VII. DAN DONNELLY, CHAMPION OF IRELAND (part 2 of 3)

VII. DAN DONNELLY, CHAMPION OF IRELAND (part 2 of 3)

During the whole of the night carriages filled with persons were on the road. An hour before daylight another magistrate arrived in Dunstable, in his gig, declaring himself a magistrate for three counties, and that no mill should take place in Bedfordshire, Buckinghamshire, or Hertfordshire. On his meeting with Sampson, Phil promised the gent he would not exhibit in either of the proscribed counties. It therefore became necessary to hold a council of war. Sampson wished to proceed to Stony Stratford, as a spot where no interruption was likely to take place, but Pierce Egan, on whom the selection of the ground had devolved, decided for Middlesex, acting upon the articles agreed to, which stated the fight was to be within thirty miles of London. The office being given “towards home,” confusion began, and “The devil take the hindmost,” was the word. The northern stage coaches were all filled inside and out, for the sudden turn round had nearly thrown most of the passengers bound for the fight out of distance. All the post-chaises and horses had been previously hired, so nothing else was left to numerous persons, with plenty of cash in their purses, but to toddle for miles through mud, slush, and heavy showers, to the scene of action. It was truly laughable to see lots of heavy swells, with their thick upper toggery tucked up under their arms, trudging along as if pursued by an enemy, their brows covered with perspiration, and their hinder parts splashed with dirt. The muster of the motley group was immense, and the turn-out of Corinthians more numerous than had been seen for months past at a fight. A crowd of fours-in-hand, tandems, curricles, post-chaises and fours, cabriolets, gigs, drags, &c., were all trying to get the best of each other to be early on the ground, and so obtain a good place. At length Mimms Wash appeared in view, a large sheet of water, when Bill Gibbons dashed through the stream with as much sang froid as if he had been crossing a kennel in the streets of London. “We are not going to be outdone by the Ould One!” exclaimed some costermongers, following Bill, and suffering for their temerity by going head over heels in the muddy water mixture, to the no small chaffing and laughter of the crowd. Several pedestrians, regardless of cold or consequences, waded the Wash with as much indifference as if it had been a summer’s day. A swell, who had plunged in up to his middle, invited his fellow-travellers to accompany him through the flood, exclaiming: “I’m a philosopher! Come along! Follow me. I’m not wet at all. You only fancy it is water!” But even this logic had not the desired effect, and his companions preferred being conveyed across the Wash in a coach. The ring was soon made, upon a rising spot of ground in a field hard by, and at a quarter past two o’clock Sampson threw his hat into the ring, amidst loud cheers, followed by his second and bottle-holder, Jem Ward and Jem Burn. Neale soon afterwards repeated the token of defiance, attended by Josh Hudson and Harry Holt. Sampson deliberately tied his colours (pink) upon the stakes; and Holt placed the dark blue bird’s eye for Neale upon those of his opponent. The men were not long in peeling, and at twenty-five minutes after two they shook hands, and the battle commenced.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Both men appeared in excellent condition. Sampson was quite tip-top, but Neale, it was thought, was not exactly weight—that is to say, what he ought to have been—and the judges hinted he was rather thin. The attitudes of the combatants claimed attention; in fact, the contrast was singular. Neale held his left hand firmly above his nob, operating as a kind of office that he was perfectly aware of the danger of the Strong Man’s right mauley. Sampson’s guard was low, but his ogles were on the alert, and he kept a good look-out to do mischief. In most fights, the first round, if not tedious, is generally expected to show superiority of science in one of the men as the first blow is considered of consequence; but in this instance it was extreme caution against extreme caution. Sampson, however, had previously asserted that only let him have the chance of getting Neale before him in the ring, and he would cut his nob to pieces. Such is the difference between theory and practice; Sampson soon found out the difficulty of going to work off-hand with his clever opponent; and Neale, like that great master in the art of war, the Duke of Wellington, was determined not to give away a chance, and preferred the retreating system. Several minutes were occupied in making offers, retreating, dodging, and pacing all over the ring without any effect, Neale jumping back from every attempt of Sampson. The goodness of Ned upon his pins attracted the attention of all spectators. After numerous attempts to do “summat,” Neale having retreated to a corner of the ring, Sampson went in and planted a slight facer. Ned, having no opportunity to make a hit, closed with his adversary. In struggling for the throw, Sampson down and undermost. (The Streathamites opened their chaffing-boxes, and gave him the benefit of their red rags, by repeated shouts of approbation.)

2.—The left arm of Neale was again raised, and Sampson could not make him out. The latter boxer did not at all seem prepared for the mode of defence resorted to by his adversary. Neale, it should seem, had made up his mind to a certain mode of fighting, and was not, by any stratagem of Sampson, to be led away from it. Neal kept walking round his adversary, anxious to obtain an opening, and retreating when anything like danger showed itself. It was remarked by a spectator that “if the one was afraid, the other dared not commence fighting.” Several minutes passed away in looking at each other, and in making feints. Phil at length went to work, but missed a slashing hit, which was calculated to have done mischief. Neale returned, but it was not effective. In closing, Neale threw Sampson heavily. (“Bravo, Neale!” from his partisans.)

3.—Sampson eyed his opponent from head to foot. Both combatants were tired of holding up their arms, or appeared to be so, and Sampson, finding nothing was to be done, dropped his guard, and stood still. Neale also crossed his arms, and viewed his opponent. In fact, it was a complete suspension of hostilities—the spectators at length, became impatient, and expressed their disapprobation. Each man several times made himself up to do mischief, and every peeper was upon the stretch to witness some hits, instead of which retreating was again the order of the day. Sampson, in following Neale, got the latter boxer again in the corner of the ring, when he hit out right and left, and caught Neale on the mug, but Ned returned the compliment. In closing, Sampson went down on his knees, and brought down Neale with him. Odds were betted on Neale.

4.—“He’ll go to work soon,” said Ward, pointing to Sampson, “and give Neale a slogger.” “I should like to see it,” said an old ring-goer; “I never saw such a mill before!” “I call it anything but fighting,” replied a third. The men looked at each other, and Sampson, with all his cleverness and experience, could not put Neale off his mode of fighting. An exchange of blows, but no mischief. Sampson made a good stop, or his wind-market must have been disturbed. Neale, however, got another turn, and planted a rum one on Sampson’s canister. (Loud shouting from Neale’s friends.) Sampson missed one of his wisty-casters at the nob of his opponent, or Ned’s upper works might have been in chancery. In closing, Sampson endeavoured to fib his adversary. Ned was thrown, Sampson uppermost.

5.—This was a short round. Neale rushed in and got Sampson down.

6.—A little bit of fighting this bout. Sampson tried all he knew, but Neale would not be had, and got away from all his opponent’s feints. After some manœuvring Sampson again had Neale in the corner of the ring, and planted one of his heavy right-handed hits on his temple. Ned for an instant appeared stunned, and fell on his knees, but jumped up directly to renew the fight. Hudson, however, pulled him down on his knee, and the round was finished.

7.—After some little dodging about the ring, each crossed his arms and stood still. Barney Aaron begged the fight might be put off, and begun again the next day with daybreak. “No, no,” exclaimed an Old One, “recollect there’s moonlight.” “I am happy,” exclaimed Josh, “that I am a patient man.” These, and a thousand such remarks, occurred all round the ring, but still the combatants were not roused into action. (“Come,” said Sampson to Neale, “why don’t you fight?”—“When I like,” answered Ned; “you begin, I’ll soon be with you.”) This round was tediously long. Counter-hitting, Neale planted a sharp blow on Sampson’s nob, and the latter returned with his right. (“He can’t make a dent in a pound of butter, Sampson. Go to work, and hit him as you did me,” said Jem Burn.—“Be quiet,” said Harry Holt; “look to your man. It’s as safe as if it was over.” This latter remark seemed to make Sampson angry, and with a sneer he observed, “What signifies what a fellow like you says?”—“I’ll give you one presently for that,” answered Neale; “he is my second, so you don’t like him.”) Neale napped a heavy one to all appearance on his head; but Sampson received a smart body blow. A variety of feints—great preparation—retreating, but no blows. In closing, Sampson fibbed his antagonist slightly. Both down, Neale undermost. The friends of Sampson here gave him a chevy for luck. During the short space of time Neale sat upon Josh’s knee, he said to him, “Sampson is but a light hitter.”—“Well, then,” replied the John Bull Fighter, “there can be no mistake about your winning!”

8.—Sampson said “First blood!” pointing to a slight scratch near Neale’s mouth. “Don’t be foolish,” replied Hudson; “it is only a touch of the scurvy on his cheek—a pimple irritated.” Neale stopped in style a tremendous right-handed hit. A pause. Sampson made a stunning hit on the head of his opponent, which nearly turned Ned round. (“What, you’ve caught it at last,” said Jem Ward, rubbing his hands. “Another blow like that, and good night to you, Master Neale.”—“Walker,” replied Josh. “Why, Jemmy, you are all abroad, to talk so!”) In closing, Sampson obtained the throw.

9.—This was an excellent fighting round. After the numerous standstills which had occurred—feints, getting away, &c.—Neale seemed quite ripe for execution. Sampson received a rum one on his listener, but returned cleverly on Neale’s index. Some good stopping occurred upon both sides, and it appeared to the spectators that the fight had just commenced. Neale stopped one of Sampson’s tremendous right-handed hits so well that several persons exclaimed, “Beautiful!” Sampson missed one or two blows. A short rally occurred, when Sampson went down from a slight hit. Ned, as yet, had scarcely the slightest mark of punishment. His friends were satisfied he was so good upon his pins that he would wear out his opponent if it came to staying.

10.—Neale saw an opening, and without hesitation turned it to his advantage. He commenced milling with severity, and planted two good hits. He also repeated the dose by a heavy right-handed hit on the jaw of his opponent, which took Sampson off his legs as if shot. He was picked up by his second like a log of wood. His eyes were closed, and his nob was swinging on his shoulder as if it did not belong to his body. “It is all U P,” was the cry—“the Strong Man is done over.” Any odds in favour of Neale. Ward endeavoured to keep Sampson’s head steady, and led him to the scratch.

11, and last.—Sampson appeared incapable of keeping his legs, neither did he attempt to put up his arms. He was of no use. Neale, by way of finisher, planted a light blow, and Sampson again measured his length upon the grass. When time was called, Sampson did not leave the knee of his second. Holt threw up the hat, and victory was declared in favour of Neale; Sampson observing he would “fight no more,” when asked by Ward, and requesting his second to take him out of the ring. Neale jumped about the ground for joy, and soon left the ring for London, neither fatigued nor hurt. Sampson was taken by some of his Birmingham friends to Market Street. The fight lasted one hour and six minutes.

REMARKS.—That this fight was not a good one was certainly not the fault of Neale. He expected, from the boast of Sampson, that he would go in and win off-hand, or fall in the attempt. Hence Ned’s over-caution, as it proved. Neale never was a showy pugilist; on the contrary, he was steady, cautious, and safe. Sampson, when he found he could not confuse his man by impetuosity, fell off sadly, and the affair, which it was anticipated would be a rattling fight, became a tedious succession of bouts of sparring, with short intervals of hitting, in which Neale was slowly but surely establishing his superiority, and Sampson was beaten against his will.

Many of the friends of Cannon, the “Great Gun of Windsor,” were of opinion that their man was just the sort of pugilist to “make Ned fight.” Accordingly a proposal was made for a meeting for a stake of £200 a-side, and accepted by Neale. On Tuesday, February 20th, 1827, the men met at Warfield, in Berkshire. The morning was intensely cold, and both men appeared at the ring-side with their nobs covered with Welsh wigs, Neale having slept overnight at the “Crown,” in Windsor, and Cannon driven over from his training quarters, the New Inn, at Staines. The men shook hands with smiling cordiality, each assuring the other he “felt quite well.” The colours were then tied to the stakes, a blue bird’s-eye for Neale, and crimson with a white spot for Cannon. Peter Crawley and Harry Harmer waited upon Cannon, Harry Holt and Josh Hudson on Neale.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The Great Gun, on stripping, showed excellent condition; but in spite of good skin training, age cannot be concealed; and Cannon, according to the exclamation of “The Gas,” was “an old man.” The fact is that Neale was not yet twenty-three years of age, while Cannon had passed his thirty-sixth! Cannon appeared cheerful, smiling, and confident. The body of Neale was covered with spots, like a leopard—his condition was anything but good; he had a slight cold, and his flesh was soft; yet the grand points in his favour were youth, and a “heart in the right place.” On setting-to, Cannon did not display that bull-dog sort of eagerness which characterised his efforts in his second battle with the John Bull Fighter, but he was upon the alert, ready to punish, and anxious to obtain an opening. Cannon commenced offensive operations, but his wary opponent “would not have it,” and got away. Cannon tried it again, but it would not do; Ned endeavoured to plant a hit, but the Great Gun was not to be had, and retreated from mischief. Sparring on both sides, but no hitting. Neale at length went to work, and with his left mauley slightly touched his opponent’s canister; Cannon returned sharply. A short struggle occurred, and Cannon went down.

2.—The milling qualities of the Great Gun were prominent, and he was upon the bustle to do business; but Ned was “up and dressed,” and his left hand again told upon his opponent’s mug. Cannon was not behindhand, and some sharp blows were exchanged. Milling on the retreat (after Tom Cribb’s successful mode) was now adopted by Neale; he planted a tremendous blow under the listener of his adversary, and the claret followed profusely. If this heavy blow had been a little lower, it might have been “Good night to the Great Gun!” Cannon, rather confused and wild, rushed in to work—he obtained the throw, Neale went down, and Cannon also; in falling, his nob came in contact with the stakes. Neale was the hero of the tale.

3.—Cannon, like nothing but a game man, appeared at the scratch smiling. This was a short round. The Great Gun tried to fire a heavy shot, and boldly went up to his man; but the Youth hooked him round his neck, and endeavoured to fib. Cannon proved himself the stronger man, got Neale down, and fell on him.

4.—The Streatham Youth got away from mischief, and made good use of his pins. Some blows were exchanged, when they closed. A desperate struggle occurred for the throw; both down, Neale undermost.

5.—The Great Gun, as gay as a lark, went to work, but napped a conker; yet he would not be denied, and a sharp rally was the result. Some heavy hits were exchanged: the fire proving too hot, Ned turned round from mischief; the Great Gun pursued him, when Neale turned and rushed to the attack; some clumsy thumps passed. In closing, Ned had the best of it, but fell on his head. Neale was much shaken by the fall.

6.—The Great Gun was all for fighting, and kept to his work. Neale was ready, but nevertheless kept a good look-out. In a rally, both their faces napped punishment, but Ned retreated in style. In struggling for the throw, both down, Neale undermost.

7.—The weakness of the Streatham Youth was visible to his friends, but they still felt satisfied he must win. A good rally, and Cannon up to the mark, giving hit for hit. In closing, they both stood still, trying to hold the hands of each other. Ned broke away, and tipped it to Cannon in his victualling office; he ultimately obtained the throw, and the Great Gun came down on his nob, a shaker. (“Neale for a thousand!”)

8.—The Great Gun showed distress on appearing at the scratch. Ned tried to be with him, but Cannon closed in by catching Neale round the neck. The fibbing system was adopted by Ned, and upon Cannon getting the worst of it he dropped upon his knees. The coolness of Neale was here seen to great advantage; he was in the act of hitting, when he stopped himself and held up his arms, amidst loud cheers from all parts of the ring. (“Bravo, Ned! well done, it’s manly!”)

9.—The Great Gun was rather unsteady; but his pluck was as good as gold. The science of Neale gave him great advantages, although he was out of condition; he watched the movements of Cannon with the keen eye of a general till it answered his purpose to commence fighting. Ned planted a facer, but Cannon countered. In closing, holding of hands to prevent punishment was again the feature; and Neale was so weak that he could not get the best of his opponent in his usual workman-like style. The struggle became long and desperate, when the Great Gun went down undermost.

10.—This round was all in favour of Ned. He planted a rum one on the muzzle of the Great Gun, repeated the dose with his left, then brought in his right to great advantage. In closing Cannon did his best to grasp his opponent firmly; but Neale broke away cleverly, and planted a heavy body blow with his right hand. Cannon fought his way into another close; in struggling both down, the Streatham Youth undermost.

11.—The Great Gun wanted breath, and sparred for time, but anxious not to be idle, went to work. Ned was ready for him, and some blows were exchanged. Cannon rushed in determined, as it were, to have the fall. In struggling he threw his opponent, although he went down himself. Neale’s nob came in sharp contact with the ground, his face underwent a momentary change, and he appeared hurt by the fall. He rested his head upon the back of his bottle-holder, and his friends became alarmed for the consequences. But when time was called, he was ready.

12.—Neale seemed anxious to recover the accident, and put in with the utmost ease two teasers on Cannon’s nob, right and left, that made his pimple shake again. A sharp rally followed, and “Jack was as good as his master.” It was Millers’ Place, Cannon Row, and Pepper Alley, all brought down from town. Neale had the worst of the punishment; he, however stuck close to his man. Cannon was sent out of the ropes, and Ned also went down.

13.—Good on both sides; Cannon always ready, and no flincher. In fact, he appeared as cheerful as if he was at work on the river. Neale got away from mischief, but Cannon would follow him, till a rally was the result. In closing Cannon received a cross-buttock that shook him seriously.

14.—Neale was much distressed, and the Great Gun tried to have the best of him by bustling. In closing he got Neale’s nob under his arm; and the latter, for a short time, could not release himself from his perilous situation. (“Bravo, Cannon, now’s your time! you have got him—don’t let him go!”) Cannon at length let Neale down. The backers of the Great Gun flattered themselves the chance was in their favour, and actually took him at evens.

15.—Neale, aware of his weakness, acted upon the defensive; and Cannon went to work, as the best means to turn the tide. The Great Gun, in closing, again caught hold of Neale, the latter trying to hold the hands of his opponent. In this unpleasant situation, both to themselves and the spectators, they continued for a minute, until quite exhausted they both went down, Neale undermost; Cannon for choice, and some were jolly enough to offer 5 to 4.

16.—The Great Gun, acting under the advice of his seconds, endeavoured to have his opponent upon the bustling system, and went to work. He bored Neale to the ropes, and here another disagreeable struggle took place, both for a short time hanging upon the ropes, till they fell outside of the ring. The Great Gun was undermost. (“Cannon for ever!” was the cry. “He can’t lose it! The battle is changed! 6 to 4 on the Great Gun!”)

17.—At the scratch Cannon appeared the fresher man of the two. Ned was out of wind, and sparring was necessary for both. Neale tried his right hand, but without effect. A cessation of arms for a short period, and both on the look-out. Cannon at length rushed upon Neale with an intent of punishment, but Ned, wide awake, retreated, followed by his opponent. At the ropes Cannon went to work, but Ned put on the stop capitally. The Streatham Youth broke ground, when Cannon would not be denied, but he napped a facer. In closing Ned threw Cannon, and fell upon him severely.

18.—The Great Gun, rather unsteady, bored in to punish his adversary; but Neale, who was now getting better, made use of his pins to great advantage, and got away with ease. One severe facer Cannon napped, a second followed without any return, and a third finished the round, the claret running from Cannon’s nose, when he fell exhausted. (Loud shouting for Neale, and 6 to 4 on him.)

19.—Cannon was game to the backbone, and appeared at the scratch like a trump. Neale, with great judgment, made himself up to do something good; he viewed his adversary well, then let fly a tremendous nobber, which sent Cannon staggering back to the ropes; Ned followed him and threw him heavily.

20.—Neale was on his mettle; he commenced play with his right with good effect, and Cannon’s nob met punishment. The Great Gun was now reduced to a little gun, nevertheless he showed fight like a brave man, by returning hits. Ned put in another severe facer, and in closing Cannon went down on his back, Neale upon him. (2 to 1, and no takers.)

21.—Cannon came up quite groggy, but the fight was not out of him. The courage and game he displayed were admirable, and he earned the praise of all spectators. But in boxing term he was of “no use.” Ned put in a nobber that almost stunned him, and Cannon staggered about like a drunken man. In closing, Ned again obtained the throw, and the fall was indeed severe. Cannon lay on the ground, declining to be lifted up till the call of “time.”

22, and last.—The Great Gun came up like nothing but an out-and-outer, but his shot was not point-blank, and he swerved and reeled unsteadily. Neale put in a left-handed push, when the Great Gun rolled through the ropes and fell outside. He was in a state of stupor. His seconds brought him into his corner, but while they were busy the umpire declared he had not answered the call of “time.” The referee agreed, and the victory was declared to Neale. The battle lasted only thirty minutes. Neale cut several capers at the announcement, and returned to his carriage, while the defeated man was taken to his quarters at Staines.

REMARKS.—The report here given leaves little room for comment. Cannon, whose courage had “moulted no feather,” was beaten by freshness, activity, and a better style of boxing than his own. This was his last fight, and thus, after his defeat by Jem Ward, the once formidable bargeman, like many another champion who has “trusted to the energy of a waning age,” furnished one more instance of the truism that “youth will be served.”

At Sam Tebbutt’s opening dinner on the occasion of his taking the “Bull’s Head,” Saffron Hill (another of the demolished purlieus of Old Smithfield), Uncle Ben expressed his “Nevvy’s” desire to meet Neale once more in the lists, provided Ned would deposit £250 against £200 of “mine uncle’s” money. Neale closed with the proposal, and posted £10, but Neale’s principal backer considering the conditions imprudent, he wrote from Brighton, whither he had gone, forfeiting the £10 down.

A few weeks afterwards, however, articles were signed at the “Castle,” Holborn, for Neale to fight Jem Burn, £120 to £100, and the day fixed for Tuesday, Nov. 13th, 1827. So confident was Neale of the result that he named Monday, Nov. 12th (the day before the fight), for his benefit at the Tennis Court. After the sparring, Neale, accompanied by Harry Holt, started for Bagshot, to be near the proposed field of action.

