disputed that he bears a great resemblance to George Colman’s “Two Single Gentlemen rolled into One.” In a word, want of condition prevented him from having a chance of winning the battle; but it is the opinion of many judges of prize-fighting that Cannon is too good a man for Josh. under any circumstances. This opinion, of course, remains to be decided. After the first round, it appeared to us that all his former gaiety of manner had left him; and towards the conclusion of the battle he hit completely round, scarcely knowing what he was about, and quite abroad. His fine courage never deserted him, and nature kept up the desire for glory to the last effort. In the ring Hudson did all that a man could perform. His backers have no right to find fault with him for being beaten, however they may feel disposed to quarrel with him for his neglect of training. Josh. was severely punished about the head: but all the milling he received in the battle was a trifle light as air compared to the punishment of his mind. The “Popper,” in reality, proved himself a Cannon, produced a loud report, went off well, hit numbers of persons much harder than they expected, and left the field of battle with the proud title of conqueror affixed to it. No man has been more mistaken in being termed “a novice” than Cannon: his conduct in the ring rather showed him master of the ground than otherwise, and he never let a chance escape him. He will prove an ugly customer for any antagonist. Cannon hits out, and hard too, with his left hand, not inferior to Josh. Hudson. The bargeman ought rather to be praised for his courage and his ambition, as things have turned out, than sneered at for his presumption. Cannon selected Hudson as an opponent, notwithstanding the high-sounding pretensions of the latter, and the great fame he had acquired in the milling circles, as a boxer worthy of his attack. In obtaining the victory, his judgment has proved to be correct. It is worthy of remark, that during the time of the battle between Ward and Hudson, Cannon loudly observed, “If they call this fighting, I think I can lick both of them.” And again, when in training at Virginia Water, he met with Langan, to whom he said, “I wish you was as sure of winning your fight as I am of beating Josh. Hudson.” Cannon is much indebted to his worthy patron, Mr. Hayne, for the high condition in which he entered the ring, and also for some valuable tuition. The veteran Bill Richmond, we believe, endeavoured to put Cannon awake to the movements of the ring; and White-headed Bob, who had him under his care while training, tried to make the bargeman “fly.” It is said Cannon’s ambition is gratified, and that he does not intend again to appear in the P.R.

We may here note that the same week that witnessed the downfal of Josh. Hudson saw the defeat of Barney Aaron by Arthur Matthewson, of Birmingham, and of Phil. Sampson, beaten by Jem Ward, a remarkable series of miscalculations by the knowing ones.

Hudson met Cannon in the spectators’ part of the Fives Court, at Richmond’s benefit (June 29, 1824), when he told the Windsor hero he would fight him in three months for £200 a-side. Cannon replied, “His master had said he should not fight under £500; but for himself, he should not mind fighting Josh. for any sum.” In consequence of this conversation, the following letter appeared in Pierce Egan’s Life in London.

“SIR,—

“In answer to Mr. Hudson’s letter, inserted in your valuable paper of Sunday last, I have only to observe that my patron and backer, Mr. Hayne, will not allow me to fight under £500 a-side.

“I cannot conceive how Mr. Hudson should be at a loss to make good his stakes. Surely, after the chaffing of Mr. Randall at the Fives Court, where he volunteered to come forward to the tune of £300, and the calls Mr. Hudson intends making in the northern, southern, eastern, and western parts of the kingdom, there will be little difficulty (with the fifty my backer presents to him) in his making up his money.

“Mr. Hudson expressed a wish that I should name a day and place to make a deposit for the mill; I therefore name Mr. Cribb’s, in Panton Street, on Tuesday, the 17th of this month, when I shall be armed with the ready to any amount that may accommodate Mr. Hudson.

“I beg to take this opportunity of assuring the sporting world that, should I enter the lists again with Mr. Hudson (and which I heartily desire may be the case), that it will be my last turn-up in the prize ring.

“I have to apologize for taking up so much of your valuable paper, but feeling it essentially necessary that something like a decisive and perfectly understood answer should be given to Mr. Hudson and the fancy, I have trespassed thus far.

“And am, sir, your obedient humble servant, “THOMAS CANNON.

“August 4, 1824.”

The sporting world at the east end of the town were so confident as to the success of the “John Bull Fighter,” in his second contest with Cannon, that, in addition to the liberal gift of £50 by Mr. Hayne, they made up the remaining £450 without delay, and the battle was fixed for Tuesday, November 23, 1824. It was proposed by Mr. Hayne that the men should fight on a stage, a proposal induced by the fact that in the former fight some friends of Josh. had cut the ropes when they found the fates were adverse to their pet, and had attempted to create a disturbance and wrangle. The proposition was at once acceded to by the real backers of Hudson, who had not been parties to the misconduct of his admirers; and it was stipulated in the articles that the battle should come off on a stage, similar to that on which Spring and Langan fought at Chichester. Matters having been thus amicably arranged, Josh. went into close training, determined to do all that could be done to get himself into fitting condition to justify the confidence that had been placed in him. Cannon, who, from following the calling of a bargee at Windsor, had been elevated to the dignity of gamekeeper to Mr. Hayne, also took immense pains with himself. Josh. had to reduce himself to the extent of about twenty pounds, and this task he manfully accomplished, and his weight on the day of battle was exactly thirteen stone ten pounds. His condition was such that his friends backed him in some cases at five to four, and commonly at guineas to pounds. Cannon, like his antagonist, was also in prime twig: he had not a superfluous ounce of flesh, and his weight was thirteen stone one pound.

The nomination of the place of fighting was left to Mr. Jackson, who received applications from sundry places to bring the mill to certain districts. Among other towns, Andover, Peterborough, and Warwick were liberal in their offers of reward to the men. At length the advantages appeared in favour of Warwick, and thither accordingly Mr. Jackson ordered that the men should proceed. The race-course was, as in the case of Spring and Langan at Worcester, preferred as the scene of action, and an agent was sent down from London, who, in conjunction with the clerk of the course and a committee of gentlemen, made the requisite arrangements.

As it was expected that Barney Aaron and Dick Curtis were to fight on the same stage as the big ones—although in the end this battle did not take place—of course the spectacle was doubly attractive, and the attendance proportionably great. For admission to the grand stand the charge was 10_s._, while to the different wagons round the outer ring the figure varied from 2_s._ 6_d._ to 5_s._ The proceeds of the standings in wagons were divided equally between the boxers and the ring constables. The regulations for preserving order were first-rate, as, in addition to the knights of the mawley themselves, there were twenty-five regular constables with their staves of office to assist. The men arrived on the ground about half-past twelve o’clock, and shortly afterwards mounted the stage; Josh. attended by Peter Crawley and Phil. Sampson, and Cannon waited upon by Tom Spring and Tom Cribb. Mr. Woodward was chosen umpire for Josh., and Captain Radford for Cannon, and these two gentlemen nominated “the squire,” Osbaldeston, of racing and hunting renown, to be referee. These were the days when the patronage of sporting men raised the character of the assemblages at the ring-side. Mr. Jackson, to fill up the interval of expectancy, called upon Jem Ward to show his arm to the amateurs. That boxer did so, and an eminent surgeon of the vicinity pronounced its symmetry to excel any arm he had ever seen. Tom Oliver also stripped, and Mr. Jackson placed him in various attitudes to exhibit the action and beauty of the muscles of the trunk and arms. The arms of “White-headed Bob” (Ned Baldwin) and of Phil. Sampson were shown, and declared to be studies for the sculptor and modeller of the highest interest. On stripping, Cannon was obviously in the better condition. His flesh was hard as ivory, and as clear and bright. Josh. looked perfectly well, but it was evident he might have spared a few more pounds with advantage. He was, nevertheless, as we have said, the favourite at five to four. We have preferred the report of Bell’s Life to the rhapsodical farrago of “Boxiana,” as more practical, actual, and life-like.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The men threw themselves into position; Josh. with a sort of rolling guard, Cannon with his fists straight before him. Each eyed the other with a determined regard, and the brows of both portended mischief.

“With daddles high uprais’d, and nob held back, With awful prescience of th’ impending thwack, Both kiddies stood, and with prelusive spar And light manœuvring, kindled up the war.”

Cannon was clearly resolved to lose no time; he advanced towards Josh. Josh. retreated, to draw his man; but Cannon was not to be out-generalled: he was steady, and followed his enemy. He at last hit out with his right, and caught Josh. on the sneezer. Josh. countered, but did not make much impression. Cannon then fought with his left, and a bustling rally followed, in which there were some straight and forcible returns. Josh. found it was no joke, and having been followed to the rails, he turned round quickly and met his man in another direction. Cannon followed him, and caught him again on the snout, drawing first blood. Josh., nothing abashed, met his antagonist manfully, and some desperate, but not scientific hitting followed. At last Josh. went in for the close, and after a slight struggle both fell, Cannon under. It was again proved that Cannon was no petit maître, and Josh.’s sconce exhibited woeful marks of his meaning. Cannon, too, had a mark under his left eye.

2.—The men came up with courage, but Cannon appeared most collected. Little time was lost in sparring. Josh. broke ground with his right, tipped Cannon on the left eye and got away. Cannon followed him, and returned the compliment, when a heavy tussle again took place, smack for smack, and no attempt at stopping. It was regular tuck-mill hammering, and all head-fighting. Cannon was still busy with his man, and, in closing, a sharp tussle followed, in which both were down, Josh. under.

3.—Josh., on coming to the scratch, was observed to pipe, although not much distressed. He did not wait to gain breath, however, but rattled in manfully to

“Seek the bubble reputation, E’en in the Cannon’s mouth;”

and placed a tremendous hit on the Great Gun’s eye, which drew his cork and produced a general cheer from the Joshuaites. Cannon took it kindly, and rushed forward with alacrity; he hit Josh. on the potato trap, which drew forth another purple stream. This led to an unsparing rally, in which both men gave and took with astonishing fortitude. Josh., in this tussle, again received heavily on the muzzle, and was about to return, when Cannon, from the slippery state of the boards, fell on his knees.

4.—Both came up in true John Bull style, Cannon preserving his original straight-forward guard, and Josh. working for an opening. He got it, and caught Cannon on the nob. Cannon took without flinching, and returned with activity. It was a fine specimen of unshrinking courage on both sides, and slashing hits succeeded each other, right and left. In the end, Cannon slipped down, while Josh. stood firmly on his legs. Some thought this was a knock-down blow, but the fall was attributable only to the wetness of the stage. Josh. was loudly cheered by his friends.

5.—Cannon was first on his legs when time was called, but in rising showed the punishing effects of the last round; still he was fresher than Josh., and commenced his handiwork, and as he scorned to stop, Josh. countered terrifically on his right ogle. Another desperate interchange took place, till the men closed. After a vigorous wrestle, Cannon threw his man close to the rails. Poor Josh. fell on his face, and the crimson spurted from his mouth.

6.—Many thought it was all up with Josh. in the last round; but his seconds were on the alert, screwed his nob to the right bearing, and he again came up with undiminished courage, although a very ugly study for an artist. He rushed to his man with true game, and in his characteristic style planted a heavy blow on Cannon’s left cheek, close to the eye, on which he inflicted a cut, and nearly shut up that shop. Cannon was again active, and followed his man to the stakes, when a rally followed, and ultimately Josh. went down on his hands and knees. Both were weak.

7.—Both men on reaching the scratch were distressed, but Josh.’s bellows went the fastest. Josh. retreated, and was closely followed; he, however, hit straight from his shoulder, and made his mark; but Cannon, nothing behind, returned the compliment with a terrific sneezer. A grapple followed, and Josh. was severely hit, and fell heavily.

8.—It was now manifest to all that Cannon was the strongest man and in the best condition, and the backers of Josh. began to take an affectionate farewell of their blunt; in fact, the good judges thought Josh. had no chance. On coming to the assault, however, both men were groggy, and although they interchanged blows, the effect was not very apparent. A gentle tap on Cannon’s old sore assisted in completing that part of the mark, and the eye was completely closed. Cannon now bored in with undeniable spirit, and a struggle took place for the fall. Josh. had the advantage, and threw Cannon, but afterwards rolled over him. The fall was not of an effective character.

9.—Cannon came up fresher than Josh., and mutual blows were given, neither shrinking from their weight. It was all tussle and punishment. Cannon at last slipped down, and it was still thought probable that Josh. might come round and win.

10.—Both came up dreadfully punished, Cannon’s remaining ogle getting the worse for wear, and Josh. distilling the Burgundy in half a dozen directions. Again did the men show their unshaken fortitude: there was no retreating, but milling in the first style. At last they came to a stand-still, and their blows were as powerless as if they wore the gloves. In the close both went down, Cannon under.

11.—Cannon’s left cheek, on coming to the scratch, was bleeding, but still he was first to the call, and again showed his superiority of condition by his active readiness. He rushed in to fight, but was met boldly by Josh., and interchanges followed. Cannon, in getting away, slipped on his crupper a third time: his shoes were without spikes or nails, which rendered this accident more frequent.

12.—Both came up steady, but Josh. was “piping all hands.” A longer spar, or rather stand-still, took place in this round, before commencing, than had occurred during the fight. At last Cannon let fly with his right on Josh.’s canister, and Josh. returned heavily on his smeller. (“Well done, Josh.”) Bustle followed—tap and tap—when Cannon once more slipped down.

13.—Sparring for breath. Josh. on the retreat. At length Cannon delivered an ugly compliment with his left on Josh.’s mug. Josh. returned, and they both fought to the stakes. They here showed their resolution and their disinclination to “take it easy;” and at length Cannon slipped down. Both were dreadfully punished, but Josh.’s physog. exhibited the strongest marks of seasoning—it was peppered all over.

14.—Cannon hit Josh. with his left, and Josh. countered with his right. In a rally, Cannon hit and slipped, but brought up before he reached the boards, and rushing again to his man with thorough game, evidently showed his heart to be in the right place. Good milling followed, and both went down distressed. Nothing could equal the goodness of Josh.’s nature, but he was evidently on the wane. Both men, in fact, hit till there was not a hit left, and in this round Josh.’s head came heavily in contact with one of the side stakes. (The odds were now two and three to one on Cannon, but there was not much betting.)

15.—Josh, had clearly booked himself for a suit in chancery; but Sampson exclaimed that he was better on coming to the mark. Both were anxious for the affray, and, rushing in, they struggled to the stakes, where several hits were exchanged; but neither of the men were capable of doing execution. They embraced, not very lovingly, and struggled hard for the fall. Josh. got it, and fell on his man, but the exertion did him more harm than good, and Cannon was not much hurt.

16 and last.—The men fought to the stakes, and here they hit at each other, change for change, like smiths at an anvil, but they were both powerless in their blows. Josh., however, was evidently in the worst state, and was reduced to a complete doldrum. At last they broke from the stakes, and Cannon, grappling his man, threw him a tremendous fall, dropping on him as he fell. It was now all UP. Josh.’s head had come in contact with the boards, and his frame was shaken to a stand-still. Sampson picked him up, and did all he could to awaken him to time. It was in vain, however: his time for fighting had ceased, and he could come no more. Cannon did not seem conscious that it was all over, and advanced to the scratch. Spring, however, threw up his hat, and a general shout announced the termination of the contest, in a few seconds under twenty minutes. Cannon had some heavy bets on himself, and has cleared upwards of £1,000 by his exertions, which will tile him for the rest of his life. All the knowing ones were floored: they made certain of Josh.’s success, and backed him in large sums. The East-enders were dreadfully chop-fallen at this second disappointment of their hopes, and downfal to their pride. Little was said, but the elongation of faces and shrugging of shoulders afforded sufficient evidence of what was felt.

REMARKS.—With regard to the character of this fight little is to be said beyond an unqualified eulogium on the bravery of both the men. In the first round it was clear that Cannon was the best man, and that his confidence in himself had not been misplaced. Neither of them showed science: it was, in the true sense of the word, a John Bull affair, in which giving and taking was the only study. He who could give and take most proved to be the best man. Praise is equally due to the one and to the other; and we consider that Cannon’s success is attributable solely to his superior condition. Josh. could not bear to be reduced beyond a certain point; and by his training at this late season of the year, whatever might be his appearance at first sight, he had evidently weakened his constitution. Cannon is not a showy fighter, but he holds his hands up well before him, and in a rally he is always doing a little. He was heavily punished, and was removed in the carriage of his backer to the Regent Hotel, Leamington, and under the medical care of Mr. Jeffson he recovered from his injuries in a shorter time than could have been expected. Hudson was taken to the Castle Inn, Warwick, and put to bed.

On November 29, 1824, Cannon left London with £750 of his winnings, with the intention of opening a tavern at Windsor, with Mrs. Cannon.

Early in 1825 (February 15), in compliance with a desire of the amateurs, Tom Cannon gave a sparring exhibition at the Fives Court, in which Josh. and himself fought their battle of Warwick over again with the mufflers. Josh. was pronounced, despite his fat, to have the best of the “science,” but the activity was with Cannon. “Bravo, Josh.!” at each hit or stop, resounded from all parts of the Court at each manœuvre of the old favourite. The bills and advertisements were headed “Tom Cannon, the Champion of England,” and a challenge for £1,000 was given to any disputant of his title. The door-money was over £100, exclusive of the sale of private tickets.

Cannon now went on a tour, after winning a foot-race of 200 yards with “Squire Smith,” at Shepperton, for a stake of £20 a-side, February 19, 1825, in handsome style. In the following month we find him at Brighton, with his patron, Mr. Hayne, where matches at billiards and wrestling had been made by Mr. Hayne with a well-known Irish adventurer, Mr. Carney. At billiards Mr. Hayne had chosen the celebrated Jonathan (Kentfield) as his representative. It would appear that Mr. Carney caught Mr. Hayne “upon the bustle” early one morning, and backed himself for 100 guineas, p. p., 100 up, Mr. Hayne to find a player who should give him (Carney) 70 points! and this without consulting Jonathan on the matter. At the same time Mr. Hayne backed Cannon to wrestle with Mr. Carney, “collar and elbow,” for £50 a-side, “best of three falls.” Jonathan, winning the toss, named his own table in Manchester Street, for the trial of skill. There was a great muster of sporting men on Thursday, March 24, 1825, and ten to one was betted that Mr. Hayne would forfeit. There was little betting on the play, as it was the general opinion that the odds were preposterously great. Cannon offered £20 to £15 that Carney won. The affair was over in eighteen minutes, Carney winning straight “off the balls,” so soon as he got the cue in hand. Carney played with judgment and coolness, and won the match with credit to himself. He declined another match with forty given. With regard to the wrestling, the following placard was posted in Brighton:

“Ireland’s Royal Grounds will be a scene of great attraction this day (Thursday). A wrestling match, for a heavy stake, will take place between Cannon from Windsor (the celebrated pugilist) and a sporting gentleman amateur from Ireland, at two o’clock; the best of three falls. In addition to which, the art of self-defence will be exhibited by White-headed Bob and Gaynor, with other gymnastic sports. Price of admission, 2_s._ The large room will be appropriated entirely for the ladies who may honour the above manly exhibition with their presence. Every attention will be paid to render the amusements highly interesting to the visitors.”