Early on Tuesday morning the road to Staines was covered with all sorts of vehicles from London, and Shirley’s, the New Inn was overflowing with first-rate company. Winkfield Plain, in Berkshire, was the spot in view, and the fancy lost no time in surrounding the ring. Near the appointed hour Jem Burn threw his hat into the ropes, accompanied by Tom Belcher and Tom Cannon as his seconds. Neale was close at his heels, and delivered his tile with the utmost confidence, attended by Josh Hudson and Harry Holt. The colours—blue, with a white spot, for Ned, and a Belcher handkerchief for Burn, were tied to the stakes. The men shook hands smilingly, and at eight minutes past one commenced

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On peeling, Jem looked the picture of health. He weighed thirteen stone, and was three inches taller than his adversary. Neale did not exactly answer the expectations of his friends; he looked pale, and his back and bosom were covered with a scorbutic eruption. Ned did not exceed twelve stone. He held his left hand remarkably high in defence, and in every other point seemed prepared for attack. Burn kept manœuvring to obtain an opening, but Neale was too wary to give a chance away. Jem at length let fly at the body, but Neale was away. Jem then tried left and right, but Neale, as before, got out of mischief. Burn, puzzled, made another attempt with his left hand, which alighted slightly on Ned’s left ogle. Neale, in return, endeavoured to plant a heavy right-handed hit on the nob, but it fell short on the shoulder. Burn, anxious to do some execution, again let fly right and left, but out of distance. Ned took advantage of the mistake, went in to his man, and by a heavy right-handed blow on the side of his head, floored Burn like a shot. First event for the Streatham Youth.

2.—Jem came well up to the scratch, and commenced offensive operations right and left, but Ned, laughing, said it was “no go,” and got out of the way of mischief like a skilful tactician, yet instantly returned to the attack, when Jem napped another floorer, to the great joy of the Streathamites. The Yorkites began to look blue.

3.—Jem could not measure his distance, and again threw his blows away, when Neale went in to punish sans cérémonie. (“Hit with him,” says Tom Belcher. “Yes,” replied Josh, “he will get much the best of that.”) Burn stopped some hits, and returned on Neale’s nob. The latter, however, soon resumed the lead. Jem was once more sent down with comparative ease, and Neale rested himself on his second’s knee.

4.—Short but sweet to the Streatham Youth; Jem could not plant his blows, when Neale put in a throttler which sent Burn down in a twinkling. It is impossible to describe the exultation of the friends of Neale. Two to one offered.

5.—This was more a wrestling than a fighting round; both combatants were down side by side.

6.—Neale seemed perfectly awake to every move of his adversary, and got out of trouble with the utmost sang froid. In closing, Jem struggled hard, and both down.

7.—Jem endeavoured to plant two well-meant hits, but the science of Neale rendered them harmless. After a little manœuvring, Ned went to work, when Jem was soon sent down on his latter end.

8.—Jem had a small slice of luck at the opening of this round, by planting a left-handed hit on the right peeper of Neale, which produced a slight tinge of the claret. (“First blood,” was claimed by the friends of Jem, but the Streatham Youth laughed, and said, “I shall soon make that even.”) A sharp rally concluded the round, in which Jem threw many blows away, while Ned administered pepper until Jem went down staggering.

9.—Burn endeavoured to do something, but his blows generally fell short. Ned was always with his adversary upon the slightest mistake, and Jem was ultimately down.

10.—This was a well-fought round on both sides. Jem’s right hand told on the side of Ned’s head, and several other blows of Burn were also planted with effect, when Ned fell on the ropes and went down. (“Go along, Jem! that’s the way to win! Keep it up, my lad,” from his backers.)

11.—Burn put on the stopper well; and in closing Burn got down cleverly from the fibbing system attempted by his adversary.

12.—The nob of Jem looked rather the worse for wear; but he planted some slight facers. Neale fought his way into a rally, had the best of it, and in closing Burn was down.

13.—Jem went to work rather wild, but planted a hit or two. Ned, however, was with him, and dropped Burn by a blow in the mouth, like a shot.

14.—This round proved extremely serious to the Burnites. The combatants soon got into a rally, in which the blows of Neale operated like cannon-shot, till Jem was quite abroad, and went down of no use. (This severe punishment operated so severely upon the feelings of Uncle Ben that he fell on his back on the ground dreadfully convulsed. Several men who immediately ran to render Uncle Ben assistance could scarcely hold him during the time he was bled by a surgeon. On his recovery, he was immediately conveyed to Staines, and put to bed in a very exhausted state of body and mind.)

15.—Jem appeared at the scratch quite in a groggy state. The pepper-box was again administered in the most effectual manner by Neale; resistance seemed almost out of Jem’s power, until he once more measured his length on the grass.

16.—Burn could not measure his distances, and fought wildly. Ned had it all his own way, punishing right and left, until Jem was down.

17, 18, 19.—In all these rounds Jem not only napped it in all manner of directions, but was sent down.

20.—Burn missed a well-aimed left-handed blow at the head of his opponent, when Neale, in return, planted a tremendous hit on his sensitive box, which not only produced the claret freely, but floored him. (Any odds, but no takers.)

21.—The quality of game could not be denied to Jem; he stood and took the milling like a receiver-general. He was knocked off his pins without any ceremony.

22.—The left hand of Neale met Jem bang in the middle of the head, which produced the claret in torrents, as he measured his length on the grass.

23.—Jem hit down before he had scarcely got up his arms.

24.—Jem slipped down by accident.

25.—Burn was piping, and almost abroad; but Belcher was on the alert to keep Jem at his work. (“Be ready, my dear boy,” cried Tom; “hit with him, he’s coming.” “Yes,” replied the John Bull Fighter, “Ned is coming, and your man will soon be going—or rather, like the auctioneer, gone!”) Neale received a facer which produced the claret; but he returned the favour with interest, and Jem was again sent down.

26.—Jem now tried desperate fighting, hitting away in all directions; but Ned was too leary. The latter boxer got a stopper on the nob; but Jem was again down. (“You must admit, gents,” observed the elegant Holt, “that Jem is a down-y one; he has been down almost to the end of the chapter. The finish is also near at hand. I’ll bet any odds.”)

27, 28, 29, 30.—In all of these rounds the lead and punishment were decidedly in favour of Neale, and Jem was sent down in every one of them.

31.—Jem showed fight, and planted a facer; but it was too slight to do anything like damage to Neale. The latter followed Jem all over the ring, until he sent him down. (Tom Cannon, by way of raising the spirits of Burn, said, “He can never lick you, Jem.” “Yes,” replied Ned, “and you afterwards, and no mistake; and I’ll try it, if you like.”)

32, 33, 34, 35, 36.—It is true that in some of these rounds Jem planted facers which produced the claret, but he could not turn a single round in his favour. Ned was continually administering punishment, and Jem was down in all of these rounds. (“Take him away!”)

37.—Jem was cruelly distressed, but he would not say “no,” and showed fight at the scratch. He napped lots of milling in a rally, and went down as heavy as lead. (“Take him away! he’s of no use!”)

38.—Down, and no return; so much did Neale show his superiority over Jem.

39.—Of the same class; he appeared at the scratch only to be milled down. (“It’s a shame to bring him up! Take him home, Belcher!”)

40.—Burn, almost as a forlorn hope, went to work with more spirit than could have been expected from his exhausted state, and planted several hits in better style than in most of the preceding rounds; but this exertion was now too late, and he was milled down flat on his face. (The cries were extremely loud: “Take him away; you’ll be lagged else.” “Why don’t you listen to the advice of your friends,” said Josh, “if you wish to prevent serious consequences to yourselves?”)

41.—It was all the cash in the Bank to a ninepence that Jem must lose it; in fact, his backers and seconds ought to have had him taken out of the ring. Jem down, with his face on the earth.

42.—Nearly U P; Burn was down as soon as he appeared at the scratch.

43, and last.—Jem could scarcely show at the scratch, he was so completely exhausted. He staggered about like a drunken man, when Neale did little more than push him down. It was all over; and when picked up by Tom Belcher, his head fell on his shoulder, and he was insensible. The fight continued forty-six minutes. Jem was bled on the ground; nevertheless, he remained in a state of stupor for several minutes. He was severely punished about the head, while Neale was scarcely the worse for the fight. In truth, so little did he care for the punishment he had received that he offered to fight Tom Cannon off-hand, for £100 a-side, and it was a matter of difficulty that Neale’s friends made him quit the ring. £7 10s. only were collected on the ground for Jem Burn.

REMARKS.—The perusal of the rounds of the above battle are so decisive in themselves as scarcely to require any observation. Ned had it all his own way, from the beginning of the fight to the end of the contest. His superior confidence, united with the science which was conspicuous in every round, pronounced him a master of the art of self-defence. Coolness is a winning faculty on the part of Neale, who possesses it in an eminent degree. Jem fought bravely, no one can deny; but contending in long blows instead of close quarters rendered his blows non-effective, and he was completely beaten at out-fighting. It is, however, due to Jem Burn to state that he contested every inch of ground like a man of the highest courage. He would not say no, and refused to be taken away, which he might have done without compromising his character as a pugilist. He never left the scratch until nature had deserted him; and the best man in the world must, like Jem, submit to the fortune of war. Neale, in this conquest, obtained in such a superior style, placed himself high in the ranks of pugilism; and his backers entertained so high an opinion, not only of his talents, but of his integrity and thorough trustworthiness, that it was resolved to match him against the accomplished Jem Ward.

The very next day, at Burn’s benefit at the Tennis Court, Neale, whose face was but slightly disfigured, mounted the stage after the principal bout, between Jem Ward and big Bob Burn, in which Jem sent the burly one off the platform with surprisingly little damage to his sixteen stone carcass, and presented himself to the amateurs. He offered, such was the readiness of good men in those days, to meet Baldwin for £250 to £200 or £500 to £400, that day week, or that day month, or two months, at his option; or he would fight Tom Cannon, Reuben Martin, or any twelve stone man in England, for any sum they pleased; or he would fight the three men named within three months, with a month’s interval. This sweeping challenge brought up Ned Baldwin, who said he was not at that moment prepared to make a match, but would appoint an evening for the purpose, and give Neale notice to attend. Tom Cannon next showed. “Gentlemen,” said the Windsor Gun, “I am out of condition, and both my shoulders are bad. I have now plaisters on my chest. But I hope to be well by April, when Neale shall not want a customer.”

At a sporting dinner on Thursday, Nov. 22nd, 1827, at Sam Tebbutt’s, the “Bull’s Head,” Peter Street, to celebrate Neale’s victory, Ned was surrounded by backers and friends. The chairman (Pierce Egan) reviewed the victorious career of Neale, stating his battles, and that his name had never yet been associated with defeat—that he had proved himself as honest as he was brave, a dutiful son, an affectionate brother, a kind-hearted husband, and a sincere friend—in short, a true man in all the relations of life. He therefore proposed a subscription to present him with a silver cup of the value of one hundred guineas, as a testimony to his upright and brave conduct. The proposition was agreed to, and twenty-one guineas subscribed in the room.

The subject of a match between Jem Ward and Ned Neale was on the carpet at the Castle Tavern, Holborn, on Tuesday, Nov. 20th, 1827, when two gentlemen posted £5 a-side, to be made £100—£15 a-side to be posted the next evening. On the Wednesday Neale’s backer announced that he had not been able to see Neale, and wished a postponement; but Ward’s friend claimed forfeit, and it was paid over accordingly. £20 was then deposited by a friend of Neale’s, to be made £200 if Neale consented to fight Ward in two months—the money to be returned (less half-a-dozen of wine) in the event of Neale’s non-compliance. On Friday, Nov. 23rd, an immense assemblage of the fancy took place at the “Castle,” when, Jem Ward not being present (he did not appear during the whole evening), forfeit was claimed. The gentleman who backed Ward demurred, stating he knew Jem was ready to go on with the match, and he was ready with a further deposit. Neale, who was in attendance, said, as the deposit had been made to fight for £200 within two months, he must decline complying with those terms. He did not think he could get into sufficient condition to meet such a man as Jem Ward, and he was resolved never to peril his own reputation, and the interest of his friends, by entering the ring unfit. The deposits were hereupon drawn.

Ned Baldwin now offered himself once again to Neale’s notice for £150 a-side. To this Neale replied, offering to fight Baldwin, as once beaten, for £250 to £200. Articles were formulated and signed, and Tuesday, March 11th, 1828, fixed as the day. Baldwin left town for Leicestershire to train. Here a trivial occurrence had well-nigh wrecked Baldwin’s chance and money, as will be seen by the subjoined letter to the editor of the Weekly Dispatch:—

London, Feb. 2nd, 1828.

“SIR,—On my return from Melton Mowbray I was sorry to find my character had been assailed by a Leicester paper, in which my conduct has been entirely misrepresented. I refer to the account of a dispute which took place between two respectable coach proprietors, who, I hope, have settled their differences amicably. It is stated I took an active part in the ‘disturbance.’ Now, sir, the truth is that I was merely a passive spectator of the quarrel, and never interfered by word or act—in fact, I was equally a friend to both parties. Like others, I laughed, but knew my situation too well to interfere. I knew that I was backed against Ned Neale, and that by joining in such a dispute I should be ‘throwing a chance away’—conduct of which even my enemies would scarcely accuse me. For being present, however, I was taken before a magistrate, and held to bail till the sessions, which will be held at the beginning of April; but even this fact did not justify the false statement to my prejudice made in the Leicester Herald. However, as my recognisances only stand good till the sessions, I shall continue to make my deposits with Ned Neale good; and I have too much reliance on his honourable feeling not to believe, even if I am obliged to put our meeting off for a month, that he will willingly grant me that time. He has said that he means fighting, and so do I; and as the articles express that the stakes shall remain till we have fairly decided who is the best man, upon that understanding I mean to act. I shall attend with my backers at Tom Cribb’s, on Tuesday next, with the needful, and hope to meet my antagonist on friendly terms. With regard to the worthy magistrate who held me to bail, I have no doubt he felt he was justified; but when my trial takes place, I shall be able to prove my entire innocence of any illegal act whatever. By my profession, if fighting a few battles can be so called, I have been taught to love ‘fair play.’ I know enough of the sporting gentlemen of Leicestershire to believe that they are equal admirers of that truly British characteristic; and I rest perfectly satisfied that I shall not be sacrificed to any unjust prejudice which may have been excited against me from my being a member of the P. R.

“Yours respectfully, “EDWARD BALDWIN.”

On Tuesday evening, the 5th of February, the time appointed for making the fifth deposit, the “Union Arms,” in Panton Street, was overflowing at an early hour. Neale and Baldwin were both present, and on “time” being called, both said their money was ready. Baldwin, alluding to the late unfortunate affair at Leicester, although perfectly innocent of any act of disorder whatever, said he had been held to bail to appear at the sessions, and also during the intervening period to keep the peace towards all His Majesty’s subjects. This was an event which he had not foreseen, and he hoped Neale would liberally assent to the match being postponed for such a time as would allow him to appear at the sessions, when he should be enabled to show that he had been the victim of prejudice. Neale had said he meant fighting; so did he, and he hoped the stakes would be permitted to remain till the event came fairly off.

Neale said he was willing to give his antagonist every indulgence, and to meet his wishes to the fullest extent.

The articles were then altered according to the new arrangement, the men to fight for an even £250 a-side, and the match fixed for the 22nd of April. If Baldwin should be bound in recognisances at that time, he would pay Neale’s expenses to go to France; and if imprisoned, he would agree to forfeit £200 of the stakes down. With this all parties were satisfied, and Baldwin was applauded for the spirit he had displayed.

On Tuesday evening, March 4th, 1828, a meeting was held at Harry Holt’s for the purpose of making good the last deposit towards the £250 a-side. Neale’s money was ready, but Baldwin had been disappointed in the expected arrival of a friend, who was to have posted a portion of the needful on his behalf. Neale said that he would not claim the forfeit. The word of a gentleman being therefore given that the required sum should be placed in the hands of the stakeholder in the course of a week, it was considered as understood that the whole of the money was made good. Another alteration was then made in the time of fighting. Baldwin remarked that the 22nd of April (the day then fixed) was in the week appointed for the Newmarket meeting, and this might prevent many of the turf men from being present. Baldwin therefore proposed an adjournment of the fight for a week. Neale said a week would make no difference to him; but if he acceded to Baldwin’s wishes, he ought to have the right to name the place of meeting. To this Baldwin at once agreed, and it was therefore arranged that the fight should stand over to the 29th of April, and that Neale should have the right to say “where.” Ill luck, however, pursued the fixture; and on Thursday, April 29th, 1828, many hundreds left London, and returned, few of them until the next day, after a weary journey to Liphook, in Hampshire, thence to Guildford and Godalming, to find that warrants against Neale and Baldwin were out in Surrey, Sussex, and Hampshire. A move into Berks was decided on, and Bagshot made the rendezvous. Here, at Hatchard’s Lane, in the parish of Wingfield, the ring was pitched, and shortly after Neale arrived in the carriage of his patron, Mr. Sant. Ned quietly alighted, and threw his hat into the ring, attended by his seconds, Josh. Hudson and Harry Holt. Bob was equally on the alert, and repeated the token of defiance, followed by Peter Crawley and Dick Curtis. Bob won the toss, when the colours were tied to the stakes, a bright purple for Baldwin and a dark blue bird’s-eye for the Streatham Youth. The betting was seven to four on Neale. At half-past one o’clock the fight commenced:—

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The condition of Neale appeared good on stripping, but a few of his friends thought he was rather too fat, and blotches on his body were, as usual, prominent; Bob was also well, but he looked pale. Ned was confident, and after a little manœuvring for the first advantage, Bob hit out with his right, but Ned was leary, and it fell short; Bob then commenced the bustling system, when a few blows were exchanged. In closing Bob napped one on his cheek as he was going down. Neale fell on him. “Well done, Neale!”

2.—Bob, still on the bustle, hurried to his work, but again hit out of distance and fell on his hands. Ned missed a heavy upper-cut with the right, that might otherwise have done mischief.

3.—Both hit short. Baldwin missed in a second attempt; but Ned planted a nobber, then went to work in right earnest, and not only put in a teaser on the side of Bob’s head, but closed and gave the white-headed one a cross-buttock.

4.—Bob planted a slight facer, but received a severe return. In closing, Ned fibbed his opponent, and then threw him like a first-rate wrestler.

5.—On Neale’s coming to the scratch, Curtis claimed “first blood” from Ned’s nose, but the umpires could not perceive it. This was a short round, facers on both sides, the White-headed one again thrown.

6.—Ned planted two severe facers; Baldwin, in return, hit out wildly, and lost his distance. Neale repeated the dose on the left ear of Bob, which produced the claret, and the event of first blood was decided in favour of Neale. In closing Baldwin got down skilfully to prevent being thrown.

7.—The right hand of Neale again told, but in struggling for the fall Ned was undermost. “Bravo, Bob!”

8.—Nothing. Both men hit out of distance, when Bob ran in wildly after his adversary, missed him, and fell.

9.—Bob fond of bustling, but in rushing in he napped a snorter, the claret following the blow. In going down Neale was successful in planting two hits.

10.—This round looked like fighting; both men were on their mettle, and anxious to do mischief. Ned’s right hand told—ditto, ditto, and ditto; yet Bob was not idle, and returned well; nevertheless, Baldwin was hit down. (“It’s as right as the day,” said the John Bull Fighter; “Ned’s turned auctioneer; he knocked down the last lot cleverly, and Mr. Baldwin bought it.”)

11.—The right hand of Bob would have been mischievous if he could have timed his blows; but he appeared so much in a hurry that they fell short. Baldwin put in a heavy body blow, but was thrown.

12.—Ned took the lead, and nobbed his adversary; Bob, endeavouring to return, missed. In closing, Baldwin slipped on his knees. Ned threw up his hands and walked away, amidst thunders of applause.

13.—Neale again had it all his own way; he threw Baldwin. Four to one and no takers, so satisfied were the spectators that Neale would prove the conqueror.

14.—Baldwin’s left hand told on Neale’s cheek, but the latter countered with effect. Bob received another severe cross-buttock.

15.—Bob could not change a single round in his favour, hitting wildly, and quite out of distance. He received a heavy blow on the nose. In closing Bob was thrown on the ropes.

16.—Bob did not heed scientific movements; he endeavoured to overwhelm Neale by bustling in helter-skelter, missed his aim, and fell.

17.—Of no importance. Bob piping. Ned planted his right hand. In closing, both down.

18.—A straight facer, and ditto by Neale, Bob returning as wild as a novice. Baldwin thrown.

19.—Bob had a small turn in this round. He planted a heavy hit on the left peeper of Neale, and another blow, which produced the claret on Neale’s cheek. In going down Neale was undermost. (“That’s the way to win,” said Dick Curtis; “wait for him and make your right tell.”)

20.—Both milling, counter-hits. Bob tried the bustling system again, and bored Neale down. (“Well done, Bob!”)

21.—Bob stopped Ned’s left hand cleverly, and gave Neale a teaser on his left eye. In struggling for the throw, both went down.

22.—This was a milling round. Bob seemed steadier, and returned hit for hit; but Neale planted a tremendous blow on his opponent’s left eye, and threw him cleverly.

23.—Ned got out of mischief like an able tactician. He, however, soon returned to the charge, and with his right floored the White-headed one. This was the first knock-down blow.

24.—Bob came to the scratch rather abroad; he ran in wildly, slipped, caught hold of Ned, and fell on his knees. Neale again walked away, receiving lots of applause for his forbearance. In fact, he actually helped him up, which kindness Baldwin returned by a shake of the hand.

25.—Bob, full of pluck, fought his way into a spirited rally, and give and take was the feature for a short period, until Ned finished the round by giving Bob a severe cross-buttock.

26.—Bob commenced fighting as wild as ever. Ned endeavoured to stop his rush, when Bob slipped down with his hands up. Neale, though in the act of hitting, restrained himself, to prevent anything foul.

27.—Ned planted his right and left with success, Bob hitting out of all distance, as heretofore. In closing both down.

28.—Baldwin retreated to the ropes, followed by Ned. In closing at the ropes Neale tried fibbing, and also threw Bob.

29.—Had Baldwin steadied himself, and measured his distance, he could not have thrown so many right-handed hits away. Ned planted some slight taps, when both went down.

30.—The blows of Ned did not appear to do so much execution as heretofore; his friends thought he hit with his left hand open; Baldwin was met in his rush by a flush hit on his nob. In closing, Ned went down.

31.—Baldwin, by a sort of scrambling hit, felt for the left peeper of Neale, but the latter made good his right and left. In closing, both down.

32.—Neale again triumphant. He went up, sans cérémonie, to Baldwin’s nob, and floored him. (A tremendous shout of applause from all parts of the ring.)

33.—Decidedly in favour of Neale; the right hand of the latter told with severity on Baldwin’s already damaged listener; another desperate cross-buttock closed the round against Baldwin.

34.—The game exhibited by Bob was loudly praised; both men were fighting at points in this round. The advantage, however, was on the side of Neale, and Bob was ultimately thrown out of the ropes.

35.—Counter-hits. In closing, both went down; Neale struck his nob rather in an awkward manner.

36.—In spite of all the advice given by Dick Curtis to Bob he would still rush forward to attack his adversary. Ned, like a skilful general, got out of the way of danger, rendering the attempts of Baldwin abortive. Bob was thrown.

37.—The rounds now were short. Ned hit right and left, but not severely. Both down.

38.—Neale took the lead, and planted several hits; both again went down.

39.—Baldwin almost ran in to punish his adversary, which Neale perceiving stepped aside nimbly, and Bob fell.

40.—Up to this period of the battle Neale was the favourite. The latter got away from Bob’s fury, and in closing Baldwin was thrown.

41.—Bob got a small turn in his favour in this round. It is true he was the most punished, but he did not appear reduced much in strength. Bob again missed with his right; but in closing he made a desperate effort, and threw Neale a severe cross-buttock. (The friends of Bob gave him thunders of applause, and the disinterested spectators were not backward in crying out, “Bravo!”)

42.—Both men countered well; and after a long struggle, in closing, both down.

43.—(“Hit with your right hand,” said Dick, “and the battle must be your own. Don’t run at your man like a mad bull.”) But all advice was thrown away—Bob acted as heretofore, when Ned got neatly out of trouble. Baldwin received a heavy right-hander on the side of his head, which he endeavoured to return with his left; in so doing he fell on his knees, but instantly jumped up to renew the fight, when Ned obtained the throw.

44.—Ned made play with his right hand, but Bob was again on the bustle, and in struggling for the throw got Neale down.

45.—This was a short but busy round. Both on the alert—counter-hits—a rally, and in closing for the fall, Ned was thrown.

46.—Ned, as if determined to finish off his man, went to fight, sans cérémonie. He caught Baldwin on the right side of his nob, threw him a heavy cross-buttock, and fell over him.

47.—Neale’s right and left told; Bob bored in, caught hold of his adversary, and fell on his knees. Ned, instead of punishing him, patted Baldwin on the back, and once more walked to the knee of his second, amidst uproarious applause.

48.—Neale took the lead right and left. Bob, wild at such treatment, closed, and got Neale down.

49.—A fighting round; capital counter-hits. Bob received so severe a facer that he went down like a spinning-top.

50.—The game displayed by Baldwin was the admiration of the spectators; his mug was punished, and his eyebrow badly damaged. Ned took the lead; and Bob, anxious to return, fell in the attempt.

51.—Bob was piping, and rather abroad; nevertheless his right hand was always dangerous; he was again unlucky in his distance. Ned planted his right hand, and Bob found his way to grass.

52.—Bob without delay fought into a rally, when Ned got out of trouble by turning round, but immediately resumed milling. In closing, Bob obtained the throw, and Neale came heavily down on his neck.

53.—Bob was no sooner at the scratch than he rushed in without any system, and succeeded in getting Neale down.

54.—The execution of Neale was not so severe as in the early part of the battle; and his left hand was open. In closing, Baldwin obtained the fall.

55.—Each trying for the best; stopping and hitting until both down.

56.—Neale appeared angry, and did not deliver his blows so steadily as heretofore. In closing, Baldwin found himself on the turf.

57.—The left hand of Neale was a little puffed, but he planted his right severely. Both down.

58.—Bob now stood higher in the opinions of the spectators; his strength was not so much reduced as might have been expected; but high odds were still offered on Neale. In closing, both down, and both weak.

59.—Baldwin certainly appeared better, and did not pipe so much as he had done in several of the preceding rounds. Neale went to work right and left, Bob endeavouring to be with him, but Ned obtained the throw.

60.—Bob left all system out of the case, and hit in all directions. Exchanges, when Bob, in closing, almost pinned Ned to the ground by superior strength.

61.—Counter-hits, Baldwin soon down.

62.—The right of Neale told: but with his left he could not do any execution. Bob went down from a slight hit.

63.—Baldwin crept into favour with the spectators this round, by the game he displayed, and his determined mode of fighting. Ned made play, but Bob was with him; and some smart exchanges took place. In closing, after a severe struggle, Bob got his opponent down.

64.—Bob, revived by a nip of eau-de-vie, planted his right well; but Ned countered, and mischief was done on both sides. Bob pushed on his luck, and boring in, laid hold of Neale by the neck, and in a severe struggle for the fall the Streatham hero received a dangerous twist, and fell in a singular manner. Ned was quite abroad for a few seconds. Dick Curtis exclaimed, “We have won it!” The anxiety of the spectators was intense; but Ned revived, and was ready at the scratch when time was called.

65.—Neale was distressed by the late fall, but he began his work well. Some sharp counter-hits. In closing, Bob again tried for the throw, but he was not so successful. Neale punished Baldwin as he was going down.

66.—The White-headed One was kept on the alert by his admirable little second, Curtis, and slashed away like a good one. Had his distances been anything like correct at this juncture, he had yet a chance of winning. In closing, Neale was again thrown, and he told Harry Holt “to take care of his neck” as he was picking him up.

67.—Baldwin was quite alive to the position, and neglected no opportunity to turn it to account. He again kept Neale on the bustle, caught the latter round the tender place on his neck, and obtained the throw. (“Bravo, Bob! you’ll win it now, if you mind what you are at!”)

68.—Neale still distressed; Bob to all appearance the stronger man. The White-headed Blade now thought the bustling mode to be successful, and tried it on at once. Neale fearlessly met him. In closing, Baldwin squeezed his opponent, got him down, and fell on him. (“Why, Bobby,” said Curtis, “you have found out the way at last. You are doing the trick.”)

69.—Neale commenced milling. In closing, Bob’s strength enabled him again to get the fall. At this moment a great bustle was heard on one side of the ring, and a cry of, “The beak! the beak!” An elderly, pale-faced gentleman in black was observed making his way for the ring. He proclaimed himself a magistrate, and called upon all parties to desist. The smooth-tongued blades of the Fancy tried all their eloquence to appease the wrath of the beak, by stating to him what a pity it would be, at such an interesting period, to put a stop to the event, which, as a matter of course, an hour having elapsed, would end of itself in the course of a few minutes.

70.—During the argument time was called, and the men appeared at the scratch. Neale was ready, and Bob equally so—no flinching, until Baldwin was floored.

71.—Neale rallied himself, and went to work with considerable spirit; Baldwin attacked his adversary wildly. Both down.

72.—The beak endeavoured to break through the crowd to get at the combatants, but he could not. Hitting away on both sides, but Neale now and then jobbing the nob of his adversary. In closing, both down.

73.—(“Now’s the time,” said the Pet to Bob; “go to work, hit steady with your right hand, and you can’t lose it.” “What nonsense!” replied Hudson; “how can you mislead the poor fellow so!”) Both on their mettle, and several blows were exchanged. In closing, Baldwin obtained the throw.

74.—The rounds were now very short. Baldwin bustling, while Neale was endeavouring to catch him as he was coming in. Both down, Neale undermost.

75.—Exerting themselves like brave men, regardless of danger, until both of them fell out of the ropes.

76.—Neale successively planted three jobbing hits; nevertheless, Bob returned to the attack undismayed. In closing, Baldwin pulled down his adversary.

77.—Counter-hits, and a good round altogether, until both went down, Baldwin uppermost.

78.—The fight had materially changed. Bob, who, in the early part of the battle, in the opinion of nearly all the spectators, had no chance of success, was viewed with a different eye. Neale’s left hand was of little use to him. Both down.

79.—Neale took the lead, and planted his right and left. Baldwin fell on his knees.

80.—Counter-hits, but not heavy enough to put a finish to the battle. In closing, both down, Neale undermost.

81.—(The disinterested part of the ring—those persons who had not a copper on the event seemed to think that it was anybody’s battle.) Neale, always ready, went to work; Bob, on the bustle, endeavoured to be with him. In closing, both down, Neale undermost.

82.—Neale hit with his left hand half open, then planted a facer with his right. Baldwin, still wild, but determined, endeavoured to return. His distance as heretofore proved incorrect. He rushed into a close, when both fell.

83.—Neale had not lost his gaiety, and tried to administer punishment. In closing, the struggle was desperate for the throw; after a severe encounter, Bob was uppermost. Both men much distressed.

84, and last.—Baldwin at the scratch, and Neale also ready to the call of “time.” Both combatants went to work without hesitation. Some sharp hits were exchanged, when both men went down in the corner of the ring, close to the magistrate. One hour and a quarter had elapsed.

His worship now waxed angry at the want of attention paid to his authority, exclaiming, in a peremptory tone of voice, “I’ll endure this no longer!” Laying hold of the arm of Josh Hudson, he told Harry Holt of the consequences which must result to the whole of them, if they did not put an end to the battle. Hudson, obedient to the law, resigned his situation as second, when an amateur rushed into the ring and gave his knee to Neale. The magistrate then spoke to Neale and Baldwin, and observed that he had been sent for by a gentleman in the neighbourhood, to interfere and put a stop to the fight: that he entertained no hostility against any person present, and if they immediately quitted the ring peaceably, he should take no further notice of what had occurred. “If the battle is continued,” said he, raising his voice, “the combatants, seconds, and every individual present aiding and assisting must take the consequences.” The magistrate, however, good-naturedly acknowledged that he had met with more civility and attention than he could have expected from such a multitude. His worship then retired from the scene of action, amidst loud cheers from the spectators.

Further opposition was voted imprudent, and hostilities ceased. Bob and Ned shook hands together, left the ring, and walked to their vehicles. The reporter asked Baldwin how he felt, when he emphatically replied, “What should be the matter with me?” It was thought advisable by the friends of both parties that the combatants should return to Bagshot, and be put to bed.

It was not to be supposed that the question of superiority would remain thus undecided between two such courageous and well-matched men; so, after some little debate upon the “draw,” consequent on magisterial interference, they agreed to add £50 a-side to the stakes, and to meet once more—the time the 28th of May, 1828, the place No Man’s Land, in Hertfordshire. How gallantly Neale fell, after a desperate battle of sixty-six rounds in seventy-one minutes, may be read in Chapter VII. of this volume.

Neale’s friends and admirers did not desert him in defeat. At Neale’s benefit at the Tennis Court, on the 21st of July, 1828, at which Tom Spring, Peter Crawley, Holt, Curtis, and the leading men appeared, a silver cup of the value of 100 guineas was presented by Pierce Egan as a testimonial of his “bravery, honour, and incorruptible integrity.” This trophy for many years formed one of the treasures of the “Rose and Crown.”

Reuben Marten now proposed to back John Nicholls for £100 a-side against Neale, and the cartel being accepted, the match was made off-hand, at Marten’s house, the “City of London,” Berwick Street, Soho. The deposits were duly made until £60 was down, when Nicholls’s backers were absent, but Neale waived the forfeit, and generously agreed to take £25 when the fight should come off; £50 being promised by a gentleman, a backer of Nicholls, for the fight to take place on his estate. We note this, as on another occasion, with Baldwin, Neale waived his claim to forfeit when £170 was down.

The day was fixed for the 23rd September, 1828, the place Fisher Street, in Sussex. Nicholls—a fine, powerful young man, whose recent victory over Dick Acton, a pugilist thought good enough to be matched against Jem Ward and Peter Crawley, had raised him by a jump to the pinnacle of fame—had good friends. The sporting men of London, however, did not believe in a comparative novice being pitted against the victor of a dozen battles, and seven to four was laid at the “Castle,” “Queen’s Head,” and “King’s Arms,” on the Streatham champion.

On Tuesday morning Guildford, Godalming, and the villages near the scene of action were all alive, the amateurs having left London overnight. An immense cavalcade was soon on the move towards Fisher Street, where, at the Royal Cylinder Works, the property of Mr. Stovell, preparations had been made from an early hour. Banners were displayed, two military bands, and six small pieces of cannon in a turf battery were discharged occasionally, and a general rustic merry-making, more like a fair than the preliminaries of a fight, was going on. Tables and forms, with eatables and drinkables, were provided gratuitously for certain visitors within the houses and factory of Mr. Stovell. In an enclosed piece of ground a twenty-four feet ring of turf, laid and levelled, was roped in, with seats for the umpires and referee. At a distance of twelve feet a roped circle kept back the spectators, while round all was a double line of wagons, the inner ones sunk in the ground by holes dug as deep as their axletrees, the outer line being on the level of the field. The ground was kept by 150 stout countrymen with staves, in white smocks, with blue ribands in their hats, marshalled by the indefatigable Mr. Stovell.

At eleven o’clock a curious procession approached. Reuben Marten and Nicholls, in a light two-wheeler, followed by some friends, were succeeded by Neale in a barouche, in which were seated Tom Spring and Harry Holt, the “ribands” handled by Will Scarlett, the renowned “dragsman.” The men were accommodated with separate apartments in Mr. Stovell’s house till the hour of battle arrived.

At ten minutes past one Nicholls dropped his hat within the ropes, and Neale immediately followed his example. Neale was attended by Tom Spring and Harry Holt, Nicholls by Jem Ward and Reuben Marten. Nicholls won the toss for corners, and both men sported true blue for their colours.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Nicholls justified the report of his superior personal requisites. He stood nearly two inches over Neale, and his weight, thirteen stone four pounds, was well and evenly distributed. He was indeed the model of an athlete. Neale, whose weight was twelve stone four pounds, looked hard, brown, and muscular, and well capable of a long day’s work. Great caution on both sides. The men stepped round and round each other, making feints, for full five minutes—the seconds of Nicholls advising him to use caution and let his man “come to him,” which Neale did not seem inclined to do. At last Nicholls sent out his right at Neale’s throat. It was short, for Neale jumped away. More tedious sparring and manœuvring, until both men seemed weary of holding up their hands, the young one most so. Neale, seeing a favourable opening, sprang forward, delivering a straight right-hander on his adversary’s collar-bone. It was intended doubtless for the side of his head, but fell lower from the superior height of his opponent. It was a terrific blow, and sounded like the crack of a pistol-shot, leaving a broad red mark, that soon after swelled, as a token of its force. A rally followed, in which Neale planted a heavy body blow with the right, and his left on Nicholls’s mouth, who returned on Neale’s head. Neale finished the round prettily by getting hold of his huge adversary and throwing him neatly from the hip. Immense applause from the Londoners.

2 to 12.—All similar in character. Neale drew his man and punished him for coming in, Neale now and then getting down to end the round.

13.—Nicholls, finding himself out-manœuvred, rushed in ding-dong. Neale met him coolly, and actually sent him off his legs. (“It’s all U P,” cried Ned Stockman. “Who’ll take two to one?”)

14 to 17.—In every round Neale made his right and left tell with effect, getting away or stopping the return, until poor Nicholls was a pitiful spectacle. In the sixteenth and seventeenth rounds Neale sent Nicholls down with a straight left-hander. Cries of “Take him away.”

18, and last.—Nicholls tried to get in at his man, but was literally hit out right and left. Neale closed and threw his man heavily. Jem Ward stepped forward and said his man should fight no more, and Neale, stepping up to the umpires and referee, was told he was the conqueror.

REMARKS.—This one-sided affair hardly calls for comment. It merely adds one more instance to the innumerable proofs that mere strength and courage are more than balanced by the skill, readiness, and precision of the practised master of the science of defence.

Roche, a publican of Exeter, whose provincial reputation as a wrestler was higher than his boxing capabilities, was matched by his overweening friends against Neale. The preliminaries duly arranged; the stakes, £100 a-side, made good; and the day fixed for the 2nd December, 1828; the men met on the North Chapel Cricket Ground, Sussex, forty-four miles from London by road. Neale trained at Milford, in Surrey, and there, it afterwards came out, he was “interviewed,” as modern reporters would style it, by an envoy from Roche’s party, who offered to secure to him £500 to lose the fight, and a further sum of two hundred if he would give in under fifty minutes. All this Neale communicated to his backers; and so well was the secret kept that a double defeat awaited the “Knights of the x,” in the disgrace of their champion and the depletion of their pockets. Had the countermine been discovered, the defeated Devonian declared, “all the King’s horses” should not have drawn him into the ring. In order yet further to keep up the “fool’s paradise” into which these bucolic knaves delivered themselves, the emissary presented Neale with a new suit of clothes and £18 “earnest money,” keeping £2 for commission; and on the very morning of the battle he added £8 out of £10 entrusted to him for the same nefarious purpose. The “cross coves,” assured that all was right, freely backed their man, and were not aware of the mine until it burst beneath their feet, scattering to the wind their hopes and calculations. Roche, who had come up to London, finished his training at the renowned Johnny Gilpin’s house, the “Bell,” at Edmonton, then a charming rural retreat, with its flower and tea gardens; now a well-accustomed modern ginshop, resplendent in gilding, gas, and plate glass, and belted in with brick, mortar, and shops.

Roche, who reached Godalming overnight, set out a little before twelve in a barouche; while Neale, in a four-horse drag, started from Milford, and soon overtook him on the road. Tom Spring, the “Portsmouth Dragsman,” Harry Holt, and other friends, were on the roof of Neale’s coach, and were first on the ground. Roche soon after alighted, under the care of Ben Burn and young Dutch Sam, who were engaged as his seconds. His colours were a light blue, Neale’s a dark blue bird’s-eye. The toss for corners was won by Harry Holt for Neale, who was also waited on by Tom Spring. As the men stood up, the contrast was striking. Roche, who stood nearly six feet, weighed, it was reported, fourteen stone. His advantages in weight and length, however, were fully counterbalanced by his apparent age and staleness. His superfluous meat hung in collops over the belt of his drawers, and he was altogether soft and flabby. The Streatham man, au contraire, looked bright, sinewy, fresh, and active, though he had trained rather lighter than on some former occasions, weighing twelve stone two pounds. The umpires and referee having been chosen, the men stood up, at ten minutes to one, for

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—As Roche held up his arms and moved half round to face the movements of Neale, he betrayed the yokel in every move. The Streatham hero eyed him with satisfaction, and walked round him with his hands well up. Roche flourished his long arms awkwardly, with no particular object but defence, and as soon as Neale saw an opening in he dashed, delivered with his left a half-arm hit on Roche’s eye, following it by such a tremendous bodier with the right that down went the mighty wrestler on the broad of his back, amid the shouts of the Londoners, the long faces of the provincials, and the consternation of the “ready-made luck” division, who were utterly dumbfounded at such a commencement. As Roche was picked up and taken to his corner he looked towards Neale with a mixture of surprise and reproach, as if to say, “Is this the way I am to be served?”

2.—A repetition of Round 1. Roche made play awkwardly; Neale retreated and shifted, stopping him cleverly. At length he in turn stepped in, delivered his one, two, cuttingly, and down went the Devonian. Roche was evidently remonstrating with his seconds in his corner, while his friends of the + division were running about frantically, hedging their bets if they could.

3.—This round only differed from the two preceding in the fact that, after some exchanges, in which the balance was all in favour of Neale, the latter suddenly closed, and giving Roche his leg, clearly threw the wrestler, amid the shouts of the Londoners and the astonished silence of the men from the “West Countrie.”

4, 5, and 6.—Ditto, ditto, ditto. Roche tried, however, a little up-hill fighting, and hit Neale twice or thrice, but with little effect, while Ned’s left-handers operated like kicks of a horse. (£100 to £10 on Neale offered.)

7.—In a bustling exchange Ned sent his left obliquely over Roche’s shoulder, who instantly clutched him, and endeavoured to bear him down. To the surprise of all Ned fairly lifted his ponderous adversary, and sent him down heavily by the back-heel, falling on him. (Utter dismay among the Devonians, and uproarious joy among the regular ring-goers. Ten to one going begging.)

It would be a mere waste of space to detail further the ensuing rounds, which went on up to the 30th. Roche, however, cut up game, and manfully did his best when he found how he was “sold” by his friends, who were themselves deservedly “sold” in turn. In Round 29, Ned being called upon by Spring to “put on the final polish,” went and delivered a left jobbing hit; Roche shifted, and in returning got Ned by the neck, under his arm, and fairly lifted him off the ground. Neale was for a few seconds in a critical position, but Roche, as he hung his weight on him, did not know what to do with him, and instead of being severely fibbed Ned got down cleverly, to the great relief of his anxious friends.

30, and last.—Neale broke ground cautiously, but confidently, making play with both hands, first delivering on the head and following it with a body blow, in the coolest and most workman-like manner, Roche “standing it like a lamb,” as one of his backers bitterly remarked. Neale after following him round the ring, at length caught him a straight one on the nose, then a flush hit on the mouth, and Roche went down on his back, Neale falling over him. When Roche was in his corner there seemed to be a sort of conference, when Ned walked across and assured Roche that he “meant to win and no mistake, so he might go on if he liked.” This plain hint was duly appreciated, and Roche declared he would “fight no more.” Time, thirty minutes.