The crowd at “Ireland’s Ground” was immense, and there was no end of wrangle as to the true definition of “collar and elbow,” the Carney division determining to have “the pull” on their side, if possible. Then arose the question as to whether the game allowed the elegant and humane practice of kicking each other’s shins. Mister Carney had come with his legs swathed in woollen list; but at last Cannon took off his boots, Carney divested himself of his bandages and heavy shoes, and it was finally settled that the umpires should place the hands of the wrestlers on each other’s shoulders and elbows, and leave them. Cannon was dressed in a new jacket and breeches, without any handkerchief on his neck. Carney wore an old blue dress coat and light pantaloons; his fine figure was much admired. We remember him well about town, in his fatter and latter days, when he was a constant frequenter of “Silver Hell,” near Leicester Square, and perpetually engaged in legal or personal war with the notorious Barnard Gregory and the Satirist newspaper; his six feet of height, and fifteen or sixteen stone of weight, still marking him as an opponent one would rather let alone than challenge.

There was little in the match to call for description. Cannon declared he did not understand the style of wrestling. After a short struggle, Carney succeeded in tripping his man, and bringing him almost sideways to the ground. Cannon denied it was a “back fall.” The umpires disagreed, but the referee gave it to Carney. £10 to £5, and then £30 to £10, were offered on Carney. After some play the men were down in a scrambling fall; Cannon was on his knees, and Carney fell over him. This was declared “No fall.” The third and deciding bout was more spirited. Cannon tried to show off, but Carney, with great activity, “heeled” his man so cleverly, that down went “the Great Gun” clean on his back. Cannon jumped up, and with the utmost good humour exclaimed that he had lost the match. He repeated that “he didn’t understand the game.” The whole was over in eight minutes.

White-headed Bob and Gaynor next made their bows, and set-to. The talents of the “White-nobbed One” gave him the best of it, although Gaynor exerted himself to give satisfaction. It was expected Cannon would have had a turn with Baldwin; but “the Great Gun” immediately set off for the metropolis. Five-and-twenty pounds were collected at the doors, which were distributed among the candidates for fame, Mr. Ireland reserving one-fifth for the use of his grounds. Mr. Carney, however, generously made the host a present of his share.

Cannon’s pretensions to the championship were not allowed to remain unchallenged. Jem Ward put in his claim, and, as already recorded,[42] on July 19, 1825, at Warwick, Cannon was defeated, in ten rounds, occupying ten minutes only. The heat of the weather was so intense that several persons fainted and were carried from the ground. Cannon stood £200 of his own money, and £200 in his backer’s bets. During the dispute at Tattersall’s about the stakes, Tom publicly said, that as £200 of the battle-money belonged to him, that should be given to Ward, whatever might be done with the rest. He added, that he should like another trial with Ward, but that he had lost all his spare cash.

In August, 1825, Tom Cannon and Peter Crawley “starred” it at the Coburg (now the Victoria) Theatre in a piece called “The fight at Warwick,” which, we are told, was attractive and lucrative to the management.[43]

Cannon’s next match was with Ned Neale (see Life of NEALE, post), the Streatham Youth, which was decided in an enclosure at Warfield, Berks, February 20, 1827. Neale proved the winner in thirty minutes, after twenty-two hard-fought rounds. The odds were at one time in Tom’s favour, who attributed his defeat to a severe hurt in the shoulder from a heavy fall.

This was Cannon’s last public appearance as principal within the ropes. In November, 1827, Tom seconded Jem Burn in his second fight with Ned Neale, on the same ground at Warfield. The day was wretchedly damp and wintry, and Cannon caught so severe a cold that he was laid up with lumbago, and for several months was a cripple. Cannon still found a friend in Mr. Hayne. Though that gentleman had retired from “the turf and ring,” he placed him in the Castle, in Jermyn Street, St. James’s. Here, through his civility and attention, he was well supported for a time; but Tom’s friends wore off, and new ones came not. His health, too, was precarious, and he retired from business, not upon a competency, we regret to say. For nearly eighteen years Tom disappeared from an active part in ring affairs, and resided at Strand-on-the-Green, in the capacity of a swan-watcher for the Corporation. Severe attacks of the gout and rheumatism disqualifying him from all exertion, he fell into a state of hypochondria, and on Sunday, the 11th of July, 1858, terminated his existence by suicide with a pistol, in the sixty-ninth year of his age, leaving a constant and attentive widow in narrow circumstances to lament his loss. Jem Burn and some other friends of the old school kindly strove to alleviate her forlorn condition.

CHAPTER IV. JOSH. HUDSON, “THE JOHN BULL FIGHTER.”—1816–1826.

Among the names which a pugilistic Plutarch might find difficult to parallel for lion-hearted, fearless, and indomitable pluck, that of Josh. Hudson may be fairly cited. “The John Bull Fighter,” as his friends and admirers at the East-end fondly called him, fought his way into the battle of life at Rotherhithe, on the 21st of April, 1797. Although fond of a mill from his youth upwards, the juvenile John Bull earned the character of a thorough good-natured fellow, and this he preserved through life. There was no ferocity in Josh.’s composition, though once aroused in the fight his hitting was truly terrific, and his gameness in receiving as remarkable as his readiness in refusing to take an advantage of his adversary. Josh, was by no means an uninformed man, and, barring a propensity for practical jokes—a common thing in his day—remarkably inoffensive.

Josh.’s first reported contest was with Jack Payne, the butcher, at Dartford Brim, October 22, 1816, for ten guineas a-side. Jack, when he pleased, could fight well, but he was thought, not without reason, to lose pluck whenever he had not the “lead” in his hands. He soon found he had “caught a Tartar” in young Josh., for in thirty-five minutes he cried “enough!”

Our hero now flew at higher game, and challenged Aby Belasco. After a determined battle of one hour and thirty minutes the affair ended in a wrangle; Clark and Peter Warren, who seconded Josh., taking their man away. Belasco, however, got the stakes.

Hudson’s next battle was with Street, April 5, 1817, which he won in one hour and ten minutes. In “Boxiana,” vol. ii., p. 477, “Street” is called “Connelly.” It was David, Josh.’s brother, who fought and beat Connelly. Tom Oliver and Clark seconded Josh. in this battle.

His next match was with Charles Martin, at Sawbridgeworth, for a stake of twenty guineas, June 10, 1817. Richmond and Harry Holt seconded Josh., who won cleverly in thirty minutes.

Thompson, an Essex coachman, and rather fast with his fists, fancied Josh. for a “tenner,” and challenged him within six weeks of the last-named battle. They fought at Woolwich, July 17, 1817, when, in twenty-five minutes, Thompson dropped his whip and declined any further proceedings.

Josh, having in a spree “milled the wrong person,” was bound over by the magistrates to keep the peace for twelve months. He determined to keep out of the way of mischief for that period, so engaged himself as butcher on board the Surat Castle, Indiaman. Pierce Egan embellishes this voyage with fights with nobodies, to fill up the story of Josh.’s sea life. On his return, Hudson accepted the challenge of a formidable Chatham caulker, of the name of Bowen. This rough and ready customer stood six feet two inches in his stockings, and weighed thirteen stone and a half without an ounce of superfluous flesh; while Josh, drew ten stone seven pounds at scale. The battle was truly desperate; but in seventeen minutes Josh. was knocked out of time. This occurred on March 25, 1819.

Josh. lost no time in emerging from the cold shade of defeat, and on Tuesday, April 17, 1819, a month after the last event, he entered the ropes with Williams, the waterman, for ten guineas a-side, in Essex, opposite to Woolwich Warren. There were 5,000 persons present, say the reports at the time. Hudson was the favourite at five to four. At thirteen minutes past one Tom Owen and Donnelly conducted Josh. into the ring, followed by Williams, who was seconded by Tom Oliver and Harry Holt. The first three rounds were full of manœuvring, and decidedly in favour of the waterman; but when Josh. came to force the fighting, the scene was quickly changed. The waterman, however, proved a truly game man: he was terribly punished before the sponge was thrown up; and Josh., too, had napped it heavily. It was on both sides a manly fight, and Josh. was prophesied by Tom Owen—who dubbed him “his boy”—as likely to take a top place among the boxers of England.

On the 24th of August, 1819, at the renowned battle-field of Moulsey, after Cy. Davis had beaten Boshell, a purse of 25 guineas was made up on the ground, and Jack Scroggins (JOHN PALMER, see his life in vol. i.) agreed to fight Josh. Hudson for the amount. Tom Owen and Sutton esquired Hudson, Harry Harmer and Tom Shelton picked up “Scroggy.” Scroggins hesitated, saying, he had been drinking overnight, and was in bad condition: but, added the daring little sailor, “Here goes—I’ll have a shy for it.” The fight requires but little description; Scroggins rushed headlong at his opponent, scrambling for a hit, and often losing his balance. Josh., on the contrary, was steady, and nobbed the once formidable hero with stupefying effect. When Scroggins fell at the close of round one, two to one was offered on Josh., and soon after three to one was without takers. At the end of the sixth round Tom Owen exclaimed, “It’s your own, Josh., my boy; you don’t want any seconding. Meet him as he comes in—one more like that, and the ‘pence’ you shall have.” In the eleventh and last round Scroggins over-reached himself, and came down on his knees, when Josh. caught him a stinger on the side of the head. “Foul, foul!” “Fair, fair!” echoed from all sides of the ring, for the rough and ready “merry-andrew of the ring” had many friends. The umpires decided the blow to be unintentional, and ordered them to “go on.” Scroggins refused, declaring he “was not used fair.” The purse was then awarded to Hudson. Scroggins, during the first few rounds was as full of antics as a clown in a pantomime, but soon became convinced that he was getting the worst of it, and broke off with an attempt to “snatch a verdict.” About this period Phil. Sampson, the Birmingham Youth, who had, as will be seen by his biography, a talent for quarrelling with his friends, fell out, Phil., more suo, talking about “serving out” Josh. at the first opportunity. Hence, after Ned Turner and Martin had left the ring (see Life of TURNER, vol. i.), on the 26th of October, 1819, at Wallingham Common, Surrey, ten guineas a-side having been posted, and a ten guinea purse subscribed by the P. C., Sampson intimated his readiness to meet Josh., and the John Bull Fighter stepped into the ring with alacrity. Tom Owen and Purcell waited upon Hudson; Shelton and Harmer seconded the Birmingham Youth. On stripping, Owen said to Josh., “Now, my boy, remember the multum in parvo.” “Is that a new hit?” asked Josh. laughing. “No, my boy,” replied Tom; “it’s Latin for doing a lot of work in a little time.” “I’m awake,” replied Josh.; “he won’t catch me napping.” The men stood up, and the seconds having retired to their corners, they began—

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Scarcely had the combatants shaken hands than it appeared that they had no intention to protract hostilities. Sampson dashed in at Josh. and planted a tremendous teazer flush in his ivories. Josh. returned, and some rattling exchanges followed, Sampson literally nobbing Hudson till he reeled staggering away; but he returned to the attack like a bull-dog, and went on weaving away till he was hit down. (Tumultuous applause for Sampson, and the two to one offered on Hudson no longer heard. “I’ll bet six to four, and have Sampson,” cried a Corinthian amateur.)

2.—Sampson again led off, and nobbed Josh. three times on the head. Josh. returned, and caught Phil. heavily on the ribs and side of the head. The men got into a ding-dong rally, right and left, in which unshrinking courage was displayed on both sides. The round closed by both being down side by side covered with claret.

Twenty-five rounds ensued, occupying forty minutes, all of which were distinguished for tremendous fighting. Hudson received three or four flooring hits. In one instance, in the struggle, he fell with his knee on the private parts of Sampson, when the latter observed, “Is that the way you mean to win it, Josh.?” “I couldn’t help it—it was accident,” replied Hudson. “Well, I believe it was,” said Sampson. This small trait of feeling during the rage of battle is a fine proof of the generous courage of Englishmen. Such a good fight has not often been witnessed. At length victory was declared in favour of Hudson. It was a nice thing, and dearly bought, for Josh. fainted on his second’s knee after he was proclaimed the conqueror.

Hudson, from the game and milling talents he had displayed, was next matched against Jack Martin, for 50 guineas a-side, which took place at Colnbrook, on Tuesday, December 14, 1819, when, in the second round, Hudson’s shoulder was dislocated, and of course he lost the battle. (See the Life of MARTIN in vol. i.)

In the course of the evening after the battle, Hudson, in company with a friend, called at the house of Abrams (Little Puss), near the Royalty Theatre, to take a glass of liquor. One Guyly, a big costermonger, took up some money which was upon the tap-room table, belonging to Hudson, and refused to return it. The courage of Josh. made him forget the crippled state of his shoulder for the instant, and he let fly so severely upon the nob of Guyly that the saucy costermonger quickly gave back the cash. Owing to this circumstance a report got into circulation that it was untrue that Hudson’s shoulder had ever been put out by Martin.

An off-hand match was made for Hudson against Rasher, a determined Welshman, a butcher belonging to Whitechapel Market. The latter boxer had the weight of Josh.; nevertheless, he fought Rasher ten guineas to eight. This contest took place at Plaistow, in Essex, on Tuesday, January 11, 1820. Hudson was seconded by Owen and his brother David; Rasher by Mendoza and Cy. Davis. It occupied twenty-nine minutes and a half, and fifteen rounds. After the first round, which was tremendously contested, Hudson had it all his own way. The science displayed by Josh. was much admired, and he made many clever feints with his left hand, to get the right well into play. Rasher was covered with claret, and his gameness astonished every one present, but he was too slow in his movements. He was floored in the last round; and on coming to himself wanted to renew the fight.

Hudson, still continuing to rise in the estimation of his friends, was backed against Benniworth, the Essex champion, the hero of the country for several miles round, for 50 guineas a-side. Benniworth was six feet in height, weighing thirteen stone twelve pounds; nevertheless, Hudson was the favourite. This contest took place on Tuesday, April 4, 1820, on a common near Billericay, in Essex. Hudson was seconded by Owen and Purcell; Benniworth was attended by his brother and another yokel.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—About a minute elapsed in sparring, Benniworth making numerous awkward feints, and dancing about, sometimes standing with his right leg first, then changing it for the left. He made three or four hits, but they proved short. At length Benniworth made a slight blow with his right hand on Hudson’s body. Josh. seeing what sort of a customer he had before him, made play, and let fly right and left in the middle of Benniworth’s nob, both of which told, and the claret flowed copiously. Benniworth’s left eye was much damaged. He rushed in to his opponent, when, in getting away, Hudson’s heel hung in the grass, and Benniworth made a slight half round hit on the neck with his left hand, flooring him. (Great rejoicings from the yokels.)

2.—Hudson, with much dexterity, in a sort of half-arm rally, placed three straight hits on Benniworth’s nob. Josh. also drew backwards, and avoided all Benniworth’s half round blows. Hudson now made himself well up, and planted a most tremendous right-handed blow on the nose of his opponent that floored him like a shot. (Any odds, but no takers, and the Johnny Raws all blue.)

Further description would be useless. Hudson had it thenceforth all his own way. He laughed at Benniworth, and nobbed him at pleasure. The Essex champion lost his temper, rushed in, and followed Hudson all over the ring, with his head leaning forward and both his hands open. Hudson kept retreating, and jobbing his adversary on the head with his left hand. Benniworth was a complete receiver-general; nevertheless, he succeeded in driving Hudson to the ropes; but here he had the worst of it, a guinea to a shilling. Josh. nobbed him terribly away; and in following him, floored him with a terrific right-handed hit on his nose. Benniworth, when “time” was called, was in such a state of stupor that he could not leave the knee of his second, whereon Hudson was declared the conqueror.

Thus was the vaunted rustic champion disposed of in the short space of seven minutes. As a scientific pugilist, Benniworth did not appear to possess a single point: he had no idea of fighting. From the moment he entered the ring Hudson kept laughing at him, and beat him without a scratch upon his face. It certainly was a laughable, but not an interesting contest; and it was matter of astonishment how such a boxer could have obtained so terrific a character. Upon the Essex champion coming to himself, he exclaimed, with great surprise, “Be I licked?” “You are, indeed,” replied Josh., laughing; “but you may have a round or two for fun, if you like it, Benny.” “Noa, noa,” said the champion; “as I’ve lost the stakes, there be no fun in that loike.” Benniworth, it seems, had made so sure of conquest, that he invited his mother and sister to be near at hand. The yokels had also booked it, and provided themselves with blue ribbons to decorate their hats the instant victory was declared in Benniworth’s favour.

Josh. was suddenly called into action with Spring at Moulsey Hurst, on Tuesday, June 27, 1820, for a purse of £20; and, notwithstanding the disparity of size, weight, and science between the combatants, Hudson showed himself a good man. (See the Memoir of SPRING, vol. ii.)

Hudson, during the time he was at Norwich, had a battle with Abraham Belasco in the long room at Gurney’s Bowling Green, July 19, 1820. In this contest, which might be termed for honour, Josh.’s shoulder went in and out three times.