REMARKS.—A less accomplished fighter than Roche never stripped to contend with so tried a boxer as Ned Neale. Independent of heavy slowness, his ideas of defence and stopping were of the clumsiest and most puerile description. Though no doubt superior to Ned as a mere wrestler, even in this he was taken by surprise and signally overthrown. Great pains were taken to circulate stories of the strength and prowess of Roche, to cover the arranged defeat of Neale, as the vanquished man afterwards confessed. There is no doubt that Roche first issued his challenge inconsiderately, and, from an undue estimate of his own boxing capabilities; but that his confidence was based upon the information that he was to have an easy victory, all matters being made smooth for the result. Poor Roche, in truth, was a mere tool in the affair, and paid the penalty of his presumption and credulity.

Neale returned to the Swan Inn to dress, and after his ablutions met a party of friends from Portsmouth at dinner, his features being without a scratch. In the afternoon his “caravan” set out, decorated with blue and white favours, and accompanied a pair of Kentish-keyed bugles—the predecessors of our modern cornets-à-piston—on a drive through the villages, amid the cheers of the multitude, to Milford, where, on reaching his training quarters, he found the house ornamented with blue and white bunting, and bannerets of blue and white ribbons, with mine host Mandeville at the door, his old wrinkled face cracking like a mealy potato as he announced dinner number two, which was prepared in his spacious and convenient club-room. A score of smiling friends welcomed the victor, and Ned’s health was drunk with enthusiasm. Neale declared, in returning thanks, that “he was never happier, and hoped he had convinced his friends that he would not deceive them, as honour was dearer to him than money. He had punished those who would have had him rob those to whom he owed his fame and good name, and to deceive those who meant wrong he considered both fair and honest.”

Far different was the case with poor Roche. After being taken back to his inn and bled—for which one of his chapfallen backers tendered the operator a shilling—he was deserted, and but for one friend might have been almost penniless. That the downfal of the “clever ones” was signal was manifest, and those country friends whom they “let into the secret” were loud in their protestations of the whole affair being “a fluke.” Two or three London houses used by the conspirators, which had prepared illuminations in honour of the “certainty,” were conspicuous for their total eclipse when the real news arrived.

Neale and Roche showed on the following Thursday, at Harry Holt’s benefit, Roche exhibiting heavy marks of head punishment, while Neale had not a scratch.

With the close of 1828 came our hero’s retirement from the P. R., and it is to be regretted that mine host of the “Rose and Crown”—for he had now settled down as Boniface in the pleasant village of Norwood, then celebrated for its rurality and gipsy encampments—did not adhere to this resolution; but it was not to be. Some taunting words of a very “fast” young boxer, Young Dutch Sam, led to Neale’s acceptance of his challenge for £100 a-side. The fight came off at Ludlow, April 7th, 1829, and after a gallant struggle of seventy-one rounds, in one hour and forty-one minutes, Neale succumbed to his youthful and scientific opponent. Dissatisfied with the issue, Neale lost no time in challenging Young Sam to a second encounter, which, after an arrest of Neale and a postponement, came off near Bumpstead, in Essex, on the 18th of January, 1831. Here the result was again defeat, this time in fifty-two minutes and fourteen rounds. It was clear that Neale’s best days had gone by.

Prompted by courage rather than prudence, he made yet one more appearance in the P. R. It was with an early opponent, Tom Gaynor (See LIFE OF GAYNOR, Chap. IX., post), and here again he had miscalculated his energies, succumbing after a gallant battle of 111 minutes, during which forty-five rounds were contested.

The fistic career of Ned Neale thus closed, as with so many other athletes, in defeat. Yet he retired with his laurels unsullied, his character for courage and honesty unsmirched; and respected by all who knew him, he shuffled off “this mortal coil” at the “Rose and Crown,” Norwood, near the place of his birth, on the 15th of November, 1846.

CHAPTER VI. JEM BURN (“MY NEVVY”)—1824–1827.

The sobriquet “My Nevvy” with old ring-goers long survived the sponsor (Uncle Ben), who first bestowed it upon his protégé on introducing Jem Burn to the P. R., an event which took place in 1824.

Jem first saw the light at Darlington, in the county of Durham, twenty years previous—namely, on the 15th March, 1804—and was in due time apprenticed to a skinman (vulgo, a “skiver”) at Newcastle-on-Tyne. We need not say that Jem came of a fighting stock—both his uncles, “Big Bob” and “Ben” being well known within and without the twenty-four-foot roped square miscalled the “ring;” the latter at this period being the popular host of the “Rising Sun,” in Windmill Street, Piccadilly, in after years the domicile of “Jolly Jem” himself.

Now the fame of his muscular relatives had reached the remote northern residence of Jem, and, like Norval, “he had read of battles, and he longed to follow to the field some warlike chief;” so, having tried “his ’prentice han’” on a north country bruiser of some local fame, hight Gibson, he, like other aspiring spirits, looked towards the great Metropolis for a wider field for the exercise of his talents.

It is recorded that Jem’s battle with Gibson was a severe one, occupying one hour and twenty minutes; and that in another bout with a boxer named Jackson, a resolute fellow, Jem, in a two hours’ encounter, displayed such quickness and ability as to spread his fame throughout the district.

Brown, a twelve stone wrestler, with some fistic pretensions, challenged “Young Skiver,” as his comrades then called him. In twenty-five minutes he found out his mistake, retiring from the ring with second honours, while Jem was comparatively without a mark.

As a matter of course, on his arrival in London Jem made his way to Uncle Ben’s, where he was received with a hearty welcome, had the run of a well-stocked larder, and was soon hailed as a “morning star” of the first magnitude, and fit herald of new glories to the “Rising Sun.”

Uncle Ben lost no time in presenting “My Nevvy” to the Corinthian patrons of his “crib;” and as Jem was certainly clever with the mufflers, stood five feet ten in his shoes, with good arms, no lack of confidence, and great youthful activity and dash, he was looked upon as a likely aspirant, at no distant day, for the championship of England, recently vacated by the accomplished Tom Spring, after his two fights with Langan.

The friends of Uncle Ben, however, were too prudent to risk Jem’s opening prospects by matching him with a first-class professional. At this period there was an immense immigration of heavy “Patlanders,” chiefly viâ Liverpool, of whom Pierce Egan was the literary Mæcenas, and Jack Langan the M.C. Among them was one styled “Big O’Neal,” who must not be confounded with the “Streatham Youth,” Ned, whose name, for some time, Pierce insisted on printing with the national prefix “O’,” though he expunged it from the fifth volume of “Boxiana,” and on his presentation cup.

Articles were drawn for the modest figure of £25 a-side, witnessed by Langan and Uncle Ben, and the day and place fixed for the 26th of July, 1824, within fifty miles of London. At the appointed time the men met at Chertsey Bridge, near Staines. O’Neal, attended by Langan and Peter Crawley, first threw his hat into the ring, and “My Nevvy” soon followed suit, esquired by Tom Owen and Uncle Ben—so that all six, principals and seconds, were emphatically “big ’uns.” The Irishman was the favourite, at six to four, his fame having “gone before him.” The colours, a green bandanna for O’Neal, and a chocolate with light blue spot for Burn, having been tied to the stakes, the men lost no time in peeling, and stood up at a few minutes past one for

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On stripping, it was any odds in favour of O’Neal; it was a horse to a hen by comparison; indeed, some said that it was a shame for Ben Burn to have matched his nephew against a man of such superior weight. “The young one can foight a bit, I know, and we’ll soon tell’ee all aboot it,” replied Ben. Burn went to work with considerable judgment, held up his hands well, shifting round cleverly, and milling on the retreat, Cribb’s favourite mode. Burn put in two nobbers, and got well away; when O’Neal, like novices in general, kept following his opponent all over the ring, napping punishment at every step, till the Young One was bored upon the corner of the ropes, when he dropped. (Loud shouting for Burn; and “My Uncle quite proud of his nephew.”)

2.—O’Neal wiped his peeper; in fact, he had received a nasty one between his ogles, that had placed them on the winking establishment. Burn was a little too fast. He stepped in to draw his man, when Pat met him with a smart jobber on his nose, which convinced the North Country Sprig that he must avoid O’Neal’s clumsy fist as much as possible, or his fine science might be of little service to him. O’Neal made a hit, but Burn returned the blow with interest. The Sprig kept the ring well, and Pat was compelled to run all over the ground to make a blow. Burn went down from a slight hit.

3.—The mug of O’Neal was altered a little; the claret was streaming down from his temple, and his right eye was damaged. Burn fought in great style; he made a number of good hits without any return. The Irishman was bothered: he got a lick every now and then, and he looked about him, as much as to say, “Where the devil did that polt come from?” Burn finished the round by going down.

4–10.—In all these rounds, except the last, Burn had the “best of it;” and it was evident, if his strength stayed with him, he could not lose the battle, but he was getting weak. Burn was hit cleanly down. (“That’s the way,” said Langan. “Do that again, and I can make money by you, if it is only to floor oxen for the butchers.”)

11–15.—The nob of O’Neal was sadly disfigured, and he was almost a blinker. He gave every chance away, instead of fighting his opponent. (“Long Bowls,” said the Sage of the East, who was close to the ring, “will never do for a novice, especially when he has got weight on his side. O’Neal ought to be placed close to his man, and told to hit out, and never leave off till he has put the gilt on his antagonist.”) Burn, after bestowing all the pepper he was able to on O’Neal’s face, went down weak.

16–20.—The gameness of O’Neal could not be questioned; and although so bad a fighter, he was backed as a favourite on account of his strength. He got Burn down, and fell heavily upon him.

21–25.—The last round was the best contested during the battle; the Irishman, though nearly blind, administered some heavy hits, and finally knocked Burn down.

26.—It was anybody’s battle at this period. Burn was getting extremely weak, and O’Neal in such a dizzy state that he threw most of his blows away. The fighting of Burn was highly praised; he planted three or four nobbers on the old places; but the Yorkshire Youth was hit down.

27–30.—O’Neal was nearly in the dark, and Burn nobbed him as he thought proper; in fact, the Irishman was completely at the mercy of the fists of his opponent. O’Neal went down in a state of stupor, and Langan could scarcely get him up. (“Take the game fellow away!”)

31.—O’Neal was quite abroad—he could not see his opponent, and, in making a hit at the air, stumbled forward on the ground.

32, and last.—On time being called, O’Neal left his second’s knee, and turned away from the scratch. He was completely blind. Over in fifty minutes. Langan gave in for him.

REMARKS.—Great credit is due to young Burn, not only for the pluck he manifested throughout the battle, but the science he displayed, and the mode he persevered in to win the battle. We never saw better judgment displayed upon any occasion. It may be urged, we are well aware, that he had nothing to fight against but weight: yet, if that weight had been brought up to him on setting to every round, there was a great probability that that weight would have so reduced his exertions as to have prevented young Jem from proving the conqueror. He ought not to be overmatched again. O’Neal did all that a brave man could do. He proved himself an excellent taker, and there is some merit even in that quality belonging to a man who enters the P. R. We have seen several fine fighters who do not possess the taking part of milling, but who have been most liberal in giving handfuls of punishment to their opponents; but to give and not receive is one of the secrets of prize-fighting. We never saw a man more interested in the success of another, or exert himself more, than Langan on the part of O’Neal; but O’Neal is not of the stuff of which clever pugilists are made.

Sir Bellingham Graham, who viewed the contest, was so pleased with the exertions and courage of Jem Burn that he made the young pugilist a present of five sovereigns.

Jem was matched by Uncle Ben against Martin (the well-known “Master of the Rolls”) for £300 a-side. This match was to have been decided on Thursday, October 26th, 1824, and was looked for with anxiety, as the goodness and skill of Martin were well established.

On the day appointed the cavalcade had reached Staines, when part of the secret was let out, that “it would be no fight between Martin and Jem Burn.” Upwards of an hour having elapsed in consultation, the mob started off to Laleham, to take a peep at the ring. It was ascertained at Laleham that Martin would not show; but in the midst of the doubts a magistrate appeared. Luckily for the backers of the Master of the Rolls, this circumstance saved their blunt, otherwise the stakes must have been forfeited to Jem Burn. Something wrong evidently had been intended; but that wrong could not be performed so as to deceive the amateurs of pugilism, and therefore the fight did not take place. Jem Burn threw his hat into the ring, declared he meant to fight a fair battle, and demanded the battle-money. This, however, was contrary to agreement, as the magistrate remained, and declared he would not allow a breach of the peace.

Jem was backed against Aby Belasco, to fight on the 18th of November, 1824, but the stakes were drawn by the consent of both parties. This was in consequence of a meeting at which Ned Neale offered himself to “My Uncle’s” notice, who thought this a better match. Articles were drawn and signed for Jem to do battle with Neale for £100 a-side; to come off on Tuesday, December 19th, 1824, on Moulsey Hurst. After an obstinate contest of thirty-one rounds, occupying one hour and thirty-eight minutes, Jem was defeated, as related in our last chapter.

Our hero was next matched with Phil Sampson for £50 a-side. This battle took place at Shere Mere, in Bedfordshire, on Tuesday, June 14th, 1825. Jem did all that a brave man could to win the battle, and his backers were perfectly satisfied with his conduct; but, after twenty-three rounds, occupying one hour and ten minutes, Burn again sustained defeat.

Jem stood so well in the opinion of his friends, notwithstanding he had lost his two last battles, that he was matched against Pat Magee for £100 a-side. Magee, in Liverpool, was patronised by the fancy of that place, but he was only known by name in milling circles in the Metropolis. He had beaten a rough commoner of the name of Boscoe, a fine young man of amazing strength, and a tremendous hard hitter with his right hand; but, in a second contest, Magee had surrendered his laurels in turn to Boscoe. Such was the history of the Irish hero, Magee. It was asserted, however, that he had recently made great improvement as a boxer, and as he was determined to have a shy with a London pugilist, he was backed against Jem Burn.

It was agreed the mill should take place between London and Liverpool; but the backers of Magee having won the toss, it gave them the advantage of twenty miles in their favour, and Lichfield race-course was selected as the place for the trial of skill. A more delightful situation could not have been chosen; from the windows of the Race Stand the prospect was truly picturesque and interesting.

On Tuesday morning, July 25th, 1826, the road from Birmingham to Lichfield exhibited some stir of the provincial fancy; and although the races at Derby and Knutsford and the Nottingham Cricket Match might have operated as drawbacks to the spectators at the fight, not less than six thousand persons were present.

On Monday evening, Burn and his uncle took up their abode at the Swan Inn, in the city of Lichfield; Magee and his friends patronised the “Three Crowns.” The ring was well made, and everything conducted throughout with the most perfect order. Randall, Oliver, Sampson, Dick Curtis, Ned Neale, Fuller, Barney Aaron, Young Gas, Fogo, Harry Holt, Tom Gaynor, and Arthur Mathewson, appeared on the ground to render their assistance to the combatants. The swells in the Grand Stand were admitted at the low figure of six shillings per head. Previous to the combatants appearing in the ring, it was whispered that two men, “dressed in a little brief authority,” were in attendance to stop the fight; but this matter was soon disposed of, and made “all right,” when Jem Burn threw his castor into the ring, attended by Tom Belcher and Phil. Sampson. In a few minutes afterwards, Magee, arm-in-arm with Donovan and Boscoe, also repeated the token of defiance, by planting his pimple-coverer in the ropes. The colours were yellow for Burn and green for Magee, which were tied to the stakes. The odds were six to four on Jem. Burn weighed twelve stone one pound, and Magee thirteen stone five pounds. Donovan won the toss for the latter boxer, when hands were shaken in friendship, and the battle commenced.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On stripping, Magee reminded us of Ned Painter. Magee was in excellent condition; but some friends thought him rather too fat. The comparison between the combatants was obvious to every one present. Burn looked thin and boyish before his opponent; but, nevertheless, he had been well trained, and no fault was found with him by his backers. Magee, at the scratch, planted himself in a fighting attitude, kept up his hands well, and was not the novice that had been anticipated by the Londoners. He had been for some time under the tuition of Jack Randall in Ireland; and by the advice and practice with such a master Magee must have profited a good deal as to an acquirement of science and hitting. Pat made play, after a little dodging about with his right and left hands, but he was out of distance from the leariness of Burn, and nothing was the matter. Jem was extremely cautious, looked upon his opponent as a dangerous customer, and the hit he made alighted slightly on Magee’s canister; but the latter countered without any effect. A tiny pause, and both on the look-out for squalls. Pat, quite alive to the thing, planted a blow under the left eye of Burn, which produced a small drop of claret. Donovan quite elated, exclaimed, “First blood!” Both now went to work, and Magee bored Jem to the ropes; here a blow or two was exchanged, when Burn went down. Pat viewed the circumstance for a second, and then fell upon his opponent.—Disapprobation was expressed by the spectators, but Donovan said, “Magee could not help it.”

2.—Burn with much dexterity planted a body blow, and got away. Some sparring, when Jem returned the compliment for Pat’s favour in the last round, and drew the claret from Magee. Both of the men were on their mettle; but it appeared that Magee was the stronger man. A sharp rally occurred, and Pat’s left ogle napped it. Magee, however, bored Burn to the ropes, where he went down, and Magee fell upon him with his knees upon the abdomen, which operated so severely that he uttered a loud groan.—Loud expressions of disapprobation—“foul fighter,” &c.

3.—Jem appeared at the scratch in pain, and extremely weak; Magee, too, exhibited symptoms of “bellows to mend.” Sharp work for a short time, the blows telling on both sides, when Jem was compelled to retreat to the ropes, where he fell with his back upon the ropes. In this situation, Magee with all his weight lay upon him; and the struggle was so great for the advantage that Randall exclaimed, “Burn’s eye is out.” The claret was pouring from his peeper. (Cries of “shame”—hisses—and a tremendous uproar in all parts of the ring.) Jem, after extreme difficulty, extricated himself from his perilous situation, and with much skill planted a conker on his adversary. In closing, both down; Magee uppermost.

4.—A pause. An exchange of hits and another pause. Well done on both sides. The science of Jem gave him the advantage; but his extreme caution in several instances operated as a drawback. Magee went in with much spirit, and Burn went down with a slight hit. (“That’s the way, my boy; try it again, Magee, and you can’t lose it,” from his Irish friends.)

5.—Pat fought this round with much ability. He stopped well, and was successful in planting his blows. A sharp rally; and at the ropes Magee had the best of it, punishing Burn till he went down. (“It is all your own,” cried Donovan.)

6.—This round was soon over. Magee stopped very neatly a left-handed blow, and obtained the praise of Randall. Burn in planting a facer appeared weak, and slipped down.

7.—Magee was in full force, and bored Burn to the ropes. In close quarters, some sharp fighting occurred, till the nob of Jem was under the cords, and he was screwed up tight by his opponent. Burn ultimately succeeded in getting away, and with much quickness put in two facers. Magee was almost wild, and he ran at his opponent like a bull, forcing him again to the ropes till “My Nevvy” went down.

8.—Magee stopped the left hand of his adversary extremely well, but Jem at length had the best of it. As Magee bored in he gave him a tremendous teazer on his ivories, which operated as a stopper for a short period. Magee, full of game, was not to be deterred, and pursued his opponent to the ropes, till Burn went down.

9.—In the minds of several of the spectators the battle did not appear so safe to Jem as had been anticipated. Magee, in this round, fought with skill and spirit, and stopped and countered his man well. Jem nobbed Magee right and left; a sharp rally took place, when Jem went down rather weak.

10.—Burn was out of wind, and endeavoured to get a little time by sparring. Pat made play with his adversary, and Jem retreated to the ropes, when he fell on his knees. Pat lifted up his hands, and was loudly applauded for his conduct.

11.—Jem was extremely cautious, in fact, rather too cautious, as in retreating from his adversary several of his blows were ineffectual. The right ogle of Magee received so severe a hit that he was again on the wild system, and pushed Jem to the ropes. As the latter was balancing, Magee fell on him, and with his knees hurt Burn severely. (A tremendous roar of disapprobation; “shame! shame! cowardly!” &c. &c.) Jem ultimately fell on the grass, and Magee upon him, and his face appeared full of anguish. Belcher complained to the umpires of the conduct of Magee.

12.—Burn was in great distress, from the conduct he had experienced in the last round, nevertheless he endeavoured to do some mischief. The nob of Magee was again peppered, although he made several good stops. In a rally, both of the men were bang up to the mark, till Jem went down.

13.—Burn appeared to be rather better, and went to work without delay, but Magee stopped his left hand. Burn pinked his opponent with dexterity, and retreated. Magee always forced Jem to the extremity of the ring, as if to obtain the superiority. Burn was now in a dangerous situation; his neck was on the ropes, and Magee, with all his weight, upon his frame. (Loud cries of “foul! foul!” and hissing from every part of the ring. Several of the fighting men were round the combatants, but none dared to interfere, as Burn was in a balancing situation on the ropes.) Jem, quite exhausted, fell to the ground, and he was placed on his second’s knee almost in a state of stupor.

14.—The friends of Burn were now in a state of alarm, lest the repeated pulling and hauling he received at the ropes should take the fight out of him, as Jem came up to the scratch in a tottering state. Magee, by the advice of Donovan, went to work without delay, but Jem met him in the middle of the head like a shot. Magee, however, was not to be deterred, and rushed upon his opponent in a furious state, and drove him to the ropes, at which Jem got out of his difficulties and went down like an experienced milling cove.

15.—In this round the fighting of Jem was seen to great advantage. He put in three facers without any return, till the strength of Magee compelled him to retreat. Magee again fell upon Burn, and more disapprobation was expressed by the spectators.

16.—The blows Jem had received were “trifles light as air,” compared with the injuries he had sustained upon the ropes. “My nevvy” was recovering a little, and Magee soon found it out by the pepper-box being administered upon his nob. Some good fighting occurred on both sides, until Magee endeavoured, as usual, to finish the round at the ropes. Once more Jem was at the mercy of his adversary, by hanging across the ropes; but unlike the days of the “Game Chicken,” who exclaimed, when he found Belcher in a defenceless state, “Jem, I will not hurt thee!” and walked away, Magee threw the whole weight of his person on him, and was also not nice as to the use of his knee. (Disapprobation, and “the foulest fighter that ever was seen.”)

17.—This was a short round, and although Burn was the weaker of the two, yet he pinked his adversary to advantage. Magee’s nob exhibited considerable punishment, but it is right to say of him that he never flinched from any blows; he also stopped the left hand of Burn with good science. Jem had the best of the round, and was fast improving in the opinion of his friends.

18.—Burn was now decidedly the hero of the tale—“He’ll win it now,” was the general cry. It was ditto, ditto, ditto, and ditto, as to facers upon Magee’s pimple, and then Jem got away without return. Magee seemed abroad, and in a wild manner ran after Burn to the ropes, but Jem got safely down.

19.—“My Nevvy” went gaily to work, and “my uncle” said, “Jem Burn for £100.” Magee napped a severe body blow, but he returned a rum one for it. Magee also hit Jem down in style—the only knock-down blow in the battle. (Donovan observed, “Pat, see what you have done—you have almost finished him: another round and it is all your own.”)

20.—Jem had now reduced the “big one” to his own weight, and had also placed him upon the stand-still system. Magee, on setting-to, stopped the left hand of Burn, but, on endeavouring to rush in and bore his opponent to the ropes, he received such a stopper on the mouth that he almost felt whether his head was left upon his shoulders. Pat wildly again attempted the boring system, and in retreating from his adversary Jem fell down: Magee also went down with his knees upon his opponent, amidst one of the most tremendous bursts of disapprobation that ever occurred in the P. R.

21.—The case was now altered: Jem Burn the stronger man. “Bellows to mend” upon the other leg, and Pat in trouble. Burn peppered away right and left, until Magee was as wild as a colt. He pursued Burn to the ropes, when he again hung upon him. (“Shame!” hisses, &c.)

22.—The finish was clearly in view, and Pat was nobbed against his will. Magee was distressed and piping, when Jem, on the alert, punished him right and left. Magee again bored his adversary to the ropes, and also fell upon him.

23, and last.—Magee was quite abroad, when Belcher said, “Go to work and put the finish to it.” Jem took the hint, and slashed away right and left a good one. Every step Pat moved he got into some trouble, and Jem continually meeting him on the head, as he was boring forward. Pat became quite furious, and rushed in scarcely knowing what he was about, and having got Jem upon the ropes, he caught hold of him in a foul manner. It is impossible to describe the row and indignation which burst forth from all parts of the ring at the unmanly conduct of Magee. An appeal was immediately made to the umpires by the seconds: the umpires disagreeing on the subject, the matter in dispute was left for the referee, who decided the conduct of Magee to be foul, and contrary to the established rules of fighting. The seconds of Magee insisted upon renewing the fight, and declared they should claim their money if Burn left the ring; but Belcher took Jem out of the ring, observing at the same time his man had won the battle, yet he would instantly back him if they would commence another fight.

REMARKS.—Had not this wrangle taken place, we have not the least doubt that Burn would have been proclaimed the victor in less than half-a-dozen more rounds: as Jem had “got” his man, who only wanted polishing off, which “My Nevvy” would have done in an artist-like manner. Magee is a game man, and better acquainted with the science of milling, as far as stopping and hitting goes, than the cockneys had anticipated; but as a boxer he is one of the foulest fighters we ever saw in the P. R. If any apology can be offered for his conduct in this, we hope it will be imputed to his ignorance of the rules of boxing as established by Broughton, rather than to intention. The referee not only acted with promptness, but his decision ought to have a good effect, by making boxers more careful in future.

The victorious Jem partook of a hearty dinner at the “Swan” at Lichfield, in the evening. He declared himself none the worse for Mr. Magee’s fistic visitations, but sore from the pulling and hauling he got while being hugged at the ropes.

Burn now rested upon his laurels for a few months, and during this interval, in the autumn of 1826, he took unto himself a spouse, in the person of Miss Caroline Watson, daughter of Bob Watson, of Bristol, of milling fame, who was brother-in-law to Tom Belcher.

The honeymoon had scarcely waned when the friends of Ned Baldwin (“White-headed Bob”) made another sort of “proposal” to jolly Jem. It was that he should box their man for £100 at his own convenience. Jem placed the matter in the hands of Uncle Ben, and April 24th, 1827, was set down in the articles, for Jem to meet another sort of “best man” than that of a bridegroom.

During the three months from signing Baldwin was decidedly the favourite, at six to four, as Jem had taken a public (the “Red Horse,” in Bond Street), besides (though he was never a heavy drinker) being a sought-for chairman and companion at Uncle Ben’s and elsewhere. Tom Belcher, however, took Jem in hand as mentor and trainer, and this was a great point—while on the night before the battle a gent at Tattersall’s took Burn for a “cool thousand” at evens.

The road to St. Albans on Tuesday, the 24th April, 1827, was thronged with vehicles, No Man’s Land, Herts, on the borders of three counties, being the rendezvous. Baldwin, with his mentor, Tom Cribb, took the road from his training quarters at Hurley Bottom, and reached St. Alban’s overnight; while Jem remained at Kitte’s End, near Barnet, where he had taken his breathings for some weeks previous. Jem’s weight was twelve stone eight pounds; Baldwin’s, twelve stone ten pounds.

The morning was cheerless and stormy, but this did not damp the spirits either of spectators or combatants; and shortly before one o’clock the veteran Commissary, Ould Caleb, having completed his arrangements, Jem Burn, attended by Tom Belcher and Harry Harmer, threw his white castor inside the ropes. He looked the picture of health, youth (his age twenty-three), and smiling good humour, and was warmly cheered. Baldwin quickly followed, Tom Cribb and Ned Neale (his late antagonist) being his seconds. The operation of peeling soon took place, and the active condition of the men attracted all eyes. Bob looked full of muscular power, but was thin in proportion to Jem. His countenance did not exhibit that florid glow which characterised Jem’s, nor did we recognise that confidence which his previous declarations betokened. Jem had the advantage in height and length, and on shaking hands it was clear that he had screwed his courage to the sticking-place. It was all or nothing with him, and he advanced like a man about to play for his last stake.

The seconds and bottle-holders all agreed to stake colours against colours, which were all tied to the stakes, and at the moment of setting-to, Ned Neale bet, and Tom Belcher took, six to four on Bob.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Baldwin placed himself with great coolness in front of his antagonist, as if prepared more for defence than attack, while Jem seemed all anxiety to begin. A very few seconds were occupied in sparring, when Jem went to work upon the hay-sack[50] system; he hit out with quickness with his left, and caught Bob slightly, a sort of half-hit; his right then went out with great activity and force, and alighting on Bob’s cranium, dropped him cleverly, amidst loud cheers.

2.—Ned came up smiling, but Jem left him no time for reflection, for he again went to work left and right. The former was stopped, but the latter came in contact with Baldwin’s muzzle, and again floored him, while it loosened his grinders and drew first blood. More acclamations in favour of Jem. Bob looked both surprised and alarmed. The odds were now five to four on Jem.

3.—Ned, on coming up, was bleeding from the mouth, and his phiz was a good deal flushed. He again assumed a posture of defence, but Jem had no intention to spar. Mischief was his maxim, and to it he went left and right, putting Baldwin’s guard aside, and catching him with terrific force on the left ogle. The visitation was awful; Baldwin was hit off his legs in the most finished style. Nothing could exceed the consternation of Bob’s friends. “He is licked,” was the cry; and the White-headed one, on getting to his second’s knee, seemed anxious to ascertain whether his eye was yet in its proper position, and if possible to stop the swelling, which was rapidly advancing. During these rounds Bob had not made a single return, and Jem was as gay as one of his uncle Belcher’s larks.

4.—Neale now urged Bob to go in, as he evidently saw that he had no chance at out-fighting. “Yes,” said Bob, but he kept still à la distance, when Jem again burst upon him, and delivered right and left with great force, while Bob was getting away, and trying to stop. Jem followed him up, and was well stopped in some of his straight ones, but he succeeded in planting another floorer, and away went Bob for the fourth time off his pins.

5.—On coming up it was seen that Baldwin’s left eye was completely closed. Jem saw his advantage, put aside Bob’s science, tipped two facers, right and left, and then catching him on the sneezer, tapped the claret in a new quarter; and in the close, Bob was down again.

6.—Bob, though dreadfully punished, came up game. Neale shouted to him to go in, and Bob replied, “he knew what he was about.” A good rally followed, in which Bob went boldly to his man. Some good exchanges followed, right and left, in which Jem received a heavy blow on his left cheek, which was cut, and bled freely. He returned as good as he got, and Bob fell on his knees. (“Bob is not beat yet,” said his friends; and hopes were entertained that Jem would fall off. Bob was still strong on his legs.)

7.—Jem pursued his old game, hitting left and right with great severity. Baldwin made some good returns, but in a rally which followed had the worst of it. In a close by the ropes, Jem was pushed down.

8.—Bob stopped Jem’s left with neatness. Short sparring, when Jem again went in with his left, his right hand being a good deal puffed. Bob stopped him, and was rushing to hit, when Jem slipped down.

9.—Jem again went to work with energy. Bob stopped him cleverly at first, but Jem would be with him, and planted a rattler on his nose with his left, drawing more of the carmine. Bob shook it off, and went to fight, when a good rally followed, in which Bob was almost hit stupid. Again did Neale call upon him to fight. He rushed in and bored Jem to the ropes, when Jem went down to avoid harm, and Bob fell on him with his knees.

10.—Bob stopped a well-intended visitation from Jem’s left, but Jem succeeded in jobbing him several times. A close at the ropes, in which each tried for the advantage. At last Jem broke away, and in a rally Bob hit him down with a random blow. Jem now showed weakness, and piped, although his spirit seemed unbroken, and Bob showed most fearful marks of punishment.

11.—Bob now thought there was a chance in his favour, and rushed at once to his man to increase his distress. Jem, however, was ready, though puffing, and met him with a couple of facers. Bob fell on his knees.

12.—Bob again made a desperate effort to increase Jem’s exhaustion, but Jem broke away, hitting him with his left as he approached, in the middle of the head. Bob planted a slasher on Jem’s mouth, but Jem countered in good style. Jem then bored him to the ropes, and both went down piping.

13.—Jem threw in a nobber. Bob nodded, and put in a good body blow. Jem returned a facer with his right. A long and desperate rally followed, in which good hits were exchanged. In the end, Bob went down. Both were much distressed, but Bob decidedly the worse.

14.—Bob came up as if determined to strain every nerve to make a turn in his favour, but it was in vain. Jem, after sparring for wind, repeatedly jobbed him right and left on the old spots, and both eyes were nearly on a par in point of darkness. Bob retreated, stopping Jem’s slashing hits, but Jem never left him, and he fell heavily at the ropes.

15.—Jem pursued the jobbing system, and Bob, though he stopped some blows, received too many to be agreeable. He stood for some time almost stupefied. Jem peppered away, until he fell in a dreadful condition as to punishment. Any odds on Jem, and Bob’s friends wished him to give in, begging that he would not fight a second beyond his own inclination. He would not, however, be persuaded to stop, but again got up with a resolution to do his best.

16.—Jem rushed to his man, and after a severe struggle both fell out of the ring.

17.—Bob only came up to be hit down.

18.—Jem seemed to get fresher with the consciousness of victory, and caught Bob a nasty one on the body. He then followed him up, jobbing as he went. In the close, both went down.

19.—Jem jobbed his man right and left, and he went down at the ropes.

20. and last.—Jem popped in a body blow. Bob, still disposed to make a desperate struggle, after a short rally, seized Jem by the ropes, and held him fast for a considerable time, in the exertion getting his finger in Jem’s mouth. Jem at last got a little free, and then forcing Bob with his back over the upper rope, poised him equally, and delivered three finishers with astounding force in the middle of the head. Bob tumbled over, and was senseless. Jem was, of course, pronounced the conqueror, amidst the shouts of his friends. He walked with great firmness to his drag, while Bob was carried to a post-chaise, and driven off the ground to St. Albans.

REMARKS.—The result of this fight excited no small surprise in the minds of many who profess to be good judges. Bob, it was said, never fought worse. He never seemed to be firm on his legs, but kept hopping back as if sparring. It was also obvious that he did not go in to his man with that determination which could alone give him a chance of victory until too late. When jobbed in the head, he kept nodding as if he considered all he was getting was nothing compared with what he was about to give; but the giving time never came, and with the exception of the blows on the cheek and mouth, and a tolerably good body blow, he never made any impression. On the other hand, Jem’s blows all told with tremendous effect, and the game and resolution with which My Nevvy conducted himself throughout was highly creditable. He set out with a determination to hit out left and right at Bob’s nob, and he stuck to this system till the close of the battle, winning in very gallant style. Towards the middle of the fight he certainly was distressed, and Bob did all he could to take advantage of his piping, but was himself too far gone, and Jem by keeping away gained his second wind and made all safe. Jem’s right hand was a good deal puffed, and the skin was knocked off most of his knuckles, from coming in contact with Bob’s masticators. In other respects he was not damaged, and in fact, when he arrived at Wildbore’s, at St. Albans, he sat down to dinner with a large party, and ate as heartily as if he had been merely taking a morning walk. After dinner he paid a friendly visit to Bob, who was in bed, and completely blind. Poor Bob said he didn’t know how it was; he felt he had not fought as he was wont to do, and attributed his misfortune to the severe hitting in the first three rounds, which he said completely took away his senses. The fight lasted thirty-three minutes. Jem, after offering his fallen opponent some pecuniary consolation, returned to town in a swell drag and four.

On the Thursday after the fight, Jem Burn took a benefit at the Tennis Court, at which Baldwin showed, and expressed his regret at having been beaten, more, as he said, for his friends’ than his own sake, and announced his readiness to make a fresh match, to come off as soon as possible. Burn was by no means disinclined to consent to a new trial, and on the very next evening, at a meeting at Belcher’s, the Castle Tavern, Holborn, articles were duly signed for a meeting on the 3rd of July. Betting was begun by “Uncle Ben” laying seven to four on “My Nevvy,” and so the wagering went, especially at Tattersall’s, where seven to four in hundreds was taken by one of the best judges of the day. The sequel proved the soundness of Mr. John Gully’s opinion. Baldwin defeated our hero, after a desperate contest of eighty-five rounds, occupying ninety minutes, as may be seen in the life of BALDWIN, Chapter VII. of this volume.

On the 13th of November in the same year (1827) Jem a second time met Ned Neale, but after a hard battle of forty-three rounds, occupying forty-six minutes, had again to succumb to the conquering arm of the Streatham Youth. (See Life of NEALE, ante, Chapter V., p. 310.)

This was Jem’s last appearance as a principal within the ropes of the P. R. As a second, a backer, and a demonstrator of the art, the Press and the sporting public never lost sight of him. His house, the “Queen’s Head,” Windmill Street, Haymarket, which he kept for some years, was the resort of all lovers of jolly companionship, and those who wished to keep themselves au courant to all sports of the ring.

Jem’s Master of the Ceremonies at his sparring soirées was for some time the accomplished light weight Owen Swift; and many an M.P. slipped away from St. Stephen’s, and many a smart guardsman from a Belgravian dinner-party, to give a look in at Jolly Jem’s snuggery; an inner sanctum, communicating with the sparring-room, and set apart for “those I call gentlemen,” as Jem emphatically phrased it. The inscription over the mantelpiece of this room, from the pen of “Chief Baron Nicholson,” was appropriate:—

“Scorning all treacherous feud and deadly strife, The dark stiletto and the murderous knife, We boast a science sprung from manly pride, Linked with true courage and to health allied— A noble pastime, void of vain pretence— The fine old English art of self-defence.”

In vain did mere playmen, or “calico swells,” attempt to gain a footing in Jem’s “private room.” Jem instinctively detected the pretender. “There’s just as much difference in the breed of men as there is in the breed of horses,” he would say. “I read that fellow in a minute; the club-room’s his place.”

In his later days Jem shifted his domicile to the “Rising Sun,” in Air Street, Piccadilly (previously kept by Johnny Broome), where many a night burly Jem was to be found, enjoying his pipe and glass, surrounded by the few surviving members of the old school, and visited during the season by many youthful saplings of the Corinthian tree, to whom Jem would mirthfully and cheerily impart the adventures and sporting experiences of his earlier days.

“A merrier man, Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour’s talk withal. His eye begat occasion for his wit, For every object that the one did catch The other turned to a mirth-moving jest.”

For several years, as Jem grew in years and in portliness, and, though not a hard drinker, fully enjoyed the good things of this life, he was subject to intermittent attacks of gout, which, towards 1862, assailed him with increasing frequency, yet failing, when they gave him even a short truce, to subdue his natural fun and frolic. It was during one of unusual severity that we looked in to inquire after Jem’s health, and his pleasant daughter (Mrs. Doyle) having taken up our name, the bedridden boxer desired us to be “shown up.” We expressed our sympathy, regarding at the same time with some curiosity a contrivance suspended from the curtain-rods of the four-poster in which Jem was recumbent.

“Ha! old fellow,” said the merry Yorkshireman, “you’re wanting to spell out the meaning of that. I’ll tell you, if this blessed crab that’s just now got me in toe don’t give his claw an extra squeeze. If he does, why, I’ll strike, and he shall tow me into port at once.”

“No, Jem, it’s not come to that yet.”

“But it very soon must, if it don’t stalk. See here,” said he, pointing to a strong cord stretched from the top rail across the bed, from which another cord was suspended midway, and made fast to the handle of an old-fashioned corkscrew. “If it warn’t for this tackle I’d get no sleep night nor day. Inside the bedclothes I’ve got a bung—good idea for a licensed victualler—into that I screws the corkscrew through the bedclothes, which I then raise tent-fashion by this hal’yard, and that I make fast down here to the bedpost. There’s a wrinkle for you, Miles’s Boy; but I hope you’ll never want it for yourself.” Poor Jem we never saw again. His arch-enemy ascended to his portly stomach, and on the morning of the 29th of May Jem slept with his forefathers.

“——Men must endure Their going hence, even as their coming hither, Ripeness is all.”

CHAPTER VII. EDWARD BALDWIN (“WHITE-HEADED BOB”)—1823–1828.

Ned Baldwin, whose sobriquet was suggested from the profusion of his pale flaxen hair, was born at Munslow, near Ludlow, in Herefordshire, on the 6th May, 1803. His youth was spent in his native county, in which, and in Shropshire and Worcestershire, several unimportant battles are placed to his credit by “Boxiana.” After a gallant contest on Worcester Racecourse with a local boxer named Souther, whom he defeated in an hour and a quarter, a gentleman well known in the London Ring, finding him an active, civil, and intelligent fellow, engaged him as his groom, and brought him to London. A trial battle in Harper’s Fields, Marylebone, with a big Irishman named O’Connor, in which the youngster displayed more pluck than science, led to his master putting him under the tuition of the scientific Bill Eales, who then superintended a boxery at his house in James Street, Oxford Street. Here he rapidly improved his style, and gained the reputation of a quick and fearless hitter, with some skill in defensive tactics. In February, 1823, he went down to Wimbledon, and there, after Hall and Wynes had settled their differences, Bob, as he was now called, threw up his hat to accommodate any man who had not yet fought in the Prize Ring, for £10 of his master’s money. Here he was made the victim of a not very creditable “plant.” The afterwards renowned Jem Ward, who had already defeated Dick Acton and Burke (brother to “Warrior” Burke), and fought a draw with Bill Abbott, habited in a countryman’s smock frock, was introduced as a “yokel” aspirant. The men set to, but the ruse de guerre was soon seen through, and after nineteen minutes Bob’s friends took him away, though Bob was game enough to have fought it out with defeat staring him in the face.

After a disappointment with Harry Lancaster, Baldwin was matched with Maurice Delay, for £50 a-side, and the battle came off at the classic ground of Moulsey, on the 11th of February, 1824. Bob was brought upon the ground in a carriage, in a smart Witney upper, and threw his hat into the ropes, esquired by Bill Richmond and Paddington Jones; Delay, accompanied by Josh Hudson and Ned Neale, quickly followed. Tom Owen fastened a green bandanna to the stakes for the East Ender, and Richmond tied a blue bird’s-eye over it for Bob. The seconds and principals shook hands, and the men threw themselves in attitude. Five to four on Maurice Delay.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Delay on peeling looked an effective man; and the White-headed One also appeared well as to condition. Bob did not weigh more than 11st. 7lb. Delay was heavier by several pounds. The latter made himself up for mischief, although he wore a cheerful smile, and Bob had also a grin upon his countenance. Very little time was lost in scientific movements, when Bob made a feint, but it would not do. Delay hit out, and Bob got away. Delay stopped well the right hand of his opponent. (“Stopping is very well,” said the John Bull Fighter, “but hitting is better; be with him, he’s coming, Maurice.”) Delay put in a heavy body blow, but Bob prevented a repetition. A tiny bit of sharp work occurred, in which Delay’s lip showed a slight tinge of claret, when the man of colour called out, “First blood for a hundred!” The lads tipped it each other heavily. In a sharp rally Delay was rather too much for his opponent; Bob went down, and Delay hit him as he was going down. (A tremendous shout from the East Enders; Tom Oliver offered 2 to 1 on Delay.)

2.—The left side of Delay’s temple, also his eye, exhibited specimens of the handiwork of Bob. This was a short but a good round, and Bob again went down. (The East Enders were “all happiness;” and Maurice gave them the office it was as right as the day.)