Moulsey Hurst, on Tuesday, December 5, 1820, was again the favourite “bit of turf” for a genteel mill between a swell of the name of Williams and Josh. Hudson. Williams was unknown to the mass of sporting men; but those persons who knew him pretended to be acquainted with his prime fighting qualities, and chaffed all the old ring-goers out of conceit of their own judgment, and Williams was the favourite, six and five to four. This sort of “whisper” importance was also kept up at friendly Bob Lawrence’s, the Red Lion, at Hampton, where the fancy met to take a bit of a snack before they crossed the water, and make their “books” complete. Richmond, downy as a hammer, spoke in raptures of the swell’s superior science with the gloves. Bill Eales, who had stood before Williams many times, nay, who had given him instructions several years back, pronounced him “a downright slaughterer.” The Master of the Rolls was quite infatuated with this pink of the gloves. Martin had tried him again and again, and not having found Williams “wanting,” was this day £50 the worse for his opinion. Tom Shelton was also led away by the stream, and Spring was taken in upon the same suit. Oliver, too, was out of his know, and out of pocket in consequence. Cocker had nothing to do with the fight in question; indeed, who could make any calculation about an unknown man? Randall and Belcher, somehow or other, were persuaded into the good milling qualities of their hero; in short, there was a sort of fashion attached to the betting. The “Swell” was supported and brought forward by the swells. Judgment was shoved, as it were, into the background, or else a novice in the ring would never have been backed, at high odds, against a well-known high-couraged man, one who had often been put to the test, and admitted to be a boxer of talent. But then the shoulder of Hudson was ricketty; no dependence could be placed upon it. Things went on in this manner till about a few minutes before one o’clock, when Williams appeared and threw his hat into the ring, followed by Belcher and Randall as his seconds. The look of Williams was swellish in the extreme. He bowed in the most graceful manner, and there was a superior air about him. He paced the ring up and down for about eight minutes, when Josh., with his white topper, a fancy upper Benjamin, and a blue bird’s eye round his neck, came brushing along and threw his castor into the ring. He immediately went up to Williams and shook hands with him in the true open-hearted English style. To witness the manly act, this characteristic trait of Britons, is worth more in its influence upon society than the perusal of a thousand canting essays tending to fritter down the courage of Englishmen. Williams observed to Hudson, that he hoped there was no animosity between them. “Not in the least,” said he; “we are going to fight for a prize, and to see which is the best man.” Tom Owen and Ned Turner were the seconds for Josh. The latter tied his colours (yellow) to the stakes, and Randall covered them with the blue of Williams. Owen, who had never seen “the Swell” till he entered the ring with “his boy” Josh., observed to the latter, “Why, my chaff-cutter, if you don’t go and lick this Bond Street blade in a jiffy, the white topper shall never more be placed on your nob. My dear boy, the East against the West End for milling.”

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On stripping, Williams displayed a fine muscular frame, and good legs; but his face was pale, and his countenance showed him to be between forty and fifty years of age. Josh. was in high trim, and seemed confident of winning. Some time elapsed after the combatants had placed themselves in attitude before Williams let fly; but Hudson got away. Counter hits followed, when Josh.’s right eye showed blood, and the nose of the swell looked a little red. Williams made a right-handed hit, which Hudson stopped prettily, and then went to work. The exchanges were sharp and hard, but the wisty-castors of Josh. were so tremendous that he spoilt the gentility of the Swell, and positively milled him down. (Great applause from the plebeians; and Tom Owen smilingly said to Josh., “I told you so, my boy: that’s the way to clear Regent Street in a brace of shakes.” Seven to four.)

2.—Josh.’s eye was bleeding when he came up to the scratch. The Swell looked rather puzzled; but he touched Hudson’s other peeper so severely that his nob was chanceried for an instant. Hudson made a plunge with his right hand upon his opponent’s face that produced the claret, followed him up to the ropes, and punished him down. (Three to one, and “It’s poundable,” was the cry. Here Owen told Josh. he had “done the trick, and lots of Daffy were in store for him.”)

3.—The confident appearance of Williams had left him; he had paid a visit, as Tom said, to “Pepper Alley.” Williams showed game, but he had no chance to win. He, however, made some sharp hits; but the pepper-box was again administered, and Williams went down distressed. (Ten to one.)

4.—This round was the quietus; the Swell was hit out of the ring. It was Cayenne at every dose. Williams was completely done up, and his seconds dragged him up all but gone.

5.—Williams was brought up to the scratch in a most distressed state. He, however, showed fight, and with his right hand put in a heavy body blow: it was his last effort. Josh. now went in right and left, and punished the Swell so terribly that he staggered and fell against the ropes; but, on recovering himself a little, Tom Owen said to Josh., “Don’t give a chance away; a finisher only is wanting.” The finisher was applied, and Williams was down all abroad. The swells looked blue, and Josh. received thunders of applause. (“Take him away!” was the general cry.) Josh. in this round did not like to hit the Swell when he had got him at the ropes, feeling like the British sailor, so finely described by Dibdin—

“In me let the foe feel the paw of a lion; But the battle once ended, the heart of a lamb!”

6.—Williams came to the scratch in a deplorable state, and Hudson pushed him down sans cérémonie. When time was called he could not leave his second’s knee.

REMARKS.—Thus, in the short space of nine minutes, Josh. defeated this much-vaunted opponent. After remaining a short time in a state of stupor, Williams came to his recollection, and asked if it was over. The flash side were completely floored in consequence, according to themselves, of their calculating upon Josh.’s shoulder giving way. The Swell showed great steadiness in the first round, which occupied upwards of three minutes; but afterwards had no chance, and found out the great difference between sparring and fighting. Instead of losing so much time in sparring in the first round, as he was clearly a stale man, he ought to have gone to work. He could hit hard, and most certainly did not want for knowledge of the science. But he was too old to take; his mind might be firm enough to endure punishment, but his frame could not stand it. At all events, he should have commenced pugilism (if he wished to obtain a high place in the prize ring) some seventeen or eighteen years earlier. Drummers and boxers, to acquire excellence, must begin young. There is a peculiar nimbleness of the wrist and pliancy of the shoulder required, that is only obtained by early practice. Youth and strength, however, are indispensable ingredients in a pugilist. The backers of Williams, i.e., those amateurs who made the match for him, had no right to complain of his conduct. There was nothing of the cur about him; on the contrary, he fought like a game man: he never said “No,” and he tried to win the battle till he lost sight both of his opponent and friends.

Josh.’s combat with Ned Turner, when Bacchi plenus, and which ended in a defeat, will be found noticed in the life of that boxer, ante, vol. i.

A second match with his former antagonist, Phil. Sampson, was the next public appearance of Josh. This took place on Saturday, March 3, 1821, at Banstead Downs, Surrey. The torrents of rain did not deter hundreds from leaving the metropolis, and several aristocrats of the highest class were upon the ground.

At one o’clock the Birmingham Youth, followed by Spring and Randall, threw up his hat in the ring; and in a few minutes after, Hudson, attended by Oliver and Purcell, repeated the token of defiance. Spring and Oliver went up smiling together, and tied the colours of the combatants to the stakes.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On stripping, Hudson looked extremely well, but rather too fat. Sampson was in excellent condition: both gay, confident, and eager. They had tasted plentifully of each other’s quality in their former fight, and much difference of opinion existed among the spectators who had really won it. A short pause occurred, when Hudson made an offer to hit, and Sampson drew back. Another pause. Sampson endeavoured to put in right and left, which proved short, in consequence of Josh.’s getting away. After looking at each other for about a minute, Hudson went in; some sharp work took place, and in the struggle, Sampson was undermost. (Loud shouting, and “Josh., you have begun well.”)

2.—The nose of the Birmingham Youth appeared rosy. Both now began to slash away, and the pepper-box was handed from one to the other, till Josh, either went down from a hit, or slipped on his knees. (“Go along, Sampson.”)

3.—Hudson missed a tremendous hit at Sampson’s head. The latter drew the claret from Josh.’s mug by a facer; but Josh. rushed in and exchanged hits to his own advantage, and sent his opponent down. (The shouting was now like thunder—the old fanciers dancing hornpipes, the East-enders all in spirits, and the Bermondsey boys offering odds on their favourite, Hudson, six to four.)

4.—The Birmingham Youth took great liberties with the upper works of his opponent. The round was terrific. Both went down, Sampson undermost.

5.—“It’s a good fight,” was the cry all round the ring. Sampson was more than busy, and the face of Hudson was clareted. The latter, bull-dog like, did not care about receiving, so that he could go in and punish his opponent. He did so most effectively in this round, and Sampson was hit down. It is impossible to describe the joy of Hudson’s friends. (Seven to four.)

6 to 9.—These were all busy rounds, and the partisans of each of the combatants claimed the best.

10.—Sampson meant nothing but mischief, and at out-fighting placed his hits, in most with tremendous effect. In this round he went down from the force of his own blow.

11 and 12.—The Birmingham Youth always good for punishment in commencing the round; but Josh. finishing them all to his own advantage.

13.—Sampson in this round was, from the heavy blows he received, almost at a stand-still, till both down.

14.—This was a terrible round on both sides. Hudson’s mug was terrific. The men hit each other away staggering, then returned to the charge game as pebbles, till Sampson scarcely knew how he went down. (“Go along, my Joshy; it’s as safe as the Bank.”)

15.—Sampson was floored from a heavy blow under the listener. (The Hudsonites were uproarious, and offering any odds.)

16.—Sampson came up like a true Briton, and, after several severe exchanges, was again sent down.

17.—Hudson either could not, or did not attempt to, protect his head, and Sampson hit him down. (“Bravo, Sampson! do so again, and you can’t lose it,” from his friends; “you behave like a good one.”)

18.—If Josh. had not been an out-and-out bottom man, from the repeated tremendous facers he received, he must have been beaten before this period; but the more he received the more courage he appeared to have, and after another desperate round, Sampson was sent down.

19.—It was Pepper Alley on both sides, and neither appeared anxious to stop. Josh., as usual, napt it in the first part of the round, but finished it in prime style, and hit the Birmingham Youth down. (Here some hissing occurred, as it was said by a few that Hudson touched the head of his opponent improperly as he laid on the ground; but it was evident that Hudson was moving out of the way to avoid it. “He’s too high-couraged to behave unhandsomely to a brave opponent,” was the general expression.)

20.—Sampson, after a few exchanges, was again hit down. (Two to one.)

21.—It was evident that Sampson was getting weak; his knees began to tremble, but his courage and anxiety to win were strong. He strained every nerve to turn the fight in his favour, and, although he did not succeed in this respect, he was still a dangerous customer. All fighting till Sampson was down. (Three to one, and the Hudsonites quite up in the stirrups.)

22.—Sampson took the lead. The face of Hudson was pinked all over, and his head went back twice. Sampson’s mug was also painted. The latter could not keep Hudson out; he would always be with his man till he had the best of him. Sampson down.

23 to 25.—All milling; but, in the last round, Sampson was exhausted and dropped.

26.—Sampson came up distressed, and was soon sent down. (“It’s all u-p up,” says an over-the-water lad. The Hudsonites all in good humour.)

27.—No chance remained to win; but Sampson would not allow his seconds to say “No.” He came unsteadily to the scratch, but it was only to be sent down. (“Take him away.”)

28.—Sampson, it is true, reached the scratch; and although Hudson was in a bad state, from the punishment he had undergone, yet he still remained fresh enough to finish the exhausted Sampson, who went down without knowing where he was. The shouts of victory gave Hudson new life; he jumped up, put on his own coat, and was immediately taken to a carriage.

REMARKS.—All that a boxer could do towards victory Sampson attempted; but he had not strength enough to dispose of Hudson, who would not be denied. Sampson by no means disgraced his character in defeat. He was led out of the ring in a very distressed state. The fight was over in thirty-two minutes. Hudson received by far most punishment about the head; and, although quite abroad once or twice, his game was so out-and-out that he returned to fight with his opponent at each repulse as though nothing could daunt him.

A slight skirmish took place between Josh. and Jack Ford, the pugilist, on Thursday evening, March 29, 1821, at the east end of the town, over a pot of heavy. Ford offered to fight David Hudson, when Josh. said it was cowardly to challenge “a blind one.” Ford immediately gave Josh. a snorter, which produced the claret. Josh. could not return the favour till he had put the pot and glass out of his hand, when the John Bull boxer caught hold of Ford, and put in such a shower on his nob that he roared out for help, and begged of the company to take Josh. away from him, if they did not wish to see him (Ford) murdered! Josh. offered to accommodate Ford any time in a public ring, if he liked it, but observed that he must take no more liberties in future with his head, or he should answer before “the beak” for such conduct.[44]

In June, 1821, Josh., by way of keeping the game alive, offered to fight Tom Oliver for £100 a-side; and in October of the same year sent the following to the editor of the Weekly Dispatch:—

“SIR,—

“‘The John Bull Fighter,’ as he is termed, without meaning any offence, or a long preface on the subject, wishes to make it known that he can be backed for £100 a-side against Martin, if it meets with the approbation of the latter. Also, the same sum is ready to enter the lists with Garrol, the Suffolk champion; but if Garrol cannot get £100, I have no objection to accommodate him for £50. I am to be found at all times ready to make a deposit to the above effect.

“Yours, etc., “JOSHUA HUDSON.

“October 10, 1821.”

The second fight which was to have taken place between Josh. Hudson and the Suffolk champion on Tuesday, the 11th of December, 1821, after Neat defeated Hickman, for £50 a-side, went off, in consequence of a demur about the stakes. An appeal was made to Mr. Jackson, who advised the money to be returned. The Suffolk champion threw up his hat in the ring, but Hudson did not think it necessary, under the circumstances, to answer it. Had the fight taken place, Tom Owen was on the ground to second his boy Josh. The forfeit of £20 was given to Hudson by consent of Garrol’s backers.

A match was made immediately after the above forfeit between Hudson and the Chatham Caulker for £100 a-side. Bowen, six feet two inches in height, as the reader has seen, had defeated Josh. a few years before, at Chatham, in seventeen minutes. David Hudson had likewise surrendered to his conquering arm. However, the gay boys—the East-enders, with ould Tom Owen at their head—said Josh. should have another shy for it, if he lost his stick. The odds were six and seven to four against him. “What of that?” said Tom Owen; “do you mind me, the bigger the Caulker is, the better mark my boy Josh. will have to hit at.” This battle was decided on Wimbledon Common on Tuesday, February, 5, 1822.

Soon after peep of day the fancy were in motion to reach Banstead Downs, the appointed spot for the mill; but the secret had slipped out, and the beaks had got hold of the scent; yet timely notice was given to the travellers, to prevent their proceeding farther than the Cock at Sutton. Some doubts also existed upon the subject on the preceding evening at the sporting houses in town, and several swells preferred starting for Croydon to be in readiness for the result. Sutton, however, was the rallying point; and after some little consideration, Smitham Bottom was the next place determined upon, to accomplish which, two roads presented themselves (and precious ones they were), when the company brushed off in all directions, and bad was the best. To describe the ludicrous incidents which occurred across the country for nearly seven miles a small volume would scarcely suffice. In many instances several of the horsemen, mounted on good cross-country bits of horseflesh, went the pace in steeple-chasing style; and, by way of increasing the effect, at one period sly Reynard appeared in view, followed by the Surrey hounds in full cry. A few of the ring-goers, who were upon horses (now reduced to hacks) which in better times were hunters, found their situations become ticklish, and one of the “Jemmy Green” fraternity, who was floored slap in the mud, observed, with a face as long as one’s arm, “That the stable-keeper had not used him well by putting him on a hunter, and not tellin’ of him.” The puffing and blowing of the poor toddler, to keep up with the carriages: gigs shivered to pieces, upset, or their springs broken; post-chaises fast up to the naves of the fore wheels in clay, altogether formed so serio-comic a sketch that the pen cannot do justice to it. Boreas, too, took unwarrantable liberties with the head covers of the company, and many a hero’s tile was not replaced on his upper story without a scampering of a quarter of a mile for it. Smitham Bottom was at length reached in a tremendous shower of rain, the turnpike was paid without murmuring, and all the preceding troubles were forgotten on the ring appearing in sight. But here another difficulty arose: the stakes had been scarcely put into the ground, when a “beak” unexpectedly appeared, attended by his clerk, and put a stop to the battle. This was a reverend gentleman, upon whom no remonstrances could prevail. A funny fellow immediately observed to the preacher, “That it would not hinder him from receiving one jot less of his tithes; but if he was determined to prevent the contest taking place, he might, in lieu thereof, be kind enough to give them a sarmon against the noble old English practice of boxing. This might have two advantages—make them disperse, if not, perhaps change their opinions upon the subject.” The only answer elicited was, “That he would follow them all over the county.” No time was to be lost, and the assemblage again hurried off in all directions to gain Wimbledon Common. The sudden influx of company which poured into Croydon, put all the good people of that place on the stare; the doors and windows of the houses were crowded to witness the movements of the discomfited fancy. The bipeds by this time were dead beat; in fact, they were off their legs. The horses, too, were almost baked to a stand-still; and the storm coming on thicker and faster, many preferred the comforts of a good inn and a prime dinner to a doubtful chase; indeed, numerous bets were laid that no fight would take place on that day. The champion, Tom Cribb, with several of his friends, being of this opinion, preferred toasting milling over a bottle of black strap to further adventures. But the out-and-outers, whom neither wind, weather, hail, rain, nor shine can get the best of, regardless of the pitiless pelting storm, braved its fury for many a long mile, without a dry thread upon their backs, till they again met Bill Gibbons, with the stakes, on Wimbledon Common. The ring was quickly made; but the spectators were select and few, some thousands being left behind. Neither had the beak pluck enough to encounter the storm or distance, the persevering ones having travelled nearly forty miles to witness the battle. At seventeen minutes to five o’clock, Hudson, attended by Tom Owen and Randall, threw his hat into the ring. The Caulker immediately followed him, attended by Sutton and Jackson, a butcher, from Chatham. The Caulker was decidedly the favourite, six and five to four. Hudson immediately went up to his opponent and shook hands heartily with him. The President of the Daffy Club (Mr. R. Soares) held “the ticker.”