3.—Maurice, full of spirits, gave Bob’s chest an ugly touch; ditto, and ditto. (“What are you arter?” said Tom Jones to his man. “Go to work, he can’t hurt you.”) Bob countered in good style, also caught Delay’s nob under his arm, and fibbed him down. (“Well done, Bob!”)

4.—Bob was piping a little. The White-headed One took the lead, fibbed Maurice severely, and hit him twice as he was going down. (“Where’s the umpires?” from the John Bull. “We must look after this man. We will have nothing foul.”)

5.—Short and sweet to Bobby; a sharp rally; Delay went down distressed.

6.—This was nothing else but a good fighting round; it was give and take like a couple of good ones. Maurice satisfied the ring that he was a game man; but Bob convinced the amateurs he was the best fighter. After a sharp rally in which some ugly counter-hits occurred, Maurice went down on his knees.

7.—Delay bored Bobby all over the ring, till he went down distressed.

8.—Nothing. At the ropes a struggle took place for the throw; Maurice was undermost.

9.—The counter-hits of Bob did precious mischief to the phrenology box of Delay. He bothered Maurice’s order of caution. Bob also got into his wine-cellar without a key, and tapped his claret without the aid of a corkscrew. “Only look,” said Paddington Jones, “here’s a bit of good truth,” while Bob kept fibbing his opponent till they both went down, Maurice undermost.

10.—Wind was necessary on both sides, and both found that a little pause was agreeable to their feelings. Delay’s hand told on Bob’s body. After an exchange of blows, Bob again got Delay’s nob under his arm, and tipped it to him à la Randall, till he went down.

11.—Both had quite milling enough in this round. It was hit for hit when they separated, and both fell.

12.—When time was called, Maurice came up as gay as a lark, and endeavoured to mill his adversary all over the ring. Bob stopped two heavy hits skilfully, and in closing got Delay’s head under his arm, and punished him so severely that Delay fell down stupid. (“Go along, Bob, it’s all your own!”)

13.—This might be called a Big Ben and Tom Johnson round. Maurice’s face was completely changed, his left eye nearly closed. He made one or two good stops, and also planted a stomacher, but game was more prominent than science. They stuck to each other blow for blow, till they were both distressed to a stand-still. At the conclusion of the round they merely pushed each other down.

14.—The strength, however, appeared on the side of Delay, and he bored in to mill his adversary. Some severe blows were exchanged, when Bob went down from a left-handed blow.

15.—The White-headed One had the best of the fighting; and at the commencement of this round Delay bored his antagonist to the ropes, when Bob put in two tremendous nobbers, and in turn drove Delay across the ring, and sent him down on his knees.

16.—Bob was piping, and it was the opinion of several of the amateurs that the strength of Delay would ultimately bring him through. Maurice again drove Bob before him to the ropes, and got him nearly down, when the White-headed Cove, full of pluck, recovered himself on his pins, and milled away, till both went down.

17.—Very short. Delay napped several nobbers, and went down terribly distressed.

18.—Hudson, with all his industry and attention towards his man, could not keep him clean. Still he would bore in upon Bob—this conduct brought him terrific punishment. The White-headed One planted one, two, and three blows in succession, right in the middle of his already damaged face. He was positively hit to a stand-still; but on recovering himself, he went resolutely in to mill, and got Bob down. (“His game will win for him!” was the cry.)

19.—Both as good as gold; true courage displayed at every step, with conduct and fortitude, adding honour to the character of Britons. (Our eye at this instant observed the French Hercules in a wagon, in company with another Frenchman, expressing their admiration, and applauding the manly and honourable mode of settling a quarrel in old England.) Delay commenced this round with the pluck of a gamecock; and the gluttony he displayed astonished the ring. At every step he received a jobber, sending him back; nevertheless he would not be denied, and absolutely bored in, fighting hand over head till he sent Bob down. “It’s as right as the day,” said Maurice to his second.

20.—The counter-hits of Bob told unmercifully upon Delay’s nob. This was a manly-fought round, good on both sides, when Delay dropped, Bob also very much exhausted.

21.—This was a terrific round. Bob, although extremely weak, had decidedly the best of the milling; he planted his hits effectually, and in several instances he broke ground well. Delay, who was met at every movement on the nob, would not retreat, but contended for victory like the best out-and-outer upon the list. The determination of Maurice enabled him to send Bob down.

22.—This round decided the battle. It appeared to us that Delay wanted elasticity about his shoulders—his blows were not effective. Yet with as fine game as any man ever exhibited in the Prize Ring, he persevered without dread or fear. Delay appeared at the scratch undismayed, and after receiving three severe hits, pressed upon his antagonist, and, strange to relate, he sent Bob down.

23.—Of a similar description. Delay went down exhausted. “Bob for any odds!”

24.—This was short but effective against Delay; he had the worst of the hitting, and in going down Bob fell upon him. (“Three to one—take him away!”)

25.—This was a sharp round. Delay would not give up an inch of ground; but he stood up only to receive additional punishment. He however got Bob down.

26 and last.—Nature had done her utmost, but Delay, game to the end of the chapter, appeared at the scratch, and fought “while a shot remained in him.” Bob did not like to punish his opponent any more, and Delay went down quite exhausted, falling forward upon his hands and knees. Here the John Bull Fighter showed his true character to the spectators. Josh loves winning; but he was satisfied that Maurice had done all that a brave man could perform; so, with consideration and humanity, he loudly exclaimed, “My man shall not fight any more!” The battle was over in forty-two minutes. The first words uttered by Delay to Josh, after his recollection returned, were, “Have I won it?”

REMARKS.—Bob did not win the battle without receiving a sharp taste of Delay’s quality. The White-headed One was not in such good condition as his backers wished him to be; in fact, he was sick and ill from a cold four days before fighting. It was countering with his opponent that gave him the victory. In the middle of the fight it was by no means safe to him; nay, it appeared to us that he was so weak as almost to leave off fighting. But he recovered himself, and turned the tide in his favour till the 22nd and 23rd rounds, when some of the best judges declared it “anybody’s battle.” In the 11th round Bob turned round to avoid the punishment of Delay; but the sun was so powerful at that period as to deprive him almost of viewing his antagonist; he therefore shifted his ground with dexterity. In the 3rd round Bob hurt one of his hands considerably against his adversary’s nob; and Baldwin has since asserted that the latter circumstance, and also having the sun continually shining in his face, prevented him from winning the battle so soon as he might otherwise have accomplished. Baldwin’s back was cut by the ropes. Delay was put to bed at the “Bell,” at Hampton, and every attention paid to him that humanity could suggest, backed by the advice and assistance of a medical man. A collection was made on the ground for one of the bravest pugilists that ever took off a shirt in the Prize Ring.

This manly battle placed the milling talents of White-headed Bob in a favourable point of view with the amateurs. He aspired to riding inside a carriage instead of holding the horses; and thus, unfortunately for himself, the injudicious patronage and loose companionship of swells were brought within his reach.

Bob might now be said to have obtained a footing in the sporting world, and he was determined to push his fortune without delay. Notoriety in the Metropolis is a taking feature, and Bob was determined not to remain in obscurity; he visited most of the places of amusement, and manifested indications of his fondness for a “bit of high life.” He soon recommended himself to the notice of Mr. Hayne, then and afterwards known as “Pea-green Hayne,” and for his affair with Miss Foote and Colonel Berkeley; and Bob had the art to induce this liberal-hearted gentleman to become his patron and backer. Baldwin was fond of dress, and knew its advantages; he was frequently seen in the company of swells of the first water, at the “Royal Saloon,” and other resorts of “fast life” where the “Corinthians” of George the Fourth’s time “most did congregate.” As a proof that Bob possessed some knowledge of “character,” he appeared at one of the masquerades at the Argyll Rooms,[51] habited “as a fine gentleman” of the modern time!

Bob took his first benefit at the Fives Court on Tuesday, May 14th, 1824, when he was well supported.

Soon after his benefit Baldwin was matched against the Streatham Youth, for £100 a-side. The parties met on Monday, July 26th, 1824, at Chertsey. Bob appeared on the ground in the drag of his patron, and would have entered the ring, but Mr. Hayne, on account of his bad state of health, preferred forfeiting £100 rather than risking his reputation. So much for dissipation.

A second match for £100 a-side was immediately made between Bob and Neale at Harry Holt’s, and three months were allowed to Bob to get himself right. This battle was decided at Virginia Water, on Tuesday, the 19th of October, 1824. The fight continued for one hour and thirteen minutes, occupying forty rounds, when Cribb said Bob should not fight any more. Fast living is fatal to athletes.

Bob, anxious to recover his lost laurels, inserted the following letter in the sporting journals, to the editors:—

“SIR,—Having recovered from my recent illness, to which alone I attribute the loss of my fight with Neale, I feel anxious for another job; and as Neale is matched with Jem Burn, and Jack Langan does not appear to fancy Shelton for a customer, I am ready to accommodate Langan for £200 a-side, as soon as he pleases. If Langan does not accept this challenge I shall offer myself to the notice of the winner of the next fight between Neale and Jem Burn.

“Yours, &c., “EDWARD BALDWIN.

“November 26th, 1824.”

Baldwin did not wish to leave London for Scotland (January 9th, 1825) without announcing his intention to Neale, that his friends were ready to back him for £200 a-side; but if the time was too soon for Neale to enter the ring, he was open to any twelve stone and a half man in England.

To the surprise of the admirers of scientific pugilism, Bob was matched against George Cooper, distinguished in the annals of boxing as a fighter of superior pretensions, for £200 a-side. This battle was decided at Knowle’s Hill, thirty miles from London, on Tuesday, July 5th, 1825. It was completely a foregone conclusion in the minds of the “judges” that George Cooper must win in first-rate style; nevertheless, the ring was surrounded by amateurs of the highest distinction. At ten minutes before one Bob threw his hat into the ring, attended by Holt and Oliver. He was applauded by a few backers, but his countenance was angry, and he complained of having been neglected by his friends, and said that if it had not been for the kindness of one gentleman (Mr. Hines) he might have arrived completely unattended at the ring. George Cooper was seconded by Hudson and Shelton.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Condition was not wanting on either side, and every spectator was perfectly satisfied that both men had paid the necessary attention to training. The frame of Cooper was fine and manly, but it did not exhibit that muscle and strength which characterised the body of the White-headed One. The knowing ones, the old ring-goers, booked it as a certainty that Bob would be little more than a mere chopping-block for the display of Cooper’s great milling talents, and the John Bull Fighter, the Nonpareil, Tom Belcher, and Tom Shelton, looked upon the event as a certainty. Under such flattering circumstances, and backed liberally at odds, George Cooper entered the ring, equally confident in his own mind that victory was within his grasp. Bob, on the contrary, had but few friends, excepting his late opponent Ned Neale, who observed, “Bob will turn out a better man than is expected, and I have no doubt he will win the fight.” However, this opinion had no weight, as it was thought Ned was paying himself a compliment. The attitude of Cooper was elegant, and Bob seemed perfectly aware that he was opposed to no commoner, by the caution he displayed. The White-headed One hopped away from a feint of Cooper’s, but at length he tried the bustling system, and planted a single hit on his opponent’s cheek. (Applause, and “Well done, Bob!”) Cooper, however, returned a swinging right-handed hit on Bob’s ribs. Bob did not seem to mind it, but rushed in, and gave Cooper a facer; the latter returned on the body. Exchange of blows, and Bob as good as George; the former also made a good stop. (“Bravo, Bob!”) Cooper napped another facer. George, on the alert, put in a severe ribber, and also produced the claret from Bob’s right eye. (“Mind, Pierce,” cried Josh, “this decides first blood.”) The White-nobbed One displayed more science than was anticipated against such a skilful fighter as Cooper. He took the lead gaily, bored Cooper to the ropes, who acted on the defensive till he napped a rum one on the side of his head, when George went down. (Uproarious applause for Bob, symptoms of uneasiness among the friends of Cooper, and the majority of the spectators exclaiming, “Why, Bob will win!”)

2.—This slice of luck put Bob on terms with himself, when he observed George’s face displayed some of his handiwork. Cooper planted a ribber with his right, but Bob said it was “no go” with his left. The fighting was excellent on both sides; Cooper found out he had indeed a troublesome customer, one not to be disposed of as a matter of course. Bob had sense enough to see that out-fighting was dangerous to him, therefore he resolutely went in, hit George’s sensitive plant, and in struggling for the throw Cooper went down and was undermost. (“Hallo, where’s the six to four now?”)

3.—This round was decidedly in favour of Bob. He found out that the bustle of a young one is very tiresome and dangerous to an “old cock,” and he went in sans cérémonie. Bob took the lead, planting blows right and left, and also by a well-planted hit on the nose of George the claret flowed freely, and he was also sent down completely out of the ropes.

4.—Bob’s rush was stopped by a facer, but he was not dismayed, and in endeavouring to get in at his opponent he fell.

5.—The spectators were now satisfied that the capabilities of Bob had been treated too lightly, and that more danger was in him than had been anticipated. Cooper again planted his favourite hit on the ribs of his opponent, but injured the knuckles of his right hand. The science of Cooper was delightful, and although bored by Bob, he stopped several blows. The White-headed One, however, would not be denied, and the result was Cooper went down weak. Bob was now the favourite, and five and six to four was offered on him.

6.—George had the best of this round. He administered the pepper-box in style, and Bob put up his hand. Counter-hits, and severe ones; Bob, in closing, had the advantage, and Cooper went down.

7.—Short. Bob rushed in, caught hold of Cooper, and both went down.

8.—The White-headed One had made up his mind to adopt the bustling system, and rushed in to work, but he met with a precious stopper, very near his middle piece. Bob recovered himself, and was resolved to “try it on” once more; but Cooper, on the alert, put in a cracker on the jaws, and Bob went down on his hands and knees. The friends of Cooper recovered their spirits, and George was once more the favourite.

9.—This round amounted to nothing; it was almost over before it began; a struggle at the ropes, and both down.

10.—Fighting on both sides, till Cooper took the lead, punishing his opponent with his left hand, until Bob went down across the ropes, and fell out of the ring.

11.—George appeared anxious to go to work, and although Bob stopped his left with great skill, Cooper fought his way into a sharp rally. Harry Holt, who was behind Bob, was forced against the stakes, and the bottle broken which held the water. Both combatants were on their mettle, and some hard hits were exchanged, till, in closing, Bob was thrown.

12.—Cooper had not done enough to make it satisfactory to all his friends that he must win, although his backers flattered themselves that his fine skill, united with his game qualities, would ultimately bring him through. On appearing at the scratch, both went to work like good ones, particularly Bob, who stood to no repairs, and rushed at his opponent, determined to do mischief. In struggling at the ropes, both down.

13.—The White-headed One was determined to tire George, if possible, and to reduce his skill and strength. Bob’s scheme did not succeed, and George stopped his efforts with science. Bob likewise showed science. Some rum ones passed between them; in closing, both down, Bob undermost.

14.—Youth must be served; and Bob, in this respect, had the best of it. Cooper appeared weak, and in struggling for the throw, went down, and rolled over his opponent. Bob astonished the spectators by his good fighting.

15.—The science of Cooper told to advantage, and Bob’s nob napped it in two instances; but the latter was now confident that to bustle his man was the way to win it; he therefore fought his way in, but in closing Bob went down, Cooper on him. The friends of George flattered themselves he would win it by his skill; and some even betting, for small sums, occurred at the close of this round.

16.—Bob received punishment on going in, but would not be denied. Cooper was now compelled to fight on the defensive, and in retreating went down at the ropes.

17.—Although Bob was almost sure to receive it in the bustle, he preferred that mode; he got two stoppers, and by way of a finish George threw him. The friends of Cooper cheered.

18.—The right hand of George was puffed, and was nearly, if not quite, gone. In point of strength, it was now two to one in favour of Bob. A severe struggle took place for the fall, and by a desperate effort on the part of Cooper, he succeeded in giving Bob a tremendous back fall.

19.—Bob had completely proved himself a game man, and also a good fighter. He was now decidedly the favourite, and two to one offered on him. Bob went to work uncommonly sharp, and planted a heavy facer. In struggling for the throw, Cooper got his leg twisted in going down. During the short space of the half-minute, he communicated to Hudson that he had hurt his leg, but before it could be examined “time” was called.

20.—Cooper stood up at the scratch, but his leg gave way, and he fell without a blow, as Bob was making himself up for a hit. (Loud murmurs, “Foul!” “Foul!”) “His leg is broken,” said Josh. “We’ve won it,” observed Holt—“do not leave the ring, Bob”—when time was called.

21, and last.—Cooper, although in great pain, endeavoured to meet his man in the highest style of game, when Bob dropped him by a straight hit. It was ascertained (by a surgeon) that one of the small bones of Cooper’s ankle was fractured, when Hudson gave up the contest in favour of Bob. It was over in twenty-six minutes and a half.

REMARKS.—Cooper’s accident leaves the event of the battle in some doubt; but in canvassing the matter fairly the opinion of the majority was in favour of Bob. The courage he showed was excellent; he was not deficient in science, and his judgment was equally good in the mode he adopted in fighting an older man, by keeping him at work. Scarcely an amateur would allow Bob a shadow of chance against such an accomplished boxer as George Cooper. The front piece of Bob was rather the worse for the engagement, but in other respects his strength was undiminished; and as a proof he put on his clothes, and walked about the ring, to witness the battle between Young Dutch Sam and Stockman. Bob also observed he was extremely sorry for the accident, and had much rather the battle should have been terminated by fighting, as he felt confident of winning. Upon recapitulation of the whole affair, Bob had the advantage of fourteen years in age, but proved a much better and cleverer man than was calculated upon by the cognoscenti.

Bob, still soaring into swelldom, in imitation, longo intervallo, of John Jackson, opened what he called “The Subscription Rooms,” in Pickering Place, St. James’s Street, for the purpose of “giving private lessons in the art of self-defence,” having previously, as a contemporary wit said, “studied Chesterfield in the stable,” to qualify himself for the professorial chair. Like other “stars” Bob now took a provincial tour with Jem Burn, Neale, and others, and was well received at Liverpool and in the north. A severe illness, said to be “the measles,” laid Bob up during the summer of 1826; a retirement from London life restored him, and in January, 1827, at the “Castle,” Holborn, Baldwin was matched with Jem Burn for £100 a-side, to meet on Tuesday, April 24th, 1827.

At No Man’s Land, on the day appointed, in nineteen rounds, occupying thirty-three minutes, Baldwin was knocked out of time and the stakes by the fresh and vigorous arm of “My Nevvy.” (See life of JEM BURN, in preceding chapter.)

Baldwin took a benefit at the Tennis Court on Wednesday, May 9th, 1827.

The difference between winning and losing a battle, Bob asserts, was clearly proved to him on that day. However, a respectable muster of the amateurs assembled to witness the sports. The sets-to were effective, particularly the bout between Tom Belcher and Jem Burn, which proved a high treat of the art of self-defence. Scroggins, as Clown to the Ring, afforded much fun in his set-to with Deaf Davis.

It was not to be supposed that Baldwin, whose stamina certainly improved, thanks to youth and a good constitution, whenever he was under a cloud, and compelled, by what he called “the neglect of his patrons,” to practise self-denial, would long lie idle. Hence, on the day of trial, July 3rd, 1827, when Bob peeled at Ruscombe Lake, he was “himself again.”

The second trial for £100 a-side took place on a fine piece of common about a mile from Twyford, Berks, called Ruscombe Lake, from its being covered with water in winter time. From the facility with which Bob was beaten by Burn in their previous encounter, and the rumours, of course exaggerated, of Bob’s “saloon” exploits in “the wee hours ayont the twal,” Jem was the favourite at six and seven to four; Uncle Ben having actually booked two to one “rather,” as he said, “than not do business.” There were those, however, who thought, with us, that there was nothing in the comparative qualities of the men to justify odds, and it was impossible with those who witnessed the former battle not to see that Bob was not only not “all thar,” as the Yankees have it, but so utterly surprised by Burn’s mode of attack in the first three rounds that he never recovered his fighting tactics. Nevertheless, there was a period, in the middle of the fight, when Jem became so distressed that had Baldwin a vestige of strength left, he might have snatched the victory. The long odds were therefore freely taken by many, and especially at Tattersall’s. The sequel proved that the opinions thus founded were fully borne out, and that a solitary instance of defeat under peculiar circumstances ought not to deprive a man of the chance of redeeming his credit. Both men quitted their training-grounds on Monday, and proceeded to Twyford, Burn taking up his quarters at the “Bell,” and Baldwin at the “King’s Arms Inn.” They were accompanied by their friends, and professed themselves to be equally confident. In point of condition, too, they appeared to be pretty much on a par. Bob’s weight was twelve stone and a half. Jem Burn never lost a day during his training, and could not have been better. His weight was twelve stone, six pounds.

On the morning of action Twyford exhibited the usual lively scene; vehicles of every denomination were seen pouring in from the surrounding country, and among them were many carriages and four; in fact, few had witnessed a more slap-up turn-out of the Fancy. An excellent ring was formed at an early hour in the morning by Tom Oliver, Fogo, and Jack Clarke, in the centre of an immense number of wagons, within which there was an inner roped circle, so as to confine the spectators to a proper distance from the stakes. The veteran Bill Gibbons arrived just in time to perform his part of the duty, and all was in readiness soon after twelve o’clock—the weather delightful, the crowd numerous, but orderly, and not the most distant apprehensions of an unfriendly beak. Orders having been issued from headquarters, the men left their respective inns for the place of rendezvous, Bob dressed in a smock frock, sporting his blue fogle, and Jem in a post-chaise, wearing a yellow squeeze with black stars. Both were cheerful, and on their departure scarcely an inhabitant was left in the village.