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The person of the Caulker was unknown to the ring-goers. True, his fame had gone before him, and he had been represented as nothing else but an out-and-outer, a terror to all milling coves in the neighbourhood of Chatham, and the best and strongest man in the dock-yard. David Hudson proved a mere chick in his hands, and Josh. had been licked against his will in seventeen minutes. The knowing ones, who do not like to remain idle, and who always endeavour to get a guinea upon a safe suit, were thus induced to lay the odds upon the Caulker, and in many instances rather heavily. It was farther said of him that he was a second Bill Neat, and that his right, whenever it told, was a sort of quietus. On the appearance of the Caulker in the ring, the general remarks were in his favour—“That he was a good nobbed one, snake-headed, had the length of his adversary, and looked a dangerous customer.” However, on peeling and getting rid of the swell white upper tog (which, by-the-bye, seemed to fit him like a purser’s shirt upon a handspike), he appeared a thin, lanky man, yet with good arms. On shaking hands with Hudson, he stood over the latter several inches. The round frame and ruddy face of Josh. was in singular contrast with the countenance of his opponent. It was observed on all hands that the John Bull Fighter was too fat, when a wag remarked that the contest being between roast beef and soup-maigre, John Bull was perfectly in character. Very little sparring took place before the Caulker endeavoured to put in his right hand, but Hudson got away from its force with much dexterity. The Caulker endeavoured to repeat this mode of attack, when Hudson again retreated with success. Some hard fighting ensued, several hard blows were exchanged, and the length of the Caulker was thought to give him the superiority. Hudson planted a tremendous hit upon his opponent’s ivories, that not only made them chatter, but produced a pinky appearance upon his lips. The Caulker, however, was not behind hand in returning the favour, and put in such a slap under Josh.’s right ogle as started the claret, sent him off his balance, and dropped him on one knee; he would have fallen, if he had not been caught hold of by Tom Owen, when the round finished.[45] (The Chathamites were up in the stirrups at the success of their hero, and loudly offered to back him at six to four.)

2.—This triumph was of short duration, and Josh. convinced the spectators that he was by far the better fighter, as well as the harder hitter. John Bull was now in his glory; laughing at all danger, he resolutely went in to his opponent. Some tremendous blows were exchanged in favour of Hudson; indeed, it was all fighting. For a rally, there was never a better boxer or a more determined one than Josh. Hudson. He finished the round in fine style, and floored his adversary by a terrific hit on his knowledge box, that gave the Caulker quite a different view of the battle. (The East-enders were now dancing with delight, and offering to sport their blunt like waste paper. In the ecstasy of the moment, five to two and two to one was current betting. The Chathamites looked blue. “My boy,” said Tom Owen, “I always knew you were good at a short cut, but I did not think you could play half so well at long bowls. Do you mind me, Josh.; another such a tickler will send all the Chathamites to Gravesend with pockets to let.” “I’m awake, my Tommy,” replied Josh.)

3 and last.—John Bull came up to the scratch jolly, and eager to commence offensive operations; while, on the contrary, the Caulker came up slow and shaky; however, as a last resource, he endeavoured furiously to attack Hudson, who got away laughing. The combatants now got into a desperate rally, and Josh, received the most pepper, till he put in a Gas-light Man’s shot in the middle of his opponent’s mug that sent him staggering some yards; he appeared as stupid as a man without a nob. Hudson lost no time, but, from the length of his opponent, two blows fell short upon his shoulder, till he finished the battle by another Gas-lighter under his opponent’s ear, when the Caulker fell in a state of stupor, from which he did not recover for some time after Josh. had regained his post-chaise. When time was called, the battle had only occupied three minutes and a half and a few seconds.

REMARKS.—This last hit was an electric shock to the backers of the Caulker, many of whom were naval men. Not a few of the travellers, too, were disgusted at so short a fight after such a long and weary journey. “How we have been gammoned,” said those who had been persuaded to lay the odds on Bowen; “this man a terror to all the dock-yard men and milling ‘salts’ in the neighbourhood of Chatham? If so, what a prize Josh. must be!” When Josh. met the Caulker the first time he was a stripling of ten stone four pounds; he was now over twelve stone, had learnt much, and by his in-fighting set at nought the Caulker’s great length of arm. Large sums of money were lost throughout Kent upon the Caulker. A bright moon and pleasant air, after the day’s storm, rendered the ride home doubly pleasant to the winners.

Josh., ever anxious to be doing, addressed the following to the editor of the Weekly Dispatch:—

“SIR,—

“I wish, through the medium of your paper, to inform Mr. Martin that I am ready to fight him for one or two hundred pounds, either before or after his fight with Randall. Should he accept this challenge, I am ready, at any time he shall appoint, to meet him at Mr. Holt’s, Golden Cross Chop House, Cross Street, Long Acre, to make a deposit; should he refuse (having been once defeated by him), I must, to use the language he so generously adopted when challenging Randall, pronounce him ‘a cur.’ I also wish to inform the sporting world that the challenge to Ned Turner, which appeared in your paper of last Sunday week, as coming from me, I know nothing of; and be assured the John Bull Fighter, as I am termed, possesses too much of a John Bull heart to exult over a defeated pugilist; and Messrs. Old Tom and Old Time having made great inroads upon the constitution of poor Ned, it was farthest from my thoughts to give a challenge, which I know his proud heart could not brook, nor his health admit him to accept.

“I am, sir, your obedient servant, “JOSHUA HUDSON.

“Golden Cross Chop House, May 4, 1822.”

A month or two subsequently, Bill Abbot having dared Josh. to the field, he inserted the following as an answer to Abbot’s challenge:—

“SIR,—

“With reference to your letter of Sunday last, I shall be happy to accommodate you for fifty a-side, and any day this week you will find me or my money at the Cock and Cross, Red Cross Street, London Docks, to make the match. If your friends will back you for £100, I wish to say my money is ready, and in that case I will wait upon you to make a deposit of £20, as far West as you may appoint. I went the other evening to Mr. Belcher’s, and did hope to have found you, or some friend, to have made the match; but was there informed by one of your backers it was a mistake.

“I am, sir, yours obediently, “JOSHUA HUDSON.

“July 14, 1822.”

The John Bull Fighter was matched, at short notice, with a countryman of the name of Barlow, called the Nottingham Youth, for £50 a-side. This battle was decided on Tuesday, September 10, 1822. Great sums of money were pending, and the road from London to St. Alban’s was covered with vehicles of every description, their inmates anxious to behold the “new hero” make his début. Barlow, according to report, had beaten twelve of the best men in Yorkshire, and the knowing ones were persuaded into the delusion that he would swallow Josh. at a bolt, afterwards dispose of Shelton, and ultimately put out “the Gas.” So many wagons on the ground well filled with country gentlemen (particularly from Yorkshire) had not been witnessed for a long time. A few minutes before one, Josh. threw his white topper into the ring with more than usual animation, as much as to say, “I mean to win, and nothing else!” He was followed by that “special original,” Tom Owen, and Randall, also in white hats. Hudson was loudly cheered by the spectators. The backer of Josh. accompanied him within the ropes, wearing the same emblem. Barlow was not forgotten by the crowd on making his appearance arm-in-arm with Belcher and Harmer. Hudson went up and shook hands with him. Josh. peeled instantly, and got ready; but the countryman was so long in preparing, George Head lacing his shoes carefully, and a number of officiating attendants crowding about him, that Tom Owen sung out, “What are you arter, Mr. Bel-s-h-a-r; you are keeping us waiting? Your man don’t seem to like it much. D’ye mind me?” Hudson also observed, “Come, what are we waiting for; I’m ready—let’s go to work.” Five to four on Barlow.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On peeling, the frame of the Nottingham hero did not appear calculated to punish, and most of the pugilists present made up their minds Hudson must win. It is true, the John Bull Fighter was rather too fleshy; nevertheless, he was in fine condition, and, united with his laughing, open, and confident countenance, setting defeat at defiance, made a considerable impression in his favour with the surrounding multitude. On setting-to, Josh. stood firm as a rock, with his left arm extended, nearly touching the fists of Barlow, for half a minute; on the contrary, the knees of the countryman shook (by-the-bye, he was a bad-legged one); he appeared puzzled, and at a loss how to commence the attack. Josh., finding his opponent in no hurry to begin, let fly, and counter-hits took place. The ivory box of John Bull received a small taste; but the nose of Barlow napped a rap which produced the claret. Josh., laughing, said to the umpires, “First blood.” This decided numerous wagers. (The East-enders began to chevy it was all right, and the “special original” offered ten to one on Hudson, when Belcher replied, “I’ll take it.” “Stop till the round is over,” said Owen, “and it will be twenty to one.”) Hudson put down his hands and rubbed them on his drawers, but the countryman did not take advantage of this opening. Josh. saw that he had got him, stepped in, in the Randall and Curtis style, and, without ceremony, planted a tremendous hit under the listener of Barlow that sent him down like a shot. The countryman seemed all abroad. The shouting by the boys from the Tower was uproarious in the extreme, and five to one was offered all round the ring. Anything like description must fall short in portraying the emotions of the various countenances. The chaff-cutting countrymen, who had been so jolly before, were all struck of a heap; the few knowing ones, too—who knew everything about the feats of Barlow, and had been let into the secret, “as how the Nottingham boy had beaten twelve men in the country, had knocked Tom Belcher about in a private set-to, and had got the best of Gully in a bout with the gloves”—began to drop down a little, and to look blue; while the sages of the East offered “little all” that John Bull would again prove victorious. “Do you mind me, Josh.,” said Tom Owen, “it’s as right as the day; you have only to go in and lick him off-hand.” “Yes,” replied Josh., laughing, “I’ve got him safe enough now; I liked him when I first saw him.”

2.—The countryman was reduced to a mere dummy: he was quite puzzled, and came up to the scratch to be floored by Josh. in a twinkling. (Ten to one offered, but no takers. Hudson as strong as a horse.)

3.—Similar to the last: Barlow again measured his length on the turf.

4.—Barlow, although without a chance to win, showed himself a game man, and came to the mark for another shy; but it was only to be hit down. (Here the president of the Daffy Club interfered, and requested he might be taken away. The long faces of “I’s Yarkshire” beggared all description.)

5 and last.—Barlow came again to fight, but soon found himself in Pepper Alley. Belcher satisfied that he could not win, put up his arm to stop further punishment, and he fell down. Josh. jumped out of the ring as conqueror, only six minutes and a half having elapsed.

REMARKS.—The friends of Barlow showed great want of judgment in selecting such a well-known, often-tried, high-couraged man as Josh. Hudson for his trial opponent in the London prize ring. It was a hundred pounds to a farthing against Barlow after the first round; indeed, it was next to an impossibility that he should recover from the stupefying effects of so tremendous a hit. That he was a game man there is no doubt: his conduct in the ring decided that fact. This battle afforded no opportunity of judging accurately upon the subject of Barlow’s real capabilities. Hudson had not a single mark, and said it was one of the easiest things he had ever had in his life. On recovering from his surprise, in the post-chaise, Barlow wished his friends to let him renew the combat on the ground.

Josh., anxious not to let his faculties lie idle, addressed the subjoined letter to the editor of the Weekly Dispatch:—

“SIR,—

“You will oblige me by inserting the following challenges in your valuable paper. I understand that the friends of the Suffolk champion have been at the other end of the town to make a match against me; in answer to which I have only to say my friends are ready to meet them any day next week, where they think proper, to make a deposit, for 100 guineas a-side, to fight once within two months. I am also informed that Mr. Abraham Belasco wishes to have another trial with me. If any gentleman will make the match for Belasco, my friends will meet them at Randall’s any day next week they shall choose to appoint. I have only to add that, if either of them wish to do as they say, they must enter the ring before Christmas, as I mean to be like the rest of the pugilists, and declare off. Answers from the Suffolk champion and Belasco will oblige me, that I may know where to meet them on the subject, if they mean to come to the scratch.

“I remain, sir, your humble servant, “JOSH. HUDSON.

“Cock and Cross, Redcross Street, October 4, 1822.”

Tom Shelton, after some delay, was matched with Hudson for £100 a-side, the mill to take place on Tuesday, November 19, 1822; but, owing to some reports having got into circulation that it was to be a cross on the part of Shelton, Mr. Jackson refused the use of the P. C. ropes. The friends of Shelton, nevertheless, were so satisfied with his integrity that they immediately made the following match:—

“Golden Cross, Cross Lane, Long Acre.

“Thomas Shelton agrees to fight Josh. Hudson on Tuesday, the 10th of December, in a twenty-four feet ring, for £100 a-side, half-minute time; to be a fair stand-up fight. Mr. Jackson to name the place, and to hold the stakes of £200. £6 a-side are now deposited in the hands of the P. of the D. C., and the remainder of the stakes, £94 a-side, to be made good at Mr. Holt’s, on Saturday, the 23rd of November, between the hours of eight and ten o’clock in the evening, or the deposit money to be forfeited. An umpire to be chosen on each side, and Mr. Jackson to name the referee.

“November 22, 1822.”

This remarkable contest came to issue on Harpenden Common, near St. Alban’s. Josh. was defeated in less than fifteen minutes, and fourteen rounds. He was hit out of time, and Shelton was so dead beat that it was with difficulty he appeared at the scratch to answer the call of “time.”

On the 17th of December, 1822, Josh. (full of Christmas before it began) had a turn-up in a room with Tom Gaynor, the carpenter, a strong, wiry chap, then little known, and said to be a bit of a plant. Hudson’s hands were quite gone, and altogether he was not in a fit state to fight, and if he had any friends present when the row took place, they ought to have prevented the battle. The high courage of Josh. brought him through the piece; but he was severely milled, and met with a very troublesome customer for thirty-five minutes, before Gaynor could be choked off. To mend the matter, it was for love. Josh.’s defeat weighed on his mind, and he thus proposed a renewal of hostilities in a letter:—

“SIR,—

“My late defeat by Shelton having occurred through accident, has induced me to wish to meet him once more in the ring, for the satisfaction of myself and friends and the sporting world, for which purpose I have seen Tom personally; but, for reasons best known to himself, he declines fighting any more, at least with me. I am therefore disengaged; and as my friends are ready to back me for £100 against any one (that fact coupled with the idea I entertain of myself), I wish, through the means of your valuable paper, to say, should either Bill Neat or Tom Spring have a leisure hour, once within three months, to display in real combat the scientific art of self-defence, I am ready, at any time and place either of these gents may appoint, to make a deposit to fight for the above sum.

“I am, with respect to Neat and Spring, yours obediently, “JOSHUA HUDSON.

“Cock and Cross, Redcross Street, London Docks, January 25, 1823.”

The second match was made between Hudson and Shelton for £100 a-side, but on Thursday evening, May 23, 1823, Josh. and his friends attended at Shelton’s house to make his money good for the fight on the ensuing 10th of June. The money of Hudson, fifty sovereigns, lay on the table for ten minutes. Shelton in reply, said he was under recognizances, and should not fight nor would he forfeit. Thus the battle went off, and Hudson received £30.

Hudson was anxious to make a match with Neat, but the friends of the latter never appeared at the scratch. Hudson attended at Randall’s house for the purpose on May 30, 1823.

The John Bull Fighter never let a chance go by him, and the following epistle clearly decides his anxiety at all times to accommodate a customer:—

“To the Editor of the WEEKLY DISPATCH.

“SIR,—

“On perusing the daily papers, I understand that Ward challenged me at the Fives Court on Tuesday last; you will therefore have the kindness, through your sporting journal, to inform him that the John Bull Fighter, whether abroad or at home, is always ready to accommodate any of his friends, to afford a ‘bit of sport.’ If Mr. Ward, or his backers, will call at Mr. Randall’s, the Hole-in-the-Wall, Chancery Lane, on Thursday evening next, Hudson will make a match either for £100 or £200 a-side, as may suit his opponent.

“I remain, sir, yours, etc., “JOSH. HUDSON.

“Birmingham, August 28, 1823.”

On the arrival of Hudson in London, the following articles were agreed to:

“Hole-in-the-Wall, Chancery Lane.

“Josh. Hudson agrees to fight James Ward for £100 a-side. To be a fair stand-up fight, in a twenty-four feet ring. Half-minute time. Mr. Jackson to name the place of fighting. The battle to take place on Tuesday, November 11, 1823. The men to be in the ring, and ready to fight, between the hours of twelve and one o’clock. An umpire to be chosen on each side, and a referee to be appointed on the ground. £10 a-side are now deposited in the hands of a person well known in the prize ring; £40 a-side more to be made good at Mr. Shelton’s, Hole-in-the-Wall, Gate Street, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, on Tuesday, October 7, 1823, between the hours of eight and ten o’clock in the evening, or the £10 a-side to be forfeited. The remainder of the stakes, £50 a-side, to be made good a fortnight before fighting, on Tuesday, October 28, 1823, at Mr. Randall’s, Hole-in-the-Wall, Chancery Lane, between the hours of eight and ten o’clock in the evening, or the money deposited to be forfeited.

“Signed, “For JOSH. HUDSON, G. H. “JAMES WARD.

“Witness, B. BENNETT. “September 4, 1823.”

Upon the above articles being signed, six to four was offered to be taken by the friends of Ward, and several bets were proposed that Ward’s money would be made good.

The following remarks were made respecting the milling capabilities of the combatants previous to the match:—

“The friends of the Black Diamond in the rough (Jem Ward) flatter themselves he is so much polished by his recent experiments on the nobs of the provincials, as to be able to take a high number among the metropolitan boxers. Ward, in point of frame, is a second Hen. Pearce, so say the ould ones; and his chest is thought to be equal in point of anatomical beauty and immense strength to any boxer on the P. L. Ward is likewise a most scientific fighter, active on his legs, and mills on the retreat in first-rate style. The principal drawback is said to be, that he is more of a tapper than a heavy punishing hitter; and it is also a question at present, which time can only answer (in order to make his resemblance to the Chicken complete), whether the little but important word ‘game’ is to be added to his character. Ward, on account of his youth, is much fancied by a great part of the betting world at the west end of the metropolis, who assert, and back their opinion, he will win it easily. On the contrary, something like grief has escaped the lips of the coveys near the Mint; and the Sage of the East has also been caught on the sly wiping his ogles, that necessity should compel the ‘two Stars of the East’ to be opposed to each other. Josh. and Ward being positively in want of a job, and sooner than remain idle, or stand still, are anxious to take each other by the hand, no opponents from any part of the kingdom offering to enter the lists with them. Their match seems made upon the same principle as that of the late Tom Johnson and Big Ben. ‘Tammy,’ said the latter, ‘you and I never fell out, and that is the reason why I think we ought to fight.’ This is exactly the opinion of the John Bull Boxer, who delights in fighting, but detests quarrelling, laughing heartily at the incidents of a mill, and weeping over any real distress. Great sums of money are already betted upon the battle between Hudson and Ward. The former hero is thought to be too fleshy; but his lion-hearted courage, among his staunch admirers, overbalances all defects; and numbers take Josh. for choice, while others are so fond of him as to bet the odds.”

The fight took place on the 11th of November, 1823, on Moulsey Hurst. Hudson was the favourite at six to four some days before the battle; but by a dodge on the evening when the final stakes were to be made good, he reduced the betting to evens, and finally six to four on Ward. He stuffed himself into a great coat, a dress coat, and seven or eight under waistcoats, which gave him such a puffy appearance that many even of his own friends imagined him out of condition. Hudson was always an attractive feature in the prize ring; and Ward, by anticipation, was expected to turn out a hero of the first milling class. From the time Dutch Sam fought Nosworthy, so many vehicles were not seen upon Moulsey Hurst. A sprinkling of Corinthians ornamented the ring, numerous swells, a great variety of heavy-betting sporting men, thousands of independent respectable spectators, lots of commoners, and plenty of persons a shade below the last mentioned, and, lastly, a multitude of chaps still a shade lower. The whole was conducted in the most respectable and orderly manner, under the direction of the Commander-in-Chief, seconded by the efforts of the Commissary-General. The exertions of Oliver, Scroggins, Harmer, Sampson, Turner, Carter, etc., also tended in a great degree to give every individual an opportunity of viewing the fight. Five and seven shillings each person was demanded for a standing place in the wagons; and the watermen who ferried the crowds across the Thames were well paid for their exertions. The Red Lion at Hampton was head quarters, and every room in the house overflowed with company. Between twelve and one o’clock Josh., in a drab white coat, with a blue bird’s eye round his neck, attended by his seconds, Randall and Peter Crawley, followed by Jem Burn, threw his hat into the ring. Hudson was received with loud shouts. He looked cheerful, nodded to several friends, and appeared quite at his ease. After walking about the ring for the space of ten minutes, “Ward, Ward,” was the cry. “He ought to have been here before,” said Josh.; “half past twelve o’clock was the agreement.” The Black Diamond was seen, arm-in-arm with his backer and trainer, making his way through the crowd, followed by his seconds, Spring and Aby Belasco. He was cheered as he passed along, and threw his hat spiritedly into the ring. Ward looked extremely pale on entering the ropes; and the contrast between the mugs of the combatants was decidedly in favour of Hudson. While the Black Diamond was sitting on the knee of his second, preparing for action, he turned round and surveyed his opponent from head to foot. Randall tied the colours of Josh., “true blue,” to the stakes, and Spring placed Ward’s, green, alongside of them. “Go to work,” was now the order of the day.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Hudson, on throwing off his togs, amused the spectators by a dramatic touch—a new feature in the prize ring—something like the comic business in Hamlet. On getting rid of his linen, which had been nicely got up by his laundress for the occasion, a flannel cameza was discovered, and the eager peepers of the amateurs were disappointed in not beholding Josh.’s canvas, a second layer of Welsh obscuring it. “Hallo!” said the Nonpareil, “how many more of them have you got on?” “Why, you are made of flannel,” rejoined Peter. “Leave it all to the cook,” replied Josh., smiling; “ask Ward about that by-and-bye.” To the great astonishment of the crowd Randall divested a third from his frame before Josh.’s rotundity of abdomen, broad jolly shoulders, and round arms were exposed for action. At length the John Bull Fighter appeared all in his glory: “His soul in arms, and eager for the fray.” “Let no person assert that Josh. has not been careful of himself,” observed a young sprig of aristocracy. “Careful, indeed!” replied an old sporting man; “do not say a word about being careful: he is in no condition at all; he is not fit to fight. For myself, I never make any calculations upon his training; no, no, system and Hudson are not pals; and the old Sage of the East, Tom Owen, has deplored this defect in his darling boy times and often with watery ogles. It is his invincible bottom that never flinches while nature holds her empire over his frame that renders Hudson a safe man to back at all times. Recollect Ben Burn’s character of Tom Cribb, ‘I wouldn’t mind fighting Cribb,’ said Ben, ‘but Tom has not sense enough to leave off; he never knows when he has got enough.’” The John Bull was now only waiting to shake the hand of his opponent to show the spectators that animosity had no place in the contest, fame and glory being his only object in view. Ward was in tip-top condition; in fact, he could not have been better: he was nearly, if not quite, as heavy, without the grossness of his opponent, and thus possessed the advantages of training. The bust of the Black Diamond was pronounced “beautiful” by the admirers of anatomy; indeed, the whole figure of Ward was of so manly an appearance, that a sculptor might have long looked for such a model of a pugilist. The combatants placed themselves in attitude. Hudson stood firmly with his left arm extended, looking steadfastly at his opponent, ready for any chance that might offer, well knowing that he had an active and scientific boxer before him. The forte of Ward immediately showed itself: hitting and getting away seemed to be the object he had in view. After a short pause, and both moving a few paces on the ground, Josh. let fly with his left, but the Black Diamond got away with activity. Ward endeavoured to make a hit, but his distance from Josh. was too respectful to do any mischief. Hudson looked cheerful and Ward smiled. Hudson aimed a heavy blow with his right hand, but the Black Diamond was not to be had, and retreated. Josh., perceiving that long bowls were of no service, determined to try if a broadside would not bring his adversary into action; he went to work sans cérémonie, and an exchange of heavy blows was the result. The Black Diamond napped a blow on the side of the neck, which, if it had been planted a little higher, might have been mischievous. In closing at the ropes Ward commenced the weaving system actively, but the situation of Josh. gave him the opportunity of beating the back part of Ward’s neck and head. In struggling for the throw, Ward obtained it cleverly, Hudson being undermost. (Shouting, and “Well done, Jem! that’s the way, my lad; you can win it by throwing only.” “Walker!” said an old sailor from the Cock and Cross; “lick my old messmate by a throw indeed! You don’t know him.”)

2.—Josh.’s forehead was a little rouged, and the right ear of the Black Diamond vermilioned from the effects of the last round. Ward would not make play, and Hudson found his man very difficult to be got at. A short time was occupied in dodging, when Hudson again resolutely commenced the attack. Several blows of no tender nature were exchanged between them till they fought their way into close quarters. Ward, with great spirit and activity, fibbed his opponent à la Randall, but not without return. After severe struggling they separated, and both went down.

3.—Josh. stopped well, and also got away from a heavy hit. Ward smiled. A smart rally took place, in which Hudson received a rum one that caused him to stagger, stagger, and stagger till he went down on his rump. It is true it was from the effects of the hit; but perhaps it would be too much to term it a knock-down blow. In the above rally Ward also received a teazer on the tip of his nose which produced the claret, and he dropped, a little exhausted, on one knee at the conclusion of the round. (“Ward will win it,” from his partizans; “he’ll be able to make a fool of the fat one in ten minutes.” The odds decidedly on the Black Diamond.)

4.—This round was short, but very sweet to the backers of Hudson. The latter, on setting-to, floored Ward like a shot. (The joy was so great on this event that the Bullites roared like bulls, the Black Diamond’s friends looking a little blue at this momentous triumph.)

5.—This was an out-and-out round on both sides. Ward was on his mettle, and nothing else but milling followed. Josh. made play, and Ward turned to with equal gaiety. Some heavy blows passed between them, and Josh. turned round in breaking away from his adversary. A short pause, when Hudson kept creeping after Ward, who was retreating, till another rally was the result, in which the Black Diamond had the best of it, till Josh. again broke away. Hudson was terribly distressed, and Ward committed the error of letting the John Bull Fighter make a pause till he recovered his wind; in fact, Ward would not fight first. The high-couraged ould one, puffing and blowing like a grampus, again commenced play, but received three facers for his temerity. Another pause. Hudson was now at a stand-still, and his bad condition was visible to every one, but he would attempt to mill undismayed, till he received a tremendous blow on his left cheek-bone, which sent him down in a twinkling. This was a clean knock-down blow. (The Black Diamonders were now in turn brilliant. “That’s the way, my Jem’s eye; it’s all your own. We’ll back you now two to one, nay, three to one. You can’t lose it.”)

6.—The heart of Hudson was as sound as ever, and his eye still possessed its wonted fire, but his distressed state was evident. Two severe counter-hits separated the combatants from each other, and both of them felt the severity of the blows. Ward retreated fast from Josh.; but the latter kept creeping and creeping after him till the Black Diamond was near the ropes, and compelled to fight. Here the John Bull Fighter found himself at home, that is to say, at close quarters, a sort of yard-arm and yard-arm fighting, where all his blows told. Josh. not only stopped skilfully, but he put in two such tremendous hits on Ward’s body, that the face of the Black Diamond exhibited excruciating grimaces. Hudson also finished the round by throwing Ward. (Another uproarious shout. The spectators all alive, and the John Bull Fighter, if not the favourite among the betting men, seemed to have the interest of the unbiassed part of the audience.)

7.—Hudson, while sitting on Crawley’s knee, appeared exhausted, but not in pluck, and laughed at Randall’s telling him to recollect his invitation of dining with the Lord Chancellor to-morrow. On time being called, Josh., with much judgment, kept sparring at the scratch to recover his wind. Hudson cleverly stopped a heavy blow. In closing at the ropes the activity displayed by Ward in fibbing his opponent was the admiration of the ring, but it was more showy than effective. Hudson, though awkwardly held, nevertheless administered most punishment. Ward again threw his opponent cleverly.

8.—Some pausing occurred, Ward waiting for his opponent to make play. “You must come to me, Jem,” said Josh.; “I shall not go after you; I shall stand here all day.” “So can I,” replied Ward. Hudson soon broke through his resolution, and went to work, Ward fighting and retreating till he was against the ropes. Here the combatants closed, and the Black Diamond endeavoured to fib his adversary, until Josh., in rather a singular manner, extricated himself from the gripe of his adversary, and found himself outside of the ring, when he put in a blow across the ropes which floored the Black Diamond. (Loud shouting in favour of Hudson; but in betting generally Ward was the hero of the tale.)

9.—The face of Hudson was red and puffy, and it was astonishing to witness a man fight so well who laboured under such an evident state of distress. The skill of Ward, added to his goodness on his legs, should have given him confidence to have fought immediately with Josh. on his appearing at the scratch. Owing to the want of this confidence, he gave a chance away. “The John Bull” again commenced play, but Ward would not be hit. Hudson, on the creeping system, gently followed Ward all over the ring, until the latter was in a situation that he was compelled to fight. A slaughtering rally took place, hit for hit, till both the men went down. (Spring, on picking up his man and looking at Hudson, observed, “I should like to have a calf’s head as fat as Josh.’s face.” “Softly,” said Crawley, “you don’t know how soon your own mug may be in a worse condition.”)

10.—This was a fine fighting round altogether, exhibiting skill, bottom, and bravery. Josh., after a short pause, endeavoured to feel for his adversary’s nob, but Ward retreated. The Black Diamond, however, returned upon Hudson quickly, and missed a tremendous blow aimed at Josh.’s head; it alighted upon his shoulder. A severe but short rally occurred, till the combatants separated from distress. Hudson was determined to put his opponent to the test, and the exchange of blows was severe, till they were compelled to make a pause. “To lick or be licked,” says Josh., “here goes!” and hit for hit occurred till both the men went down.

11.—This round led to the decision of the battle. Ward was pinking Josh.’s nob and retreating, as the John Bull kept creeping after him, till a severe rally was the result. Josh. put in a tremendous blow under Ward’s left eye, which closed it. The Black Diamond was wild and quite abroad from its severity, hitting at random. It was now blow for blow till Ward was floored.

12.—It was evident that Ward could not measure his distance accurately, and his blows were given like a man feeling for his way in the dark; nevertheless, this was a complete milling round. Hudson’s mug was red in the extreme, and he did not appear to have wind enough to puff out a farthing rushlight. Ward was also distressed; indeed, it was the expressed opinion of some of the old fanciers that “it was anybody’s battle.” When time was called, a minute, if it could have been allowed, would have proved very acceptable to both parties. After a short pause at the scratch Ward got away from a heavy body blow. At the ropes a smart exchange of blows occurred, when they separated. Hudson stopped a heavy lunge in great style. At the ropes another sharp encounter took place, till both of the men were at a stand-still. Ward endeavoured to put in a nobber, which Josh. stopped so skilfully as to extort applause from all parts of the crowd. In a struggle at the corner of the ring Ward was sent out of the ropes, and Hudson fell on one of his knees. (The backers of both parties were on the funk. There seemed no decided certainty about it: hope and fear were depicted on the faces of the friends of both men at this juncture. It was an awful moment for the cash account—the transfer of some thousands was at hand.)

13.—Hudson’s little smiling eyes, although nearly obscured by the bumps and thumps above and below them, had not lost their fire, and he said to Randall, on coming to the scratch, “I am satisfied, Jack, I have got him.” The face of the Black Diamond was completely metamorphosed, and his peepers nearly darkened. On setting-to Hudson planted a nobber, which sent Ward staggering two or three yards, and he was nearly going down. Hudson followed his opponent, and some blows were exchanged; when, in closing, Josh. fell on Ward with all his weight. (“John Bull for £100; five to one,” and higher odds. Victory was now in sight. “Hudson can’t lose it,” was the general cry.)

14.—Badly distressed as Josh. appeared to be, on coming to the scratch he was by far the better man of the two. Ward did what he could to obtain a turn, and, in closing at the ropes, endeavoured to fib his adversary; but Hudson pummelled Ward so severely behind his nob, that in a confused manner he let go his hold. A few blows were then exchanged, when the John Bull gave Ward a coup de grace that sent him down flat on his back. (“Ward will not come again; it’s all over!”)

15 and last.—When time was called, Spring brought his man to the scratch, but Ward was in so tottering a state that he was balancing on one leg. (“Take him away!” “Don’t hit him, Josh.”) The John Bull Fighter, with that generosity of mind which distinguishes his character, merely pushed his opponent down, when the battle was at an end. Josh. took hold of Randall’s hat and threw it up in the air, and at the same time he tried to make a jump. If not quite so light, graceful, nor so high as the pirouette of an Oscar Byrne, yet, it was that sort of indication that he did jump for joy. Hudson immediately left the ring amidst the shouts of the populace, crossed the water, and prudently went to bed at the Bell, at Hampton. The battle was over in thirty-six minutes.

REMARKS.—Ward must be pronounced a fine fighter: he completely understands scientific movements, and, perhaps it is not too much to assert, he is master of the art of self-defence. His most conspicuous fault in this battle appeared to be in not fighting first, and evincing too great anxiety to avoid the blows of his opponent. The Black Diamond is excellent upon his legs—few, if any, boxers better; but, in his fondness for retreating, his blows, however numerous, did not reduce the courage of the John Bull Fighter. It has been urged that Ward was shy of his adversary. The name and character of Josh. Hudson, as one of the gamest of the game boxers on the list, no doubt has some terrors attached to it, and we think it had a little effect upon the feelings of Ward. Hudson was now in his twenty-seventh year, and victory had crowned his efforts sixteen times. In the battle with Ward the extraordinary courage he displayed was the theme of every one present. To courage, and courage alone, he may attribute his success; but at the same time we are sure that he might have been in much better condition, if he had paid more attention to his training. Hudson, we must assert, relied too much upon his courage; in fact, he was so completely exhausted two or three times in the fight, that his most sanguine friends were doubtful of the result. Ward proved himself a troublesome customer, and difficult to be got at. Josh. won the battle out of the fire. Ward was considerably punished about the head, and put to bed immediately after the battle, at Hampton. Upon the whole it was a fine manly fight.

On the fight being over, “Home, sweet home,” was the object in view, and the night fast approaching, the proverb of the “devil take the hindmost,” seemed to be uppermost. The toddlers brushed off by thousands to the water’s edge, and, in spite of the entreaties of the ferrymen, the first rush jumped into the boats in such numbers as nearly to endanger their own lives. However, the watermen soon got the “best of it,” by demanding a bob or more to carry over in safety select companies. Yet so great was the pressure of the crowd, and so eager to cross the water to Hampton, that several embraced Old Father Thames against their will, amidst the jeers and shouts of their more fortunate companions. A nice treat, by way of a cooler, in an afternoon in November, sixteen miles distant from home. The other side of the Hurst produced as much fun and laughter, from the barouches, rattlers, gigs, heavy drags, etc., galloping off towards Kingston Bridge through fields covered with water, to save time. Several were seen sticking fast in the mud, the proprietors begging assistance from those persons whose horses were strong enough for the purpose; but “a friend in need” was here out of the question. Two or three drags that were overloaded with “live stock” broke down in similar situations, which a wag observing, sung out, by way of consolation to the Jacks in the water, “that they were going home swimmingly.” One block up of this kind operated on a string of carriages upwards of half a mile in length. Upon the whole, it was a lively and amusing picture. The vehicles were so numerous, that two hours had elapsed before the whole of them had passed over Kingston Bridge, to the great joy and profit of the proprietors of the gates. For miles round Moulsey Hurst it proved a profitable day for the inns; and money that otherwise might have remained idle in the pockets of persons who could afford to spend it, was set to work in the consumption of articles tending to benefit hundreds of tradesmen, who otherwise (like Dennis Brulgruddery) might have been long on the look-out for “a customer.”

Josh. purchased several pieces of blue silk handkerchiefs, and as a convincing proof to his friends that he meant nothing else but winning the battle, he presented one to each of them on the condition that if he, Hudson, won the battle, he was to receive a guinea; but if defeated, not a farthing was to be paid to him. Hudson cleared £100 by the above speculation several of his backers presenting him with £5 a-piece for the blue flag.

Hudson, on meeting with Ward in London the morning after the battle, enquired after his health, shook hands with him, and presented him with a £5 note.

At a meeting of the Partiality Club, held at Mr. Tuff’s, the Blue Anchor, East Smithfield, on Thursday evening, November 13, 1823, it was proposed by Pierce Egan, seconded by Tom Owen, and carried unanimously, that a silver cup, of the value of 100 guineas, be presented to the John Bull Fighter for the true courage displayed by him at all times in the prize ring. The room was small, the company but few in number, yet in less than five minutes, so glorious was the East-end upon this occasion, that the subscriptions amounted to £20. The money was immediately put down, and Mrs. Tuff (wife of the landlord), as an admirer of true courage, begged the favour of being permitted to add her guinea.