Shortly before one they entered the ring; Bob attended by his backers, and his second and bottle-holder, Jem Ward and Dick Curtis, and Jem Burn by Tom Belcher and Harry Harmer. The ceremony of peeling was soon performed, and the excellent condition of both men became visible. Bob showed most muscular strength and sturdiness of frame, but Burn was the longer and taller man. Jem was still a marked favourite, and just before setting-to was backed at two to one, but there was little money laid out on the ground. At last the interesting moment arrived, and the men were placed at the scratch, Baldwin having won the toss for choice of position.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Jem did not now, as on the former occasion, let fly the moment his man was placed before him, but having the sun in his face, veered a little round, to get rid of that disadvantage. Bob soon showed that he had not come on a waiting job. He at once rushed to work, and hit out right and left at Jem’s nob. Jem stopped him, and got away, but immediately returned, and caught Bob with his right on the left ogle. Bob pursued his quick system, and hit away with rapidity, but did not succeed in planting any important blow. Jem fought with him, and again jobbed him with his left, while he caught him on the body with his right. Bob stopped some well-intended compliments, and after a bustling rally, was forced against the ropes, where a long and severe struggle took place, equally exhausting to both, which ended in their going down, Jem uppermost. (“That’s the way,” cried Bob’s friends, “wear him out; he can’t stand bustling.”)

2.—Bob, true to his orders, lost not a moment in going to work, but commenced hitting right and left. Jem stopped him cleverly; some slight wild returns followed, and, in the close, Bob was thrown, scratching Jem’s face with his nails as he went down, to the dissatisfaction of the spectators, who cried out against such practice.

3.—The moment the men were at their posts counter-hits were exchanged on their canisters, and Bob proceeded to pepper away as quickly as his power would permit. Jem was all alive, and hit with him, but science was laid aside, and nothing but downright rattling followed. In the end, Jem bored Bob to the ropes, and threw him. It was obvious, however, that these rapid movements set his bellows to work, and the judges exclaimed, “If Bob keeps to that, he’ll win it.”

4.—Jem came up flushed, and Bob was at him. Jem was ready, and hit away, straight, but wild. Some hits were exchanged, when Jem, in hitting, went down.

5.—Bob pursued the bustling game, and threw in a blow with his right on Jem’s ribs. Jem returned on his face. A desperate rally followed, to the advantage of Jem in hitting, but the pace seemed too fast for him. At last, after a severe assault, both fell in different directions from the force of their own blows, and on rising Bob showed first blood from the eye.

6.—Bob again took the start, and hit Jem on the body. Jem returned on his canister, and both closed at the ropes, when another severe struggle took place; both down, Bob under. In this round Jem made a right-handed up-hit, as Bob was following him, with great success.

7.—Bob came up piping. Bob stopped Jem’s right and left, but did not return. Jem was more successful in the next attempt, and touched him heavily on the ogle, drawing more blood. A spirited and rapid rally followed, hits trod on the heels of hits, and both received heavily. A close and violent struggle at the ropes followed. Both down, blowing.

8.—Bob came up black in the peeper, but game. He hit out with his right, but the blow went over Jem’s shoulder. He received a right-handed job in return, and Jem forced him back on the ropes, himself falling over him on his head, out of the ring.

9.—Bob came up rather more cautious. Jem jobbed him right and left in the face. Bob fought wildly, and missed several blows. He fought round, and did not hit at points. Jem was more steady, and had him repeatedly. Bob, in boring in, was thrown.

10.—Bob took the lead, but his right hand again went over Jem’s shoulder. Jem closed, threw him, and fell heavily on him.

11.—Jem put in two of his favourite nobbers, but received in return slightly on the head and body. The weaving system now commenced, and both men fought wildly, but interchanged several blows. A close at the ropes, and a struggle in which both went down, Jem under.

12.—Bob made some good stops, and again held off on the defensive. Jem rattled at him and caught him for the fall, but Bob slipped through his arms and went down.

13.—Bob made a good stop, but had a jobber in the next trial. Wild weaving followed, Bob planting a few blows on Jem’s ribs, which Jem returned on his head. In the bustle Jem went down on his knees.

14.—Bob again stopped Jem’s right and left, and then hit away, Jem retreating and jobbing. A close at the ropes, and Bob pulled Jem down.

15.—Jem delivered right and left. Bob instantly closed, and both went down.

16.—Jem popped in a good body blow with his left, and then retreated. Bob followed him wildly, and was hit up in good style on the mouth, from which more claret was drawn. In the close Bob was thrown, Jem on him.

17.—Bob rushed in on the bustling system, but Jem met him right and left on the canister. Jem then retreated, and Bob, in following, fell on his face.

18.—Bob received a right-handed facer, and in attempting to close for the throw, fell on his knees.

19.—Bob kept his hands well up, and stopped Jem’s jobbers. He still preserved his strength, and went in to mill. Jem got away, hitting as he retreated. At last Bob, in a wild effort to punish, fell forward, scrambling down by Jem’s legs.

20.—Bob came up abroad, and rushed in to fight open-handed. Jem caught him right and left. Bob, urged on by Dick Curtis, bored in with his right, but the blow passed over Jem’s shoulder. In the close Bob was thrown, Jem standing over him.

21.—Jem, elated, went to work. Bob fell on his knees, and immediately jumped up to renew the round, but his seconds prevented this unnecessary display of game.

22.—A scrambling round, hitting away without judgment on either side. Jem went down by the ropes, but no mischief done.

23.—Bob came up as lively as a lark, although his left eye was completely closed, and he bore other marks of severe punishment. He delivered a right-hander on Jem’s body. Jem countered on his nob. A spirited rally followed; both worked might and main, and at last Bob was thrown across the ropes, Jem upon him.

24.—Jem became a greater favourite, and the moment Bob came up he rushed at him. Bob retreated, and they reached the corner of the ring. A violent struggle followed, Bob hanging on Jem, and attempting to fib. He did, in fact, catch Jem on the paunch, below the waistband. We thought the blow a foul one, but it was not seen by the umpires. Bob was at last thrown, and was weak. The fight had now lasted thirty minutes, and some bets were decided on Bob’s being licked in half an hour.

25.—Bob stopped well Jem’s jobbing manœuvres. He then went to work. Jem was ready, stopped Bob’s rush, and caught him right and left. In the close both down.

26.—Bob, still holding his hands well up, again stopped Jem’s right, but did not return. Jem caught him on the nozzle. Bob bored in; both down, Bob uppermost.

27.—Bob, on the bustling system, but fought open-handed. Jem nobbed him and closed. Bob showed great strength. He threw Jem over the ropes and fell on him.

28.—Bob, desperate, fought away without reflection. Jem was ready, and after a short rally, in the close both went down.

29.—Bob showed most physical strength. He rattled to Jem and put in a blow on the ribs. Jem let fly right and left, but Bob stopped the favours and bored in to a close. A long struggle followed at the ropes. Bob at last got the fall, and was loudly cheered. Jem piped woefully, and another change took place in the betting; Bob, from his lasting qualities, reducing the odds to even betting.

30.—Jem distressed, and Bob not much better. Jem delivered right and left, and Bob fought wildly, missing his blows. In the close both down.

31.—Bob’s face was now much punished; one eye shut, divers gashes on his phiz, his conk distilling the ruby, and lips pouting. Jem also showed his marks, but nothing like so severe; his body was red and scarred from the ropes, his right hand puffed, and his bellows in full play, while his right eye was a little swollen. Jem occasionally popped his fives into Harry Harmer’s jacket pocket, in which there was a supply of powdered resin, to assist him in keeping his hands tight. Jem made his left good on Bob’s right ogle and closed, when both went down heavily. Bob very weak.

32.—Jem came up as bold as brass, and made up his mind for quick work. He rushed at Bob, caught him right and left, and Bob fell on his knees distressed. Another change for Jem, who was the favourite at five to four.

33.—Bob bored in wildly; Jem met him in the canister with his left, and Bob fell.

34.—Jem now had recourse to the brandy bottle. Bob came up wild as a colt, and went sprawling down.

35.—Jem missed a tremendous jobber with his right. Bob fought to a scrambling rally, and, in the close, was thrown on the ropes.

36.—Bob, cheered on by Dick, bored in to bustle, and forced Jem down on the ropes.

37.—Jem met Bob, as he rushed in, on the conk with his left, and in the close Bob was thrown.

38.—Again was Bob hurried in, fighting open-handed, and was thrown.

39.—Bob, game, followed Dick’s orders and rushed in, but Jem was ready, hit away, and in the end floored him.

40.—Jem put in a jobber between Bob’s guard with his left, and got away. Bob pursued him, and Jem fell in the retreat.

41.—Good counter-hits for Bob was still determined, though groggy. Jem jobbed him right and left, but as his left hand had now gone as well as his right, his blows wanted force. In the close Bob was thrown across the ropes, Jem upon him. The latter fell out of the ring.

42.—Bob was first to go to work, but Jem was awake, and after a short and fruitless rally, threw him.

43.—Bob, urged on, hit away, but Jem retreated, and met him as he advanced, right and left. Bob at last closed in and Jem fell, Bob getting weaker.

44.—Jem now seemed to make certain of his work, and nobbed away in good style to finish. Bob went down from a clink on his noddle, all abroad.

45.—Bob, still alive, was cheered on by Curtis. Counter-hits. Bob went in to weave, but made no impression, Jem getting away in good style. Bob, in pursuing, fell on his marrow-bones.

46.—Bob rushed in wildly, closed upon Jem, and pulled him down. Fifty-four minutes had now elapsed, and it was thought it could not last much longer.

47.—Jem set to work to polish off his customer. Bob, almost blind, was hit right and left, and then turned his back to his man. Jem tipped him two luggers right and left, and dropped him. Both men remained on their seconds’ knees a minute after time was called.

48.—Bob stupid. Curtis roared in his ear. He then bored in, and hit Jem on the body, and fell over the ropes.

49.—Bob, still a stickler, rushed in to mill, hit wildly, was jobbed, and thrown.

50.—Bob’s stubborn gameness surprised the ring. He went in to bustle, and received Jem’s right and left, but, as we before remarked, the force was deadened by the state of Jem’s hands. Weaving on both sides. Bob down weak, and almost dark of both ogles.

51.—Jem made another attempt to finish, rushed to Bob, hit him right and left, and threw him at the corner of the ring.

52.—Jem again took the lead, but Bob was with him, wild, though weak, and grappling with Jem, at last threw him, and fell heavily upon him.

53.—Jem had another sup of brandy. The fight had now lasted an hour. Both men got to work on coming to the scratch, and were both greatly distressed, but Jem succeeded in throwing Bob from him.

54.—Jem, on the cautious system, to repair his bellows, kept off. Bob was hallooed on by Dick, and in he went, neck or nothing. Both fell, side by side.

55.—Jem very weak. Bob rushed to him, and was the first to fight. Jem rattled away, right and left, and as Bob was falling on his knees, caught him on the ear.

56.—Bob made a body hit, but not in the right place. A close at the ropes. After a struggle, Jem went down, Bob on him.

57.—Both groggy, but Bob the first to begin. Wild fighting; no discretion. Bob, in getting away, fell heavily on his back, Jem upon him.

58.—It was now considered that Bob had every chance of winning, as Jem was unable to steady himself with sufficient precision to finish his work, and both, on “time” being called, seemed much disinclined to quit their second’s knees. Still Jem was the favourite, and “My Uncle,” seeing his distress, called upon him not to hurry himself. In this way, to the 65th round, Bob bored in to bustle, and was loudly cheered by his friends, who assured him that he had every chance of victory. In the closes, Jem went down, evidently to gain time, and the turn was again in Bob’s favour. In the 70th round, Jem produced another change, delivering heavily right and left. Bob, almost blind, never attempted to return, and dropped.

71.—Bob was lifted up, was hit right and left, and fell. Curtis again rang a peal in his ear. “It’s all up,” cried the Burnites, and a good deal of excitement followed, several persons calling out time who had no right to do so, and Bob was actually taken from his second’s knee before the proper time had arrived.

72.—Bob, dreadfully weak, rushed in to close, hung round Jem’s neck, and both went down.

73.—An hour and twenty minutes had now elapsed. Bob made a desperate effort, and cheered on by his seconds, bored in to Jem, who caught him on the nose, and both fell. The water was now exhausted, and Bob had not a drop to wash his mouth with. Still he bore up, and looked round as if still fit for battle. Tom Belcher, with great kindness, gave him a swig from his bottle.

74.—Bob came up all abroad. Jem peppered away, and dropped him.

75 to 77.—All in favour of Jem, who hit away, and dropped his man in good style, although he was greatly exhausted.

78.—It was any odds on Jem, and “Take him away!” was the cry, but “No,” said Dick, “we’ll win it yet.” Bob had a drop of brandy, and was again driven in with desperation. He grappled Jem by the ropes, and, after a short struggle, threw him heavily.

79.—Jem, after this, came up very weak; his head sank on his second’s back, and he seemed much exhausted. The backers of Bob ran to the time-keepers, and loudly called on them to watch the time, while they cheered Bob with the cry, “It’s all your own.” Bob, like an old hound, pricked up his ears, and, on going to the scratch, darted at Jem, bored him back over the ropes, and fell on him. Here was another extraordinary change.

80.—Bob got new life, rushed in, and again threw Jem heavily, with his loins on the ropes, and fell on him. The ring was in an uproar, and Bob’s friends in extasies.

81.—Bob got up from his second’s knee before time was called, as if sure of winning. He rushed in, but fell from his own attempt.

82.—Jem, at the last gasp, stood up to fight, but Bob bored in hit him with the right on the body, closed, and threw him.

83.—Jem came up hardly able to stand. Dick shouted, Bob rushed in, and both went down.

84.—Bob again bored in, hit with his right, and floored Jem. Bob fell with him.

85, and last.—Jem, all but gone, collected his remaining strength, and jobbed slightly with his left. Bob returned, catching him on the front of the head, and Jem fell at the stake, completely doubled up from exhaustion. Belcher tried to bring his man to the scratch, but he could not stand, and “time” being called, Bob was proclaimed the conqueror, in exactly one hour and a half, amidst the warm congratulations of his friends. Jem remained for some time unconscious, while Bob stood up shaking hands with his admirers, and was carried off in triumph. Belcher was, of course, dreadfully mortified. He accused Jem of laziness, for not going in to finish before; and charged the time-keeper with calling time too quickly at last, when Jem was distressed, while he gave additional time to Bob when he most wanted it. This was denied; and, in fact, the irregularities in time-calling, as we have already stated, were not attributable to the time-keeper, but to those who assumed his prerogative, and thereby created much confusion. Some time elapsed before Jem could be removed from the ring, but on comparing punishment, the odds were fearfully against Bob, who, we think, was more punished than in his last battle. His wiry frame, however, added to the uncommon pains taken by Curtis and Ward, brought him through, and, in fact, as it were, he performed a miracle.

REMARKS.—Never was there a fight in which so many extraordinary changes took place. Nor ever was there an event won so completely out of the fire, except the fight between Cooper and Shelton. In speaking critically of the affair, without disparaging the bravery of the men we must pronounce our opinion to be unfavourable to the character of the contest. Bob fought badly. It is true, profiting by experience, he kept his left hand well up, to save his nob from Jem’s right-handed jobs, but in his returns he was irregular and wild, fought round, and with his hands open. He did not hit at points, and, in fact, as far as punishment went, made but little impression; bustle was his motto, and bustle alone gave him the day. Jem Burn fought infinitely better; he hit straight both left and right, but his in-fighting was bad, and he did not make as much of his man as he might in the closes. At the time when Bob was brought to a stand-still, too, he was unable to make an effectual finish. This may be attributed to the disordered state of his hands; but from the distress of his opponent, if he could not hit, he ought to have rushed in and got him down any way, for Bob, at one time, had no notion of protection left. Perhaps his seconds were to blame in not giving him this hint, instead of permitting him, after time was called, to sit upon the knee until Bob made a move. At one time it was a hundred to one in his favour, and yet Bob was suffered to recover, and thus gain those laurels which appeared at an immeasurable distance from his grasp. Looking at the quickness of the fighting, and recollecting that at least 50 minutes were devoted to time, some judgment may be formed of the men’s condition, for it will be seen that 85 rounds were fought in 40 minutes, during which the exertion on both sides was immense. This proves that training had not been neglected, for nothing but the finest physical powers could have stood such a test. There was no standing still, no idle sparring, but all slap-up work. Jem lost the light solely from exhaustion. Nature left him. His frame is not anatomically so well calculated to endure continual work as Bob’s, and thus Nature, and not the want of good milling qualities, lost him the victory. He was weak when he most wanted vigour, for if he could have steadied himself to put in two or three good hits in the middle of the battle, his labours must have been brought to a conclusion. Whatever may have been said of Bob’s game, he, on this occasion, proved himself entitled to every praise. Large sums were dropped by Jem’s friends on the event.

Baldwin, by his defeat of Jem Burn, having turned the tables on one of his adversaries, appeared to think the time had arrived for effecting a similar operation upon another. Accordingly he issued a challenge to Ned Neale for a second trial of skill. The Streatham Youth, ever willing, accepted the proposal, and articles were signed to meet on the 29th of April, 1828, for £200 a-side. The details of this undecided battle, which was interrupted by a magistrate, will be found in Chapter V., under “NEALE,” p. 316.

On the Thursday after the fight Baldwin took a benefit at the Tennis Court. He took the money at the door, was as gay as a lark, and bore but little marks of face punishment. He jestingly remarked that he had “just got half through his job of beating Neale when the beak popped in.” As neither man was satisfied with this unsettled question of superiority, a third match was made, the stakes being increased by £50. Wednesday, the 28th of May, 1828, was agreed upon; as the fight between Jem Ward and Carter was fixed for the Tuesday, both men’s friends, thinking them too good to play second fiddle in a second fight on the same day, shifted the tourney a day forward.

St. Albans was, accordingly, all alive on the Wednesday morning, and before one the gathering round the ring at No Man’s Land amounted to over four figures, including a goodly muster of the Corinthian élite of ring-patrons. Neale first put in an appearance, accompanied by Harry Holt and Dick Curtis as his seconds, Baldwin soon after following suit, attended by Young Dutch Sam and Tom Olion. Betting seven to four on Neale. All being in readiness the men were led to the scratch, shook hands smilingly, and their seconds having retired to their corners, threw up their hands for

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—An opportunity of judging the condition of the men, about which there had been so many rumours, was now given. Neale was a trifle lighter than we have seen him, but looked bright and well, his weight, in all his clothes, being under 12st. 4lbs. Bob was as fine as a star, every muscle in his splendid frame fully developed, his skin fair, his eyes clear, and in every point in first-rate trim. His weight was said to be 12st. 4lbs.; we believe it was a few pounds more. For the first five minutes the men manœuvred steadily, each watching for an opening, and each endeavouring by mutual feints to throw his antagonist off his guard. Both, however, were extremely cautious; and Neale more than once, in jumping back from a threatened attack, displayed great activity. At last Neale, as if impatient of fencing, stepped in, and delivering right and left rapidly, caught Baldwin on the side of his head and on the mouth, drawing first blood from the latter. Bob hit out rather wildly, and closed. In the effort for the fall both were down.

2.—Bob came up smiling, and Ned made himself up for quicker operations. After a short pause he again planted his right and left on his adversary’s nob. Baldwin returned with the left lightly, and closed. Ned grappled for the throw, and chopped him on the back of his head with the right; he then put out his leg for the lock, and threw Baldwin over on his head, falling with him. Five to two on Neale.

3.—On coming up, Neale said, “Fight fair, Bob; don’t push your finger in my eye.” Baldwin nodded, then dropped in his right on Ned’s left side. Ned hit out heavily with his right, but it went over Bob’s shoulder, and some half-arm hitting followed. In the close Baldwin got down easy.

4.—Both began at a quick pace. Slight hits were exchanged, when Bob tried for the fall, but got thrown himself, amid cheers from the Streathamites.

5.—Bob came up laughing, and kept his guard well up. Ned, determined on work, went in left and right. Bob slashed away in the weaving style, but without much effect; in the close Baldwin was thrown, Neale upon him.

6.—No serious marks of punishment as yet. Ned planted a right-handed jobber on Baldwin’s frontispiece, and jumped away. Bob stopped the repetition of the compliment with the left, and then hit short with his left. Ned drew back, but coming again quickly, popped in left and right. He then closed, and some in-fighting followed, in which Ned caught it on the ivories, showing blood on the lips. In the close, both down, Bob falling awkwardly.

7.—Ned lost not a moment in going in, delivering right and left. Bob countered with his left, and in a rally which followed, Ned hit up cleverly, and then threw Bob from him. Bob fought wildly, and not at points, and Neale continued the decided favourite.

8.—Bob hit out resolutely, but Neale jumped away. At length Bob planted slightly on Neale’s smeller, and stopped his return neatly. The latter, after parrying a vicious right-hander, stepped in to mill, and got on heavily with his right. Baldwin fell backward, rather from a slip than a blow.

9.—Ned reached Baldwin’s ear with his right; Bob instantly closed, and catching him round the neck, both were down in a scramble, Neale laughing.

10.—Bob tried right and left on the weaving system, but Neale retreated nimbly. Exchanges, but little done. Baldwin was down in the close.

11.—Neale rushed in and hit Bob on the os frontis with little effect, except on his own knuckles. Bob hit out right and left, and closed. Ned pegged him on the back of the head with the left, and both went down.

12.—Bob stopped Neale’s left, and put in his right once more on Ned’s ribs; Ned returned on his nob, and a wild rally followed, in which heavy blows were exchanged, Bob catching it on the leg. Both down.

13.—Ned put in his left with cutting precision on Bob’s cheek, then popped in his right above the eye, cutting his adversary’s eyebrow, which bled profusely. In the close, he threw Bob a cross-buttock. Offers of ten to one on Neale.