At Crawley’s benefit at the Fives Court, Wednesday, November 12, 1823, on Hudson showing himself on the stage, he was warmly congratulated by his friends. “Gentlemen,” said Hudson, “I have been informed by Mr. Egan that Shelton has made an assertion that Ward received £100 to lose the battle with me. I will bet any person five to one that he does not prove it. (Bravo!) I will also fight Tom Shelton for from £25 to £200 a-side when the time he is bound over for expires. If Ward is in the Court let him come forward and meet this charge made against him.” (Applause.) Shelton appeared upon the stage and said, “I have been told by Ben Burn that Ward received £100. I merely repeated it, and give up the author.” “That’s right, Tom; you’ve cleared yourself.” Burn then appeared and said, he had heard in casual conversation what he had repeated to Shelton. Here Ward rushed up the steps and said, as he stood between Shelton and Burn, “The whole is a direct falsehood;” and added indignantly, “I will fight either of them, gentlemen, for £100, and cast back the slander. (Applause.) I now publicly assert that no individual whatever ever offered me one single farthing to lose the battle. I felt confident I could win.” (Great applause.) Josh. Hudson: “And I will fight Ben Burn any day he likes to appoint, my £100 against his £60.” Vehement cheering, during which Uncle Ben tried a reply. He had no more chance than an unpopular candidate on the hustings. All that could be heard was a declaration that he had not had fair play, and they did not act towards him like Englishmen. The suspicions, if any had legitimately existed, as to the fairness of the fight between Hudson and Ward, were utterly dissipated.

Hudson and Sampson were matched on the bustle for £100 a-side, owing, it would appear, to a word and a blow, Sampson—always very fast—entertaining an opinion he had improved, not only as a boxer, but was a better man in every point of view than heretofore, while the John Bull Fighter always thought he could polish off Sampson at any period in a twenty-four foot ring.[46] Articles were entered into; but Josh., in order to gain three weeks in training, forfeited £10 to Sampson, at Mr. King’s, the Cock and Cross, East Smithfield, on March 8, 1824, and a new match was made the same evening, for £100 a-side, to come off on Tuesday, May 11, 1824.

PRESENTATION OF A SILVER CUP TO JOSH. HUDSON.—On Thursday, May 6, 1824, previous to this trophy being deposited in the hands of the John Bull Boxer, the Partiality Club dinner took place at Mr. Tuff’s, Blue Anchor, East Smithfield. The festive board was truly inviting; the wines excellent; and a silver cup which had been given to a gentleman of the name of Docker, for his spirited conduct in behalf of the oppressed poor in the parish—as one of the links connected with “true courage”—was also placed in view of the visitors. On the cloth being removed, the John Bull Fighter’s cup, filled with five bottles of port, was placed in the front of the Chairman, and Hudson took his seat on the right hand side of the President. Pierce Egan occupied the chair, and accordingly fills six pages of “Boxiana” with a newspaper report apropos of—nothing. The health of Hudson having been drunk, he received the cup with great emotion. “Gentlemen,” said Josh., “I cannot make a speech, but, believe me, my gratitude and thanks are sincere, and as you have honoured me with this cup in the name of true courage, why I will endeavour to support my character for true courage to the end of my life.” The cup then passed round. The healths of Mr. Jackson, Tom Cribb, and the leading supporters of the prize ring, were drunk, and Josh. departed to the country to finish his training for his fight with Sampson.

The cup bears the following inscription:—

“THIS CUP Was presented to the JOHN BULL FIGHTER, ON THURSDAY, THE 6TH OF MAY, 1824, As a Reward for the TRUE COURAGE which JOSHUA HUDSON Displayed throughout all his Contests in the PRIZE RING.

John Bull in the ring has so oft play’d his part, The form let it be in the shape of a heart— A true British one! at its shrine take a sup: Can a more noble model be found for a cup?—P. E.

* * * * *

This Piece of Plate was raised by Subscription; The Contributors were Several Members of the PARTIALITY CLUB, a few frequenters of the WIDOW MELSOM; (and in confirmation that ‘None but the Brave deserve the Fair!’ The HOSTESSES of the above houses); And by those Amateurs who are supporters of the Noble ART OF SELF-DEFENCE.”

The cup, as indicated in the doggrel to which P. E. is engraved, is heart-shaped. On the cover is the figure of a sailor, with an anchor and foul cable. The report goes on:—“In front of the cup a small heart appears over four divisions, intended for the boxers’ coat of arms. The first division represents the pugilists in attitude. The second portrays one of the combatants down on his knees, his opponent with his arms held up walking away, in order to show that he will not take any unfair advantage. The third division exhibits the battle at an end, the defeated man sitting upon the knee of his second in the act of shaking hands with the victor, to evince that no malice exists between them. The fourth depicts the honours of conquest—the conqueror carried out of the ring upon the shoulders of his seconds, with the purse in his hands. Several other appropriate embellishments appear on the different parts of the cup, on the bottom of which the lion is seen with the lamb reposing at his feet; and at no great distance from the lion is the English bull-dog, as a second to the king of the forest.”

The affair of Hudson and Sampson was fixed for Tuesday, May 11, 1824, at Haydon Grange Farm, forty miles from the metropolis. Hudson was originally the favourite, at five and six to four, and heavy sums were laid out on him at Tattersall’s at these figures. But on the day before the fight there was a rush to get on to Sampson, and the odds went about at six to four on the Birmingham Youth. This sudden change terrified the East-enders, and many tried to get off.

At one o’clock the ring was formed in a most delightful situation, and, punctual to time, Josh. threw his white topper into the ring. Just before, however, the backers of Sampson declared that they preferred forfeiting the £100 stakes to the risk of losing more than £1,000, as numbers of sporting men had declared off, and that they would not pay if Hudson lost the battle. Hereupon Hudson’s backers offered to cancel the old articles, and post £100 for a new match to come off there at two o’clock. This was refused, and the altercation became violent, but Sampson’s backers said he should not fight that day. The wrangle having subsided, two Cambridge men, Samuel Larkins[47] and William Shadbolt, of local fame, and both styled “champions,” threw their hats into the ring. The Cantabs, who were in force, took great interest in the result. Paddington Jones and Jem Ward seconded Larkins, and Tom Oliver and Ned Stockman picked up Shadbolt. Larkins, in nineteen rounds, polished off Shadbolt completely.

Hudson walked round the ring, conversing with his friends during the battle. The John Bull Fighter was never in such excellent condition in any previous battle, and loudly expressed himself dissatisfied at receiving the battle-money without a fight. “The sporting world,” said Josh. “are my best friends; to them I owe everything, and I am sorry they should have come so many miles on my account to be disappointed. It is not my fault, and I hope they will not blame me for circumstances I have nothing to do with.” On leaving the ground, and passing the Grange Farm House, Hudson met with Sampson, when they shook hands together. The ground was soon cleared, and the company was off. Hudson returned to London in a post-chaise and four, and arrived about two o’clock in the morning. Sampson also moved for the metropolis with the utmost speed. The sporting houses were filled with company, and every one out of humour at having travelled nearly a hundred miles to be laughed at for his pains.

By the advice of his best friends, and in consequence of his constitutional tendency to corpulency, which resisted the effects of ordinary training, Josh. now took leave of the P. R. in an address at the Tennis Court. His next step was to “commit the crime the clargy call matrimony,” with the complicity of a very amiable and respectable young woman, who quickly developed into the agreeable hostess of the Half Moon Tap, in Leadenhall Market, where “Jolly Josh.,” brimful of fun and facetiousness, held his opening dinner on the 23rd of January, 1825. Josh., though he retired from activity as a principal, kept up his ring connection, and was foremost not only in backing and match-making on behalf of the East-enders as in rivalry with the Corinthians of the West, but never spared himself in the anxious and often laborious duties of seconding any man worthy of his care and patronage, or of setting-to for his benefit, as may be seen in these pages on many occasions. A paragraph which we find in a newspaper of this period may show that Josh.’s “right hand” had not “lost its cunning” by reason of bar-practice, and also throws a side-light on our hero’s manly readiness to champion the defenceless.

“GALLANTRY.—As Hudson, the well-known pugilist, was passing along Ratcliff Highway, a clumsy coalheaver elbowed a pregnant woman off the pavement into the road. The feelings of Josh. were roused at this unmanly conduct, and he remonstrated pretty forcibly with Coaly for his bad behaviour. The reply he got was a cut from a trouncing whip. This was too much. Without further ceremony Josh. judged his distance and gave Coaly such a pile-driver that he went down on the stones as if he had been shot. It was a minute or two before he recovered, and then, declining to get up for ‘another round,’ Josh.’s name being upon every one’s tongue, the humbled bully sneaked into a public-house to talk the matter over with his brethren of the sack.”—Sunday Monitor, July, 1825.

Among Josh.’s generous qualities were his grateful remembrance of past services and favours and his firm adherence to a friend in adversity. Of this there is extant an instance so creditable to both parties concerned, that we cannot forbear its repetition.

An old friend of Josh.’s early days having, by reverse of fortune, by no means unfrequent among sporting men, fallen into a difficulty which called upon him for the immediate payment of some £50, applied, in his extremity, to mine host of “the Half Moon.” Josh., who had not the cash by him, was sadly annoyed at the idea of being compelled to refuse such an application from one from whom he had received favours. A sudden thought struck him. There was his “Cup,” lying snug in its case in his iron safe. On that he could raise a temporary loan, and nobody the wiser. Desiring his friend to make himself at home while he went for “the mopusses,” Josh. possessed himself of the piece of plate, hurried out at the side-door, and after a sharp toddle presented himself, blowing like a grampus, in one of the small boxes of a neighbouring “Uncle” in Bishopsgate Street. Josh. was not only a well-known public character, but it so happened that “mine Uncle” was an admirer of the “noble art.” Josh. unlocked his box, and drew forth his well-earned trophy. The assistant eyed him with some curiosity.

“How much?”

“Forty pounds!” gasped Jolly Josh. not yet recovered from his run.

The assistant stepped into his employer’s sanctum, who instantly returned with the shining pledge in his hands.

A brief colloquy explained the position of affairs. Josh. wanted forty pounds.

“Mine Uncle” proceeded to his desk, but not to make out the “ticket” required by law. He merely wrote an acknowledgment, to be signed by Josh., that he had received a loan of forty pounds. This “mine Uncle” presented to him for signature. Josh. was overwhelmed.

“No, no,” said mine Uncle! “Take back your Cup, Josh., you must not be without it. Pay me, as I know you will, as soon as you are able. I’ll not have that piece of wedge go to sale anyhow.”

Josh returned to the Half Moon with both money and cup; discharged the duty of friendship, and the pawnbroker lost nothing by his confidence.

We must preserve the name of the generous pawnbroker (strange coupling of epithets!), it was Folkard, and the assistant was the youth who, in after years, was the well-known Renton Nicholson, of newspaper and “Town” celebrity, from whose lips we have often heard this little episode of “John Bull and his Uncle.”

“Mine host in the market, a prime jolly fellow, As rough and as ready as here and there one; In his lush-crib when seated, good-humoured and mellow, Looks very like Bacchus astride of his tun. But more to advantage, with Davy beside him, This John Bull, the picture of frolic appears, Discoursing on battles, which those who have tried him Confess to have rung a full peal in their ears.”

In 1827, Mrs. Hudson presented, as a second offering, a son and heir, which occasion the friends and admirers of the father celebrated by a festival on Christmas Day, whereat a silver cup was presented to the young “John Bull,” inscribed: “The gift of a few friends to Josh. Hudson, junior, born February 28th, 1827, within the sound of Bow Bells.”

The free life of a publican, with one who certainly had no inclination to check free living, was not long in telling its tale. Josh. was now visited with increasing frequency by gout and its too common sequel, dropsy, and died at the age of thirty-eight, on the 8th of October, 1835, at the Flying Horse, in Milton Street, Finsbury.

CHAPTER V. NED NEALE (“THE STREATHAM YOUTH”)—1822–1831.

In the memoir of the redoubtable Tom Sayers, in our third volume, will be found a few remarks on the persistency with which Hibernian reporters and newspaper scribes, old and new, claim an Irish origin for fighting heroes, naval, military, and pugilistic. Ned Neale furnishes another instance of this assuming proclivity. Indeed, at the time of Neale’s appearance, the talented editor of Bell’s Life in London, Vincent George Dowling (himself of Irish descent), and Pierce Egan, were the recognised reporters of every important ring encounter—the clever but eccentric George Kent, who for twenty years had been its most active chronicler, having previously gone to his rest in the churchyard of Saint Paul’s, Covent Garden. The Bell’s Life and Dispatch accordingly prefixed a “big O” to the name of our hero, and plentifully larded their reports of Neale’s doings with Hibernian humour, misspelling his name “O’Neil,” until, in a letter to Bell’s Life, signing himself “Ned Neale, the Streatham Youth,” the young aspirant disclosed his parentage and place of birth, depriving “ould” Pierce’s rhodomontade of its applicability and point.

Ned Neale first saw the light in the pleasant village of Streatham, in Surrey, on the 22nd of March, 1805, of humble but respectable parents. His youth, it may be remarked, was passed in a period when the ring had for its patrons noblemen, gentlemen, and sportsmen, and among its professors Gully, the Belchers, Randall, Cribb, and Spring. At an early age he was in the employ of Mr. Sant, an eminent brewer near Wandsworth, and a staunch patron of the ring. Neale often stated that the first battle he witnessed was the second fight between Martin and Turner, at Crawley, on the 5th of June, 1821, and from that moment felt convinced that he “could do something in that way” himself. That he was not mistaken, his career, as here recorded, will bear witness.

Neale now placed himself under Harry Holt, and by glove practice with that accomplished tactician soon became a proficient in the use of both hands.

His patron, Mr. Sant, gratified his desire to figure in the “24–foot” by backing him for £20 a-side against Deaf Davis, a well-known veteran, a game man, and a hard hitter. The battle came off at the Barge House, Essex, opposite Woolwich Warren, on the 21st of May, 1822, Neale being then in his eighteenth year. The odds were seven to four against “the youth,” as he was booked to lose the battle by the knowing ones. Neale was seconded by Harry Holt and Paddington Jones, while Davis had the skilful seconding of Ned Turner and Dick Curtis. The contemporary report, which is brief, remarks of this battle, that it was “a rattling mill for the first forty minutes,” prolonged for another hour by Davis’s “manœuvring and going down,” without even getting a turn in his favour. In the “remarks” we are told “Neale proved himself a good hitter, a steady boxer, and one who can take without flinching; we shall no doubt hear more of him by-and-by. His youth and good condition carried him through triumphantly.” We may here note that in “Fistiana,” by a typographical error, the battle is set down as for “£100” and lasting “20 minutes.” It should read “100 minutes and £20 a-side.”

The ordeal passed, Ned did not long stand idle. After Brighton Races, on the 21st July, 1822, a purse was subscribed, and the announcement being made to the London pugilists, some of whom were exhibiting their skill in the booths on Lewes Downs, Peter Crawley proposed that Neale should offer himself to “any countryman on the ground.” One Bill Cribb, a brick-maker, who held among his companions the title of the Brighton champion, and known as an exhibitor at the Fives Court, accepted the challenge. Neale was seconded by Peter Crawley and Peter Warren, Cribb by Belasco and Massa Kendrick (the man of colour). No time was lost, and the men at once began.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The Brighton man looked hard and muscular. He at once went to work right and left, but was short, from his opponent’s activity. Neale nobbed his man prettily, but Cribb returned in a rally, with a sounding body blow. “Well done, Brighton.” Neale stopped prettily, and in closing sent his man to grass.

2.—Neale, after a feint or two, stopped a right-hander and sent in one, two, cleverly, got away, and repeated the pepper. Cribb stood it gamely, like his namesake, but he could not get home well. In the close Cribb got Neale under.

3.—Cribb’s dial much battered, but he took it cheerfully and tried to lead off. Neale again gave him a postman’s double knock on the middle of the head that sent him back into his corner. He, however fought his way out, but slipped down.

4, 5, 6, 7.—Similar to the third round, except that in the last Neale hit Cribb clean off his legs. Two to one offered.

8.—Cribb could not keep Neale’s fist from his face, yet he fought game till his strength failed, and he got down anyhow.

9.—Neale set aside the efforts of his opponent with ease and coolness. Cribb could not keep him out, and was again down.

10.—The Brighton man, still game, was up determinedly, and showed fight, getting in a slovenly crack or two in a rally until punished down.

11, and last.—Cribb, without a shadow of a chance, bored in; Neale caught his head under his left arm and fibbed him severely, until he broke away quite groggy. Neale sent him down, and he was deaf to “time.” Over in fifteen minutes.

REMARKS.—Neale out-fought his man at all points. It is clear no yokel must meddle with the Streatham youth. Hickman, the Gasman, held the watch, the ring was well kept, and the subscribers declared themselves well pleased with the short but sharp battle. Neale was without a mark on the face.

Three days after, on the 3rd of August, 1822, Neale being at Lewes Races, and a purse being declared, Miller, a London pugilist, known by the odd sobriquet of “The Pea-soup Gardener,” offered himself. Young Ned, “to keep his hand in,” accepted the challenge. Neale on this occasion was waited on by his late opponent, the Brighton champion, and Peter Warren—Miller by young Belasco and a friend. The fight was a fiasco. Pierce Egan says, “The pea-soup cove was made broth of in the first round.” The affair went on for six more rounds, when Miller gave up the battle, saying “he would fight any man of his weight.” Over in seven minutes.

This little provincial practice brought Neale forward, and his next appearance was on the London stage, with Hall, of Birmingham, as his opponent. Hall had just distinguished himself by defeating the once-famous Phil Sampson, of whom more anon. The affair came off at Wimbledon, on Tuesday, November 26th, 1822, Hall being the favourite at six to four, and much money was laid out by backers of Hall from the “Hardware Village.”