14.—Bob came up game, though evidently shaken by the last fall. Ned was ready, and went in, but Baldwin cleverly stopped his left, and was in turn stopped in his return. Ned went in for in-fighting, and tried to screw up Bob for another cross-buttock, but he was foiled, and both were down together.

15.—Bob stopped Neale’s left neatly, and went in turn for close quarters. Exchanges, in which Bob was cut on the cheek and Neale on the brow. Bob got hold of Neale round the neck and threw him. (Shouts for Baldwin. “It’s all right as yet.”)

16.—Bob short with the left. Ned again missed with both hands, and his man shifted. Bob, in trying for the return, missed, and fell forward.

17.—Ned jobbed with his left, but Baldwin was on the alert, and caught him on the cheek with a counter. Bob then kept out, but Ned would be with him, hit right and left, and forced a rally. Bob fought bravely, though rather wild, and Ned fell.

18.—Ned tried three times unsuccessfully to lead off with the left, Baldwin sparring neatly. At last Neale closed, and gave Baldwin another heavy cross-buttock. (Shouting for Neale.)

19.—Bob, awake, though blowing slightly, stopped Neale’s left. Many blows thrown away on both sides. In the close Baldwin was thrown.

20.—The fight had now lasted thirty minutes. Bob rattled in left and right, but was neatly stopped. Ned pursued the same game, but was more successful. Bob fought with him, but rather wildly; in the close Baldwin was down.

21.—Ned received a sharp hit on the right eye, and retreated. Bob rushed to a rally, and the men fought in the corner of the ring. Neale planted a nobber, and Baldwin went down. A claim was made for Baldwin that Neale hit him with his right when on his knees. The referee said he did not see the blow given, and the men were ordered to “go on.”

22, 23.—Wild fighting on both sides, and both down.

24 to 34.—Similar in character. Each man with slight alternative advantage, and each in turn distressed, and fighting on the defensive to recover.

35.—Bob rushed in hand over hand, and was met by Neale with a flush hit, and fell. Ned’s hand was uplifted, but he withheld the blow, and walked to his corner. (Applause.)

36.—Science seemed to be disregarded on both sides. The men went in weaving right and left, each determined to make a turn. At length Baldwin was down, Neale on him.

37.—Forty-five minutes had now elapsed, and Neale was favourite at two to one. The latter hit down Bob with his right.

38, 39, 40.—In all these rounds Neale led off, and Baldwin fell from a blow. In the last-named round there were cries of “Take him away!” from the opponents of Baldwin. Indeed, the proportion of punishment at this time was largely on the side of the White-headed One.

41 to 48.—Much of the same character, but Neale’s blows seemed to lack steam, especially those from his right hand, which was visibly swelled. Bob’s friends saw this, and he went in desperately. In the 47th round Neale fell from his own blow, apparently rather weak. In the 48th Baldwin got in heavily with his left on Neale’s head, who went down.

49 to 54.—Anybody’s battle. Baldwin now the stronger man, though Neale yet fought best at points. In the 54th round Neale was hit on the nose, but returned the blow with interest, Bob slipping on his knees. In this position Neale hit him on the side of the head. There were cries of “Foul!” and an appeal, but as Baldwin had his hands up it was not allowed.

55.—Great confusion round the ring, and loud shouting for Baldwin. Ned planted his puffy right hand without much effect, and continued to weave away. Both down.

56.—Neale rushed in, but was evidently unsteady. He missed both hands; both went down.

57.—Neale groggy, Bob regaining strength. Ned went in as before, and a rally ended by both rolling over.

58–63.—Wild but courageous fighting. In the 61st round Bob rushed in like a lion. Neale met him cleverly with an up-hit, but went down from his own blow, greatly distressed. In the 63rd Ned fell from a heavy body blow, Baldwin on him. (“It’s all over!” from Bob’s friends.)

64.—Neale guarded his ribs and head steadily, making some good stops, but Baldwin bored in; Ned could not keep him out, and was hit in the body and thrown, Baldwin falling over him. (Shouts for Baldwin.)

65.—Neale planted his left, but Bob hit with him, gave him a rib-bender with the right, and finally hit him down. (“It’s all over, Neale’s beaten!” was the cry.)

66, and last.—Neale came to time greatly distressed; Bob was loudly called on, and as he came in met him with a right-hander in the mark, and poor Ned fell heavily. This was the coup de grace. On Neale being lifted on his second’s knee his head dropped, and he became perfectly insensible. On “time” being called Baldwin was saluted as victor of the hard-fought field. Both men were reconducted to St. Albans, where they were carefully attended to. Neale, whose condition was certainly the worst, complaining chiefly of pain from the body blows he received, and the disablement of his right hand. The fight lasted one hour and eleven minutes.

REMARKS.—By this victory Baldwin placed himself on the topmost round of the ladder as a game, enduring, and resolute boxer, while Neale’s superior art, activity, and precision all but balanced Baldwin’s advantages in weight, strength, and stamina. It was an heroic battle, and either of the men at different changes of the well-fought fight might have resigned the prize without discredit to his courage or his honour. Indeed, more than once a scrupulously strict time-keeper might have called on one or other of the men with fatal result to his chance of success. A fairer or better ring, and more fair-play principle in those surrounding it, have seldom been seen of late.

Baldwin and Neale both showed on the following Tuesday, when White-headed Bob took a benefit at the Tennis Court. Considering the severity of the contest, both men looked well—a satisfactory proof of their excellent condition, and of the effects of careful training.

This was Baldwin’s last encounter in the P.R. By the assistance of his aristocratic patrons he became host of the “Coach and Horses,” St. Martin’s Lane, afterwards kept by Ben Caunt. Baldwin was a free liver, and his position one of temptation, which he was by constitution and temperament by no means inclined to resist. He died at his house in October, 1831, aged twenty-eight years, from an inflammatory attack, after a short illness.

CHAPTER VIII. SAMUEL EVANS (“YOUNG DUTCH SAM”)—1825–1834.

Among the town celebrities of the second quarter of the nineteenth century the subject of this memoir held a prominent place. His immediate and personal intimacy as boon companion or “pal” of a certain notorious marquis, and an earl whose career, while “sowing their wild oats,” savoured rather of the early days of the Regency than those of Queen Victoria, brought him too often before the public. Indeed, the nature of the associations into which he was thus unfortunately thrown, acting upon a volatile and reckless disposition, led him into excesses which destroyed a fine constitution, prevented his availing himself of more than one opportunity of achieving competence and a fair social position, and finally consigned him to a premature grave. In the ensuing pages, however, we shall chiefly deal with Young Dutch Sam as a public demonstrator of the art of self-defence, and as one whose biography furnishes an illustrative chapter in the history of the Ring.

Samuel Evans, deservedly distinguished as “the Phenomenon,” was born in Wells Street, Ratcliff Highway, on the 30th of January, 1808. He was descended from a sire whose fame as a professional boxer the son did no discredit. The battles of Samuel Elias, in his day also dubbed “the Phenomenon,” will be found in our first volume. Sam’s earlier years, from all that we have gathered from his own lips and his intimates, were spent in the same “university” which another famous “Samuel” (not Johnson, but Weller) declares to be the “best for sharpening the intellect” of the youth who may chance to be subjected to its rough discipline. The traditions of Rosemary Lane, now itself swept into what Thomas Carlyle calls “the dustbin of the past,” were once rife with reminiscences of the intuitive fistic skill and the marvellous mastery of milling manœuvres displayed by “Young Sam,” in many an encounter with the pugnacious progeny of the “peoplesh,” who once populated that inodorous but sweetly named thoroughfare, renowned for the “ancient and (fried) fish-like smell” of its edibles, and the yet more fusty emanations of its clobbered and thrice-renovated garments.

Thus Sam fought his way upwards in the rude “battle of life” until his sire “shuffled off this mortal coil” in the month of July, 1816, when Sam appears to have been thrown upon his own resources. Sam was evidently a precocious youth, for in his fifteenth year, if we take Pierce Egan’s account, he was following the employment of a baker, when his associate in dough, one Bill Dean, a chap with some milling pretensions, threatened to serve out Young Sam for some trifling fault. This brought forth the father’s blood in his veins, and in emulation of his warlike sire, he challenged Dean out to fight early the next morning; but old Burntcrust, his master, locked Sam up in his bedroom to prevent the mill. Sam, however, in defiance of bolts and bars, got out of the garret window, scrambled over the tiles of several houses, found his way into a strange house, ran down the stairs, ultimately into the street, and met Bill Dean at the appointed place, Kennington Common, when the battle commenced without delay. In the course of four rounds Young Sam played his part so well that Dean would not fight any longer, gammoning it, as was supposed, that his thumb was out of joint.

Dean was not exactly satisfied with this first battle, and, after several quarrels, a second match was agreed upon, Sam fighting Dean for three half-crowns to two. This mill was also decided upon Kennington Common, Tom Cooper and Spencer acting as seconds for Young Sam, a fact which shows that “the Young Dutchman” was already an associate, if not a member, of the P.R. Dean “screwed his courage to the sticking-place,” and fought well for three-quarters of an hour; but finding the chance was against him, he declared his knee was injured, and he would fight no more. Sam was loudly applauded by the spectators for the pluck and science he had displayed throughout the battle.

Soon after this affair our hero migrated westward, leaving the “dead men” of the east, and becoming an apprentice at case in the office of Mr. Charles Baldwin, in the Crescent, Blackfriars, on the very spot now occupied by the Ludgate Terminus of the London, Chatham, and Dover Railway. Sam had scarcely taken his initiatory lessons in the mystery of a typo when he got into a fracas with the peripatetic potman of the neighbouring public, which supplied the printing-office with beer and other alcoholic stimulants. The purveyor of heavy wet had with him a pair of gloves, and he and the youthful Sam (we had this from his own lips) at first began to spar “in fun,” for the entertainment of such of the compositors as were taking their midday meal beneath their “frames” and on the “stone” from pressure of business. The publican and sinner was short-tempered as well as conceited, and Sam having “pinked him” more than once on his prominent proboscis, the gin-spinner’s deputy threw off the mufflers, let go right and left viciously, and “went in” in earnest. He was a strong fellow, a stone, or perhaps two, heavier than the youthful Sam, but the Young ’Un retreated milling, and popping in “teazers” all along the passage and out into the short street, when, after half an hour’s fighting, from Apothecaries Hall to Bridewell, Mr. Gin-and-Bitters cried, “Hold, enough!” In the opinion of Mr. Charles Baldwin’s overseer, however, Sam’s skill in “setting-to” did not seem to compensate for his deficiencies in skill in “setting up,” and our hero was soon after a “gentleman at large.”

Released from the confinement of a printing-office, Sam turned his attention to selling newspapers instead of setting them up. In this vocation he became known to Pierce Egan, and with his natural predilection for sporting, Sam took up the supply of his sporting paper to sporting houses. It must be remembered that newspapers were then costly articles—the Dispatch, Bell’s Life, and Pierce Egan’s Life in London being 7d. to 8½d. per copy, and the trade profit proportionate.

About this time, also, Young Sam obtained an introduction to Mr. John Jackson, Captain Dudley, and other amateurs of distinction, whose judgment of the pretensions of the young aspirant for fistic fame was decidedly favourable. London then teemed with “professors” of the noble art, and among them one known as Jack Poulton, of the Mint, opened a school in that classic locality “to teach the young idea how to shoot” straight from the shoulder. Sam was “planted” on the-rough-and-ready Southwark bruiser as a lad who wanted improving. The result was comical to all but the “professor.” Sam stopped him, got away, nobbed him as he came in, and so completely bothered the soi-disant “professor” that he threw down the gloves, and never again showed as the principal of an academy. At this period, Pierce Egan says of him: “On comparing likenesses, it is the general opinion that the Young ’Un’s countenance does not possess the fine-spirited animation of the late renowned Dutch Sam’s face, yet the resemblance was admitted to be genuine, allowing for the difference between youth and age, and the want of large whiskers. The sparklers of the Young ’Un, if not partaking (? possessing) the penetrating look of the once Phenomenon of the P.R., nevertheless gave Young Sam’s nob a lively appearance throughout the battle. Our hero is in height five feet eight inches and three-quarters, weighing ten stone and a half, and generally considered a fine-grown young man.”

Soon after Sam’s introduction to the sporting world, his friends were so satisfied with his abilities as a sparrer that they matched him, as a trial, against Jack Lenney (the Cowboy), a boxer who had won three ring fights, but had surrendered to the “Pet of the Fancy,” Dick Curtis. Monday, the 28th of March, 1825, was named as the day, and the Old Barge House, opposite Woolwich, as the battle-field. Young Sam showed at the scratch, his “soul in arms, and eager for the fray,” but no Cowboy came in sight. It was reported he was locked up in town, so the Young ’Un claimed and pocketed the stakes (£25), without a struggle for the prize. About this time Sam, while in training at Tom Shelton’s house at Walton, in Surrey, made the acquaintance of the scientific Dick Curtis, an acquaintance that soon ripened into a warm friendship. Dick’s report to Hughes Ball, Esq. of Sam’s capabilities led to a glove exhibition before that gentleman and his friends at Combe Park (when Dick gave his opinion that the “novice” must beat Lenney), and the subsequent patronage of “The Golden Ball,” one of the notabilities of the Fourth George’s reign.

Sam declared himself much disappointed, and possessing the utmost confidence in his powers, he soon found an opening for a public début.

On Tuesday, July 5th, 1825, after White-headed Bob (see Life of BALDWIN, ante, p. 342) had defeated the game George Cooper at Knowle Hill, Berks, Young Sam made his first bow in the Prize Ring, as the opponent of Ned Stockman, for a purse of twenty pounds. Stockman was well known to the Fancy as “the Lively Kid,” and, in addition to several victories, had beaten Harry Jones (the Sailor Boy, 10st.) three times, and lately defeated Raines. The general idea was that Sam was too much of a novice and too boyish to defeat so experienced and crafty a boxer as Stockman, who was therefore backed freely at six to four, and at setting-to at two to one. On this occasion Sam was waited upon by two East-End friends, Dick Curtis and Josh Hudson, the John Bull Fighter. Stockman had the attentions of Harry Holt and Dick Acton. The colours, a canary-yellow for Sam and a blue bird’s-eye for Stockman, being tied to the stakes, the men shook hands and stood up for

THE FIGHT

Round 1.—Sam was not only in excellent condition, but appeared the better man of the two, as he had length and weight over his opponent. Stockman soon perceived he had reach against him, and did all he could to get between the guard of Sam, but in vain. Stockman, determined on mischief, let fly, but Sam stopped him with perfect ease, and returned with advantage. In a sharp rally Sam hit his opponent so neatly as to call forth the admiration of the ring; be also adopted Cribb’s favourite mode of milling on the retreat, and jobbed Stockman’s nose repeatedly, till he went down. (Immense applause. “This,” said Josh, patting Sam on his back, “is not a chip of the old block, it’s Old Sam himself. He’ll win, for £100.”)

2.—Stockman, full of gaiety, came to the scratch, and in a resolute manner tried to find out a soft place on Sam’s head, but it was “no go.” Sam sent down his opponent by a rattling hit with the left in the neck. (Thunders of approbation; and “Here’s a Shiloh for Duke’s Place! Here’s the pink of Petticoat Lane!”)

3.—This round, at this early stage of the battle, decided victory in favour of Young Sam. He jobbed Stockman all over the ring; in fact, the nob of Stockman was a mere drum to the hands of Sam. The latter finally floored his opponent. The Sheenies, who always claimed the Dutchman, were uproarious in the praise of Sam. (“Vat a nishe boy! Vat a shweet hitter! Isn’t he like ish fader!”)

4.—Stockman positively had not a shadow of chance, and if he planted one blow he got five in return. The jobbing system was resorted to by Sam, and in closing at the ropes he held Stockman in his left arm, and with his right hand he nobbed him in the Randall style, ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto, and ditto, till Stockman went down quite bothered, amidst the loudest applause ever heard in the Prize Ring.

5.—The length of Sam, his steady guard, and his confidence, prevented Stockman from placing any hits with effect. Stockman, after the receipt of several blows, went down on his knees; but Sam held up his hands, smiled, and walked away. “That’s right Sam; he only wants a foul blow.”

6.—We never saw Stockman so much at a loss before; he was nobbed with the utmost ease by his opponent, and fibbed tremendously till he went down.

7.—Sam stopped the rush of Stockman, hit him as he liked, till Stockman dropped. Two to one, but no takers.

8.—Stockman might have resigned the contest—every round was against him. The left hand of Sam was continually in his face, when with a heavy blow Stockman was floored. Three to one.

9.—Stockman countered well, but Sam got out of the way of punishment with the skill of an old general. Stockman received a staggering hit, and a repeated blow sent him down.

10.—This was a good round. Fine science was exhibited on both sides, till Sam sent Stockman down on his knees. Sam raised his hand. (“Be careful,” said Josh, “we won’t have it that way at all, Sam; mind, don’t be caught for a foul blow!”)

11.—“Move your feet in and out,” said Curtis; “but it is all your own.” Stockman made a good stop, and also put in a heavy blow on Sam’s throat. In closing both down. Any odds against Stockman, but shy of taking.

12.—Stockman went down on his knees from a hit, but Sam held up his hands, and walked away. Applause.

13.—Stockman put down his hands, and appeared to wish the battle was at an end. Sam planted a tremendous blow bang in the middle of his opponent’s head; Stockman’s eyes flashed fire, he was quite abroad, and went down completely exhausted. Ten to one laid and taken.

14.—The battle nearly over; by way of a finish, Sam caught hold of Stockman and fibbed him down. The Jews in rapture on beholding the talents of Dutch Sam the second.

15.—It was all U P.; Stockman, groggy as a Jack Tar three sheets in the wind, was sent down before he was scarcely at the scratch.

16.—Stockman still showed fight, but he was met by Sam on going in, when he fell on his knees, but he instantly got up, and with much fury rushed in to mill Sam. The latter, however, floored him like a shot.

17. and last.—Sam had it completely his own way, till Stockman went down. While sitting on his second’s knee he hinted that he had enough—if not too much. Sam was hailed the winner in thirty-six minutes and a half.

REMARKS.—The “Downy Ones” were completely thrown out, as the non-favourite proved victorious. Stockman did all he knew to win; but he could not get at his opponent. Sam was completely his master in every point of view; in fact, he felt so surprised on being declared the conqueror that he exclaimed: “Is it all over? Why, I’m not hurt in the least; I could fight an hour longer.” Stockman, on being taken out of the ring, was quite exhausted, and insensible for a short period. Young Sam was positively without a visible scratch.

Young Sam was now welcomed as the true son of the Phenomenon of the Prize Ring, entering eagerly on a life of gaiety which must impair the stamina of an athlete. Dick Curtis, too, selected him as his partner in public sparring exhibitions. At this period it was the fashion to illustrate the art of self-defence at the theatres, and more especially upon the stages of the transpontine houses. Dick Curtis and Young Dutch Sam figure frequently in the playbills of this period, and he showed off his graceful and effective style with much éclat behind the footlights of the Surrey, Coburg (now Victoria), and Royalty Theatres, and at the Sanspareil, in Catherine Street, Strand.

Sam was not long allowed to be idle. Harry Jones, the Sailor Boy, offered himself to his notice, and a match was made for £25 a-side.

This battle was decided at Shere Mere, on the borders of Bedfordshire, on Tuesday, the 18th of October, 1825. Jones was backed for this event in consequence of his being said to have had the best of Sam in a sparring match at the Jacob’s Well, Barbican. The odds, nevertheless, were against Jones, six to four, and in several instances two to one, and some persons even ventured to lay three to one on the ground. Sam was attended by Dick and George Curtis, and Jones by Goodman and Reid. The Young One had the length of his opponent, but Jones showed most muscle and strength, and also the best condition. Two to one on setting-to in favour of Sam.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Caution was the order of the day on both sides—Sam on the look-out, and the Sailor Boy equally leary to guard against squalls. Sam tried all the manœuvres he was master of to do summat, but Jones, who had a good knowledge of milling, was not to be had. Some minutes elapsed and nothing was done, until the Sailor Boy rushed in to work. He made a hit with his left hand on Sam’s cheek, and closed. The weaving system was now adopted; Sam was thrown; and the Sailor Boy fell on the young Israelite. (“Well done, Jones!”)

2.—Jones cleverly stopped Sam’s left hand; sparring for advantages; and Sam hit short. The Sailor Boy, eager for work, went boldly up to his adversary, and planted a right-handed hit on Sam’s nob. A sharp rally of give and take occurred. In closing, the Young One received a cross-buttock, and Jones fell heavily on his opponent.—(“Bravo, Jones! that’s the way to win.”)

3.—Jones hit short, being too eager to make play; however, he soon made up for it, by planting a heavy blow on Sam’s cheek. In closing, the pepper-box was handed from one to the other, the Sailor Boy fighting at the nob, while his opponent was hammering at the body. The round was finished by Jones getting down as well as he could, Sam keeping on his pins.

4.—The Young One did not show anything like the superiority he exhibited in the fight with Stockman. The claret was running down from Sam’s mouth, while, on the contrary, the Sailor Boy looked none the worse for his engagement. Sam’s mouth was open, rather piping. Jones, with excellent skill, stopped a heavy left-handed blow of Sam’s. In fact, considerable science was displayed by both combatants, till Jones rushed in to mill; sharp counter-hitting; in closing, the pepper-box was in full use until they separated. Another sharp rally took place, when the Sailor Boy went down.

5.—This was a prime round; and the fighting was excellent on both sides. Sam’s peeper napped a rum one from Jones—the Sailor Boy repeated the dose. (Great applause; and “He’ll win it!”) Sam was also bored down at one corner of the ring.

6.—The Sailor Boy appeared as fresh as when he commenced the battle. Sam’s condition was not satisfactory. He sparred, and looked anxious