The road exhibited a good sprinkling of the fancy, particularly the milling coves. Martin, Randall, Shelton, Spring, Oliver, Abbot, Lenney, Brown, Hickman, Stockman, Carter, A. Belasco, Ned Turner, Scroggins, Barlow, Dolly Smith, Spencer, &c., assisted in keeping a good ring. This fight was announced to be on the square, and “lots of blunt dropped on it.”

At one o’clock Hall, accompanied by Josh Hudson and Jack Carter, attempted to throw his nob-cover into the ring, but the wind prevented it reaching the ropes. Neale soon followed, attended by Harry Holt and Paddington Jones. Hall was favourite, at six to four.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Hall displayed a fine frame, and his features reminded some spectators of Tom Reynolds, while others declared his figure to resemble the formidable “Gasman” (Tom Hickman). Neale also looked well, but was by no means in as good condition. Hall began, breaking ground and working round, but by no means cleverly. Neale faced him, armed at all points. Hall went in with a half-arm hit, and Neale, stepping back, caught him a flush left-hander on the nose. Hall staggered, and as Neale went in, slipped down. The Streathamites uproarious. “Take him back to Brummagem! he can’t stop, except with his head!”

2.—Hall tried to shake off the last facer. He sparred, shifted ground, and stopped one or two blows neatly. Neale forced the fighting and the men closed. Hall got hold of Neale to fib, but the Streatham Youth extricated himself, not, however, before Hall had damaged his nose and mouth by a round hit or two. Neale went down.

3.—Neale planted a heavy blow on Hall’s ear. Hall bored in and got hold of Neale, hugging him on the ropes, and trying to fib, but not effectively. Neale got down. Hall was evidently the stronger man, but the worse fighter.

4.—Hall rushed in, got a nobber, but closed and threw Neale heavily. Cheers from the hardware lads.

5.—The Streatham Youth met his man boldly and coolly, hit him twice on the head, avoiding the return, and after a sharp rally sent Hall down. The odds changed, Neale for choice, 5 to 4.

6.—Hall fought rather wild—Neale steady, and active in defence. Again Neale visited Hall’s right eye heavily, raising a large mouse. A severe struggle. Hall fell through the ropes. 6 to 4 on Neale.

7.—Hall was piping. He did not like to commence milling, for fear of consequences. “You have been a soldier,” said Josh. “Fighting is their business; why don’t you fight?” A good round was the result, and Neale was thrown.

8.—It was “bellows to mend” with Hall; and Neale was none the better for the throws. A long pause, both combatants sparring for breath. “How is your wind?” said Josh. “Like a horse,” was the reply from Hall. “Then go to work, instead of standing as independent as a gemman,” Hudson said. Neale thrown in a struggle.

9, 10, 11, 12.—More struggling at the ropes than effective blows, although lots of fibbing took place.

13.—Neale took the lead in this round, nobbed Hall over the ring, till he went down. A Babel shout of applause.

14.—Neale showed weakness; in closing he went down.

15.—The Streatham Youth went to work in this round, put in three facers without any return, and got Hall down.

16, 17, 18.—Hall showed plenty of game, but he could not fight; in close quarters he had generally the best of it.

19.—Neale, on setting-to, floored Hall; but the latter instantly jumped up, put up his hands, and said, “Oh, that’s nothing at all.”

20.—Hall came to the scratch in a shaky state, when Neale planted some sharp hits, till he went down.

21.—Hall ran Neale off his legs furiously.

22, 23.—Struggling at the ropes, till both down.

24.—Hall was so distressed that on setting-to he caught hold of Neale’s hands, when both went down in a struggle; not a blow passed between them.

25.—It was evident a round or two more must finish the fight. Much execution had been done on both sides; Neale was severely peppered about the body; he slipped down.

26, and last.—The Birmingham man getting bad in struggling at the ropes to obtain the throw he received so severe a fall on his head, that his seconds had great difficulty in lifting him from the ground. When time was called, Hall was insensible, and remained in a state of stupor for more than five minutes.

REMARKS.—It was a manly fight, and the heavy hits of Neale did considerable execution. Had he been well, it was thought that Neale could have won the battle in twenty instead of thirty minutes. Hall knows little about scientific fighting; he is a random hitter, a strong wrestler, can pull and haul a man about, and does not want for game. Opposed to science and straight hitting he is lost.

Ned was now the conqueror in four succeeding battles, when Dav Hudson[48] (brother to the John Bull fighter) was matched against him for £40 a-side. The fight took place on Tuesday, September 23rd, 1823, on Blindlow Heath, in Sussex, twenty-four miles from London. Early in the morning the fancy were in motion, the amateurs grumbling at the long distance they were compelled to go to witness a minor fight, when Wimbledon Common would have answered the purpose. Hudson came on the ground in first-rate style—a barouche and four—accompanied by a mob of East-Enders. At one o’clock Dav threw his hat into the ring, followed by his seconds, Tom Owen and Josh Hudson. Neale, a few minutes afterwards, waited upon by Harry Holt and Jem Ward, repeated the token of defiance. Six to four on Neale.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Hudson appeared too fat, while Neale looked as fine as a star. David hit short; Neale also got away from a second blow. In fact, it was a long scientific round, displaying considerable boxing skill on both sides, but no work; ultimately a few blows were exchanged, yet no mischief done. In struggling for the throw, Hudson was undermost.

2.—This was a similar round. Neale would not fight first, and showed great agility in getting away. It was evident in this early stage of the fight that Hudson was too short for his opponent; the loss of his eye was also a great drawback. Hudson often missed his adversary, hitting at random, owing to the above defect. In closing, both down.

3, 4, 5, 6.—Neale received two severe cross-buttocks, but he did not appear to be injured by them.

7, 8, 9, 10.—Tedious to the spectator and of no interest to the reader.

11.—This round reminded the amateurs what Davy was in his prime. He went to work boldly, when a sharp rally commenced, but the length of Neale gave him the best of it. Hudson received a tremendous hit on the left ear; the claret flowed profusely.

12.—This was a similar round, but Neale went down. Great shouting from the East Enders. “Go it, my little Davy!”

13.—Neale received another cross-buttock. David was the better wrestler.

14, 15, 16.—Hudson was terribly distressed. He was too puffy. Neale was piping a little. Neale was thrown by Hudson, alighting, like a tumbler, on his hands. Seven to four on the Streatham Youth.

17, 18, 19, 20.—The truth must be told. Stale cocks must give way to younger birds. Davy had been a publican, and the ill effects of the waste-butt here began to peep. Davy thought himself now as good a man as when he beat Harry Holt, disposed of West Country Dick, and defeated Scroggins. That his courage was equally good cannot be denied. But nature will not be played tricks with; and training cannot make a young man, though it may help an old one. In all the above rounds Hudson could not reduce the strength of his adversary.

21, 22.—Hudson’s face had received pepper, and Neale’s mug was rather flushed. Each seemed to be anxious to throw the other, and closed quickly.

23.—Neale received a severe hit between his eyes, that made him wink again. He, however, recovered, and made the best of a rally, till, in closing, both went down. Two to one on Neale.

24.—Hudson fought like a Hudson. For high, if not the highest, courage in the Prize Ring, no boxers stand better than Dav and Josh. But a man cannot have his cake who has eaten it. This was another sharp rally, but terribly to the disadvantage of Hudson, who was nearly finished.

25, and last.—Neale, as the term goes, had “got” David, and by a very severe hit on the latter’s throat, floored him. On Josh picking up his brother he said he should not fight any more—a proper and humane decision. It was over in fifty-three minutes. Josh carried David in his arms out of the ring. A collection to the amount of six pounds was made for Hudson.

REMARKS.—It was by no means the smashing fight which had been previously anticipated. If Neale had gone to work, instead of being over-cautious, he must have won it off-hand.

Neale, by his repeated conquests, now became an interesting object to the fancy, and was matched by his friends against the scientific Aby Belasco for £50 a-side.

To render the battle more interesting to the sporting world, the day was fixed by mutual consent for the 7th of January, 1824, to fight in the same ring with Langan and Spring. Both the combatants were in attendance on the ground ready to fight at Worcester; but owing to the lateness of the hour when the championship battle was decided, the fight unavoidably was postponed. This untoward circumstance was a great mortification both to Belasco and Neale.

A short time after this disappointment Ned accepted a challenge from Tom Gaynor, at the Fives Court, at the benefit of Tom Reynolds, for £50 a-side. This battle was decided at Shepperton Range, on Thursday, the 24th of May, 1824.

The ring was soon made, and at one o’clock Gaynor appeared, and attempted to throw his hat into the ring, but the wind prevented its arrival; one of his seconds, Callas, picked it up and threw it into the ropes, Gaynor’s other second being Ben Burn. Neale soon followed, and dropped his castor gently into the ring, under the protection of Josh. Hudson and Harry Holt. The colours were tied to the stakes—dark blue for Neale, and blue mixed with yellow for Tom Gaynor. Two to one on Neale, but numerous bets that the latter did not win in an hour.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Neale was quite up to the mark in point of condition and confidence, and really looked a formidable man. Gaynor was well enough, but by comparison the greatest novice must have taken Neale for choice. Gaynor, who was a carpenter by trade, had been represented as a tremendous hitter, which accounts for the caution observed by Neale. Five minutes passed without a blow being struck, Neale being prepared at all points. Neale made several good stops, and at length put in a rum one on the body of his opponent. (“That’s the way, Ned!”) Feints, offers, retreating, occurred till nine minutes were past, when Neale gave Gaynor a sharp left-hander on the side of his nob. An exchange took place, and in closing, both down, Gaynor undermost.

2.—Gaynor’s left eye was touched a little, and after a number of movements, similar to the first round, Gaynor rushed in and threw Neale.

3.—Twenty minutes had elapsed and no claret seen, so great was the caution on both sides. This round was concluded by Neale putting in two or three clumsy thumps, Gaynor falling forward and Neale upon him.

4–10.—Neale had not a mark about him, but Gaynor had napped punishment, and went down tired.

11.—Gaynor, it was said, went down without a blow; but the umpire was appealed to, when he gave it as his opinion that blows having been struck in the round it was not foul.

12–17.—Neale had got his man to a certainty, and Gaynor was all the worse for the fighting. The nob of the carpenter was damaged, and his upper lip cut through. In one of the above rounds a singular circumstance occurred. The men struggled at the ropes, got through them, and fought a good round outside in the open. One hour and three minutes.

18–21 and last.—Gaynor had not a shadow of chance in any of these rounds, and at the conclusion of the last, in which Gaynor was thrown heavily, Cribb stepped into the middle of the ring and said, “I will give in for Gaynor.”

REMARKS.—It is impossible to please all parties—in fact, a man cannot at all times please himself. Many persons called the above battle a bad fight, others said it was not half a good one, while, on the contrary, several excellent judges insisted that Neale had won it “cleverly.” It is true Neale obtained the victory without a scratch, and that alone is saying something for a man, after fighting one hour and ten minutes with a boxer who had been called “a tremendous hitter.” Neale was determined not to give a chance away—he meant winning and nothing else; his backers we are sure will not find fault with him on that account. We never saw the Streatham Youth so cautious before. At all events Neale has won all his battles, and it will take a good man indeed to make him say, “No;” indeed, the Streatham Youth asserts the word “no” is not to be found in his spelling-book.[49]

Neale had now risen so high in the estimation of the patrons of boxing that he was backed without hesitation by his friends for £100 a-side against Edward Baldwin (White-headed Bob). The battle was fixed for Monday, July 26th, 1824. The bill of fare at Shepperton [three fights] was rather inviting to the fancy, or, as the professionals belonging to another stage phrase it, “a good draw.” There was accordingly an immense attendance of all classes at Shepperton. At the appointed hour Neale was there, and threw his hat into the ring. Baldwin soon after arrived in the carriage of his backer (Mr. Hayne). But, alas! it was but the shadow of the stalwart White-headed Bob of a few months previous. His complexion, as old Caleb Baldwin facetiously remarked, might have earned him the name of “White-faced Bob.” Imprudent indulgence, late hours, loose associates, women, and wine had prostrated him; and his “Pea-green” backer, alighting from his drag, said, “Bob’s health is such he can’t fight with anything like a chance; so, as I don’t want to creep out, or to expose a brave fellow to defeat, I now declare Neale entitled to the stakes as a forfeit.” And thus ended round the first, by the transference of a cool hundred to the pocket of the Streatham Youth, without even holding up his hands.

In a few weeks, the medicos having doctored the White-headed one sound in wind and limb, a new match was made for £100 a-side; the day fixed was the 19th of October, 1824, and a field contiguous to Virginia Water selected as the champ clos. A goodly muster of the Corinthian order, as “the Upper Ten” were then designated, surrounded the lists. Baldwin endeavoured to throw his hat into the ring, but the wind prevented its falling within the ropes. He was seconded by no meaner men than the champions, Tom Cribb and Tom Spring. The castor of Neale arrived at its proper destination, and both men were loudly greeted. Harry Holt and Jem Ward attended upon the Streatham Youth. The colours were tied to the stakes—blue bird’s-eye for Neale, and crimson for Baldwin. Five to four had been previously betted upon Neale; even betting, however, was about the thing—the Streatham Youth for choice.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—So eager were the men to begin that they were both in attitude before the umpires were chosen. This deficiency was soon remedied, and both on the look-out for an opening. The frame of Baldwin was muscular and fine: Neale also had a robust appearance. Both shy, cautious, and nothing like work. Feints on both sides, shifts, stops, and no go. “Are you afraid, Bob?” from a voice in the crowd. Baldwin made a good stop with his left. Counter-hitting; a slight shade of the claret appeared on the right side of Neale’s nose. A long pause; both ready, but no opening; at length an exchange of blows took place, Baldwin retreating to the ropes; Neale in the struggle for the throw showed most strength, and the White-headed one was thrown. This round occupied nearly seven minutes.

2.—The ear of Neale looked red; Bob attempted to do “summat,” but missed. Neale planted a clean facer, but he napped one in turn. Both were now busy, but Baldwin was again undermost.

3.—Neale took the lead in this round in gay style; he gave a facer so hard and sharp that Bob’s pimple shook again; indeed, he was upon the stagger from its severity. Ned repeated the dose twice with success; and over Bob’s left eye appeared a cut. Neale ran in to do execution, but Bob put up his left hand, and bobbed his head away to avoid punishment. In the struggle both down, Neale undermost. (A shout for Baldwin.)

4.—This was a gallant round. Baldwin planted a severe hit on the middle of the Streatham lad’s face; the claret ran down in streams. Counter-hits and good work. Neale was thrown.

5.—Bob was now advised to fight first, but he did not take the hint. Caution again the order of the day. (Here Cribb mimicked the attitudes of Harry Holt, who was eloquently advising his man.) Bob retreated, and Neale hit him on the back as he was going down.

6.—Nothing; of no use to either side.

7, 8.—Not effective; Bob was a difficult man to be got at. Both down.

9–12.—Bob napped a rum one on his body which made him twist. In the eleventh cries of “foul” occurred; Neale was in the act of hitting as his opponent was going down. It was not intentional. Bob went down in a close at the last round covered with claret.

13.—The superiority of Neale was evident; he nobbed Bob successfully; and at the ropes the White-nobbed one went down exhausted.

14.—The left peeper of the Streathamite was considerably damaged; and his friends were alarmed lest it should soon be dark. Neale obtained a point towards victory in this round; he threw Baldwin heavily, and fell upon him.

15.—This was a hotly contested round, and both men did their best. Bob proved himself a much better man than Neale had anticipated; giving and taking were prominent, but the round finished in favour of Neale, who threw Bob on his head.

16.—A good rally, but Bob appeared to be at a loss in sharp attacks; out-fighting should have been his game. The faces of the combatants exhibited severe punishment. Both down. Serious faces all round the ring and great doubts who had the best of it. The truth was, at this period of the fight, it was almost anybody’s battle, though Neale hit swiftest and straightest.

17, 18, 19, 20, 21.—All these rounds were fought manfully; and Neale satisfied all his backers that he was nothing else but a game man. He was severely punished, but his courage was so high that he never flinched. The friends of Bob still thought he might win it. The Streatham Youth gave Bob such a severe cross-buttock that the latter showed visible symptoms of bellows to mend; yet a tolerably good judge cried out, “Bob will win this battle!”

22.—Six to four was offered freely at the conclusion of this round. The nob of Bob was at the service of his opponent, and in getting him down Neale rolled over his man.

23.—Severe counter-hitting, Neale undermost in the fall. The Streatham lad appeared rather weak, yet his eye was full of fire.

24.—“It is a capital fight,” was the general cry; and the hard hitting and gaiety displayed by Neale gave his friends confidence that he would last too long for Bob. Neale went down on his opponent.

25.—This was a severe round, and considerable execution was done on both sides. More than an hour had elapsed, yet bettors were shy as to the event. Neale went down rather exhausted.

26.—Spring whispered to Baldwin to fight first—to lead off with his left hand, and it would be “all right.” Bob tried it, but Neale got away, hit him in retreating; in closing Bob was thrown.

27.—Counter-hits effective, but nothing to anybody but the combatants; “lookers on” will find fault at times. Neale slipped down by the force of his blow, which missed the object intended.

28.—In this round Bob seemed to be recovering his wind a little, and endeavoured to take the lead. A rally; but Bob did not appear to advantage in close fighting. Neale down, and Bob with him.

29.—The right hand of the Streatham Youth felt for the face of his antagonist three times in succession. Bob went down weak.

30.—Neale napped a smart one on his nose, which produced the claret; he was anxious to return the compliment, and in attacking Bob, the latter attempted to retreat, but fell.

31.—Ward, who was the bottle-holder, thought it prudent to give Neale a small taste of brandy, which had the desired effect. This was a milling round on both sides, until both measured their lengths upon the turf.

32.—Neale put in a sharp body blow, which almost doubled up poor Bob. The latter, at times, appeared a little abroad, and Neale took advantage of every opening that offered itself. The Streathamite had the worst of the throw, and Bob fell upon him.

33.—Neale now proved himself to be the more effective boxer; he hit and followed Bob till he went down at the ropes. Neale could not stop himself in the act of delivering, and cries of “foul” were repeated.

34.—Bob was getting very weak, and went down from a slight hit.

35.—The story was nearly told; without an accident, it was almost a certainty Bob must lose it. The latter fell on his face.

36.—Neale planted three successive facers, and by way of a climax, threw White-headed Bob. Three to one.

37.—Baldwin was so weak that he almost laid down. “Take him away!”

38.—Short but sweet to Neale; the stakes nearly in his hands; he hit Baldwin down cleverly.

39.—It was almost useless to show at the scratch, but Baldwin did not like to resign the contest. Bob down.

40, and last.—Bob was no sooner up than he was down. Cribb said he should not fight any more. Neale jumped several times off the ground, so much was he elated by his conquest. It was over in one hour and thirteen minutes.

REMARKS.—Some would-be critics declared that Neale did not fight well; we think he won the battle with great credit to himself. He has clearly manifested to the sporting world that he possesses two good points towards victory—Neale can take as well as give. It should be remembered Neale had not yet numbered twenty years, yet he had attained, step by step, the high situation he held upon the milling list. Bob asserts he was not well. He might have been ill, but still he might have made use of his left with more effect, and not bobbed his head back so often. At all events, it was a capital mill.

Neale, gaining higher ground in the fancy, was matched against Jem Burn, for £200 a-side. On Tuesday, December 19th, 1824, this battle was decided at Moulsey Hurst. Neale was decidedly the favourite.

At one o’clock Jem Burn, attended by his uncle Ben, and Tom Oliver, threw his hat into the ring; and almost at the same instant Neale, waited upon by Harry Holt and Sam Tibbutt, repeated the token of defiance. The colours, blue for Neale and a dark grey for Burn, were tied to the stakes; hands were shaken in token of friendship, and the fight commenced.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Jem, on peeling, obtained the approbation of all the spectators, and “He is a fine young man,” was the general opinion round the ring. Neale was cool and steady, and seemed quite aware of the height and length of his opponent. Jem, in a hurry, went to work, and with his right hand touched an old place, damaged in the fight with White-headed Bob. Neale got away from two or three more attempts of Jem; but the young one, at length, succeeded in planting another sharp blow over Neale’s eye, which produced the claret. (“First blood!” exclaimed Uncle Ben.) Neale still on the defensive, till they got close together at the ropes, when Ned put in one or two good ones. In closing, Neale got his man down, and fell upon him.

2.—Burn, full of spirit, made play on witnessing the claret trickling from the forehead of his opponent, and obscuring his eye. (“Go it, Jem! it’s all right!”) The length of Burn enabled him to plant a facer; but Neale returned sharply. This round also finished by Burn being undermost in the fall.

3.—Jem showed himself more troublesome than Neale expected, but it was evident he wanted stamina. Small symptoms of piping betrayed themselves; Burn had been getting on beyond his strength. Neale planted two sharp hits with his right; some good fighting took place, and Burn, by his stops, convinced the spectators he was not destitute of science. Counter-hitting; but the blows of Burn, from his length, were the most effective, and the claret flowed freely from Neale’s damaged peeper. A rally, when they separated. A pause; a little wind necessary for Jem. In closing, Uncle Ben’s “nevvy” met with a heavy fall.

4.—The Streatham Youth cleared away the blood from his eye. This round was decidedly in favour of Burn; and, after an exchange of blows, Neale was knocked clean down by a blow on his chest. This event decided two bets in favour of Burn—first blood and first knock-down blow. (“We shall win it, for a thoosand!” cried Uncle Ben. Loud shouting for the young ’un, and his friends, quite nutty upon him, took the odds.)

5.—In point of punishment, the appearance of Neale was the worse, but his confidence never forsook him, and he stood firm as a rock. The men closed, but after an attempt at fibbing, separated. The right hand of Neale did a little now and then, and Burn did not make such good use of his left as he might have done. Burn again lost the throw, and Neale went down heavily on him.

6.—In this round Neale gave his opponent pepper, met him right and left, and threw him at the ropes. (“Well done, Ned!”)

7.—Jem showed weakness, when the Streatham Youth drove him to the ropes, and in closing, Jem, with great activity, planted a facer; but Neale laid hold of his adversary so tightly as to throw him over the ropes.

8.—This round was “a chalk” for Neale; he took the lead, kept it, and milled his opponent down. (“That’s the way, Ned—never leave him!” Two to one on Neale.)

9.—Burn commenced the rounds in general well, but Neale finished them. Jem again thrown.

10.—Jem got away well, but Neale was after him, and planted a body blow with his right hand that nearly made an S of Burn; his game, however, was so good that he shook it off. Neale met with a stopper on his head, but nevertheless he threw Jem.

11.—The weakness of Jem could not be disguised, and he hit short. Neale began a rally, and Jem was determined not to be behindhand with him. In closing, Neale, with the utmost ease, gave his opponent a complete cross-buttock.

12.—Nothing; Burn slipped down.

13.—Jem got away from several blows, and Neale did not do so much execution as heretofore—in fact, the length of Burn rendered him extremely difficult to be got at. In closing, Neale slipped on his hands, but napped it on his ribs.

14.—Nothing the matter, and Jack as good as his master. Burn was thrown.

15.—If the fight had not been taken out of Burn, it was clear to the unbiassed spectators that he wanted stamina. Jem put up his hands to defend himself, but he did not show any disposition to go to work. Neale waited for him, when he went to mill, and poor Jem was not only fibbed, but Neale fell upon him so hard as almost to force the breath out of his body. (“It’s all your own, Ned!”)—three to one on the Streatham Youth, by some desperate bettors.

16.—The fight was nearly over in this round, and if Jem had not proved himself a game man, it would have been to a certainty. A sharp rally took place, when Neale put in a slogger with his right on Jem’s nob, that dropped him like a shot. (“He will not come again!—Take him away!—He’s done for, poor fellow!”) However, a little brandy revived him, and, when time was called, Jem appeared at the scratch.

17.—This was short, and to add to the distress of Burn, Neale fell upon him.

18.—Burn was down almost as soon as he appeared at the mark.

19.—After some futile attempts on the part of Burn to stop his opponent, he was hit down.

20.—“It will soon be over,” said the friends of Neale. “Not for three hours,” answered Uncle Ben. Jem was again sent down.

21.—Burn napped a facer, and was soon down, owing to weakness.

22.—Jem a little better; he appeared to be getting second wind, to the great joy of his backers; he also made play, and planted a couple of hits; but at the end of the round the finishing was on the side of Neale, who got Jem down.

23.—This was a singular round. Neale bored his opponent to the ropes; and in closing Jem struggled himself out of the ring. Burn showed fight outside, but as Neale could not reach him, he returned to the scratch, and sat himself down on his second’s knee. Burn then entered the ropes, and followed his example, and so the round ended.

24–26.—In the last round, Jem dropped weak.

27.—The battle might now be said to be at an end; the event was almost reduced to a certainty. Fighting, as to execution, was out of the question on the side of Burn, and Neale was determined not to give the slightest chance away. Burn went down.

28.—Jem now bobbed his head aside to avoid the coming blow, and was hit down distressed.

29.—A severe cross-buttock nearly shook out the little wind left in Jem’s body.

30.—After a trifling exchange of blows Jem went down.

31–54.—It would be a waste of time to detail these rounds; suffice it to say that Burn fought like a brave man in all of them, and never resigned the contest till Nature completely deserted him. We repeat he is a brave young man, and ought to have been taken away half an hour before the battle was over, which occupied one hour and thirty-eight minutes.

REMARKS.—Neale was opposed to superior length, height, and an active, aspiring young man, and moreover was in nothing like such good condition as when he fought White-headed Bob; his hands also went a little, and he had too much flesh upon his frame; yet he never had the slightest chance of losing; his firmness never forsook him, and he always kept the lead. He left off nearly as strong as when he commenced. Neale is not a showy fighter, but the truth is, winning eight battles speaks a volume as to his milling character; and any boxer who enters the P. R. with Ned will find a good deal of work cut out before he says “No.” Ned is an honest man, and deserving of support; he is a civil, quiet, inoffensive fellow, which entitles him to the attention of the fancy, and a great enemy to “Lushington,” which renders the Streatham Youth a safe man at all times to back. Jem was put to bed at the “Red Lion,” Hampton, and Neale started for London at the conclusion of the battle.

By the advice of his friends, Neale inserted the following letters in the sporting journals as to his future conduct in the P. R.:—

“To the Editor of ‘PIERCE EGAN’S LIFE IN LONDON.’

“SIR,—In order that Baldwin’s (better known as White-headed Bob) journey may not be delayed an hour on my account, I take the earliest opportunity of acquainting him that it is not my intention to appear again in the Prize Ring at present. As he has declared he will fight no one but a winning man, he must excuse me if I am a little particular upon that point, as I have never been beaten.

“My determination is adopted in deference to the wishes of those of my friends by whom I consider it an honour to be guided, and who possess the strongest claims to my grateful respect. When it is recollected that I have fought and won three battles, besides receiving forfeit, within seven months, I trust the liberal portion of the sporting world will consider me entitled to a cessation from labour for the present.

“I am, Sir, yours respectfully, “EDWARD NEALE.”

“Streatham, Jan. 15, 1825.”

“To the Editor of ‘PIERCE EGAN’S LIFE IN LONDON.’

“SIR,—It was with much surprise I saw a paragraph in the Dispatch of last Sunday stating that Cannon had declared, at Harry Holt’s, his readiness to fight me for five hundred pounds. He probably was not aware that in your paper of the 16th ult. I declared my intention not to appear in the Prize Ring at present; he may, therefore, save himself the trouble of again challenging me in my absence. I believe I may with safety claim the merit of being cool and steady in the ring, and I trust I shall always be firm and consistent out of it; and if I could be induced to change my mind, my late brave and manly antagonist, Baldwin, certainly claims the preference.

“If, however, Cannon is particularly anxious to fight me, and is not in a hurry, I am ready and willing to make a match with him for three hundred pounds, to be decided the first week in the next year, and shall be happy to meet him at any time or place, and put down a deposit of fifty pounds. If I hesitate to meet his terms, it is because I think five hundred pounds too great a sum to call upon my backers for, to contend against a man so much my superior in weight and height, and particularly one who aspires to the Championship of England—a title which, I believe, is a considerable distance from both of us. If, however, the chance of war should place the laurel upon his brow this year, I will endeavour the next to remove it to that of

“Your obedient, humble Servant, “EDWARD NEALE.

“Streatham, Feb. 12, 1825.”

Neale, in consequence of the above declaration, having plenty of time upon his hands, was induced to visit Ireland—not only as a tour of pleasure, but as a profitable spec., under the wing and mentorship of Pierce Egan. The Dublin Morning Post thus notices him:—

“THE FANCY.—On Monday night there was a grand muster of the fancy at the Raquet Court, Winetavern Street, for the benefit of Neale and Larkin. They were patronised by an immense number of swells and tip-top Corinthians of this city. O’Neal, the big Irishman, displayed a ‘pretty considerable’ deal of science in a set-to with his trainer, Pat Halton. Larkin next put on the gloves, and gave a newly-arrived Corkonian a dose that may probably induce him to relinquish any relish he might have had for the pugilistic profession. Minor candidates then mounted the stage; they forgot, in their ardour for punishing, that a good boxer, like a good reader, always minds his stops. Just as the meeting was about dissolving, a sprig named Jackson, anxious to gather some ‘Olympic dust,’ challenged any man in the ring to a turn-up for fun. Neale, the Streatham Youth, who was standing near him, offered his services, merely for the pleasure of accommodating the young customer, whom he soon convinced of having been under a mistake with respect to his prowess. Five times did Ned treat the ‘aspiring youth’ to a smashing facer, and five times did the boasting would-be pugilist (Jackson) fall to his mother earth—

“‘——Like a full ear of corn, Whose blossom ’scaped, but wither’d in the rip’ning.’”

“TO THE SPORTING WORLD.—Ned Neale, the Streatham Youth, will have the honour, on Monday night (for the first time in this kingdom), of soliciting the patronage of his countrymen, at Fishamble Street Theatre. He begs leave to state—and he trusts it will not be considered egotism in him to mention it—that he has already contested the palm in eight battles, with eight different candidates belonging to the Prize Ring of London, and as yet he has not been the cause of a stigma on his country. On this occasion a correct representation of that famed spot Moulsey Hurst, with a view of a wood. In the foreground the ring, with umpires, seconds, bottle-holders, fighting men, &c., &c. He begs to state that Pat Halton, who is backed to fight the Chicken on the 4th of August, has, assisted by all the first-rates of this city, offered his services for this night only. A youth from Cork, named Donovan, will appear, who wishes it known that he will peel with any man in the world of his own weight. Ned begs leave to add that no exertion on his part shall be wanting to show as much and as good sport as possible to those friends who may honour him on Monday evening with their company. Boxes, 3s. 3d.; Pit, 2s. 2d.; Gallery, 1s. 1d. Doors open at seven, and sparring commences at half-past seven o’clock.”

Neale, on his return to England, made the happiest match of his life, in which the “Ring” was also concerned, and, singular to remark, the name of Baldwin was attached to the register as a witness. It was thus announced in the journals of the day: “Fancy Marriage.—Married, on Wednesday, June 29th, 1825, at St. Luke’s, Old Street Road, Mr. Edward Neale to Miss Mary Weston. The happy pair, after a sumptuous breakfast at Bob Watson’s, the ‘Castle,’ Finsbury, started for Margate to spend the honeymoon.”

Neale was now installed Boniface of the “Black Bull,” Cow Lane, Smithfield, one of the many old inns swept away by the modern Farringdon Road and Smithfield improvements.

Sampson, who was always a restless and quarrelsome fellow, was continually taunting Neale upon his “judicious retirement,” &c., and at length, after some quires of correspondence, Neale declared his readiness to accommodate him, to finally set at rest the question of “best man.” Articles were signed to meet in June, 1826, and at the signature Neale backed himself for an even £50.

The next week brought an afflicting event. In March, 1826, Mrs. Neale died in childbed, and on the night of the second deposit at Holt’s, Sampson, in a handsome and feeling manner, declared he should not claim forfeit, and that the third deposit should be made as the second, on that day month. The friends of Neale, however, declined the postponement, and forfeited the money down. Thus matters rested until the month of August, when Neale declared himself ready to meet Sampson for not less than £200 a-side. The articles, now before us, run literally thus:—

“Articles of Agreement entered into this 11th of September, 1826, between Edward Neale and Philip Sampson.

“The said Edward Neale agrees to fight the said Philip Sampson a fair stand-up fight in a four-and-twenty foot ring, half-minute time, for £200 a-side, on Tuesday, the 12th day of December, 1826. In furtherance of this agreement £10 a-side are now deposited in the hands of Mr. Pierce Egan. A further deposit of £40 a-side to be made good on Wednesday, the 4th October, at Harry Holt’s, the ‘Cross,’ in Cross Lane, Long Acre. A third deposit of £60 a-side to be made good on Tuesday, the 7th of November, at Edward Neale’s, the ‘Black Bull,’ Cow Lane, Smithfield. And the fourth and last deposit, of £100 a-side, to be made good on Tuesday, the 5th of December, at Josh. Hudson’s, the Half Moon Tap, Leadenhall Market. The fight to take place within thirty miles of London, Mr. Egan to name the place of fighting. The men to be in the ring between twelve and one o’clock; and in the event of failure on either side to comply with the terms of these articles, the party failing to forfeit the money down. Two umpires and a referee to be chosen on the ground, and if any dispute shall arise, the decision of the referee to be conclusive, and the battle-money to be given up accordingly.

“EDW. NEALE. “P. SAMPSON.

“Witness—JOHN ROOKE.”

On Tuesday, December 12th, 1826, at South Mimms Wash, Middlesex, fifteen miles from London, this interesting contest was decided. Sampson was thought by his friends to have improved considerably in frame and science since his second contest with Jem Ward—nay, so much so that he was placed as the “second best” on the list of pugilists; indeed, to make use of Sampson’s own words, he acknowledged Jem Ward as his master, but styled himself “foreman to the champion.” In calculating the advantages he possessed over the Streatham Youth, three points were considered in his favour—length, height, and weight; and another point was added by some—the best fighter. Sampson’s immediate friends therefore booked his winning as a certainty, urging, as a proof of their good opinion, that Neale had never beaten or stood before so capital a boxer as Sampson. The latter pugilist also supported this opinion by offering to take long odds that he won the fight in fifteen minutes, and without a black eye. Equally confident were the friends of Neale. They urged that Ned had always proved himself a conqueror, and acted upon the general rule adopted by sporting men—always to back a winning horse and a winning man to the end of the chapter. Five and six to four were betted in numerous instances upon the Streatham Youth.

As the time of fighting drew near the interest upon the battle increased, and large sums of money were sported on the event. At the John Bull Fighter’s dinner, when the whole of the four hundred sovereigns were made good, Sampson and Neale met, but not upon the most friendly terms. Sampson informed the company that he had heard Neale had spoken of him in a disrespectful manner, and he now gave him the opportunity of offering a contradiction to the aspersions he had made upon his character. Neale, with considerable warmth, replied: “You behaved unmanly to me in my own house, Sampson, while I was in a bad state of health, and I will never forgive you till you and I have decided our fight in the ring. Give me five pounds and I will bet you one hundred that I lick you.” To prevent an open row it was judged necessary by the backers of both of the men that they should separate as soon as possible.

Every precaution was used to select a secure place for fighting; and after an assurance that it was likely no interruption would take place, Dunstable Downs was the spot appointed. Sampson left the “Crown” at Holloway, his residence during the time of his training, on the Wednesday previous to the battle, and took up his quarters at the “Posting House,” in Market Street. Neale did not leave the house of his backer at Norwood until Monday morning, when he was placed, on his arrival in London, under the care of Mr. William Giles. Neale, in company with the gay little Boniface of the first market in the world, and Harry Holt, in a post-chaise, reached the Crown Inn at Dunstable about eight in the evening of the Monday.

It might have been anticipated that in consequence of Sampson having pitched his tent in the neighbourhood of the scene of action, a buzz would be created that a prize-fighter was on the spot, and the magistrates would become acquainted with the circumstance. It proved so, for on the Monday morning a notice was sent that he must not fight in the counties of Bedford and Buckingham. This information got wind early on the Monday afternoon, and the town of Dunstable, which otherwise would have been filled to an overflow, was completely spoilt, as the amateurs preferred halting at Redburn and Market Street to proceeding forward on a matter of doubt.

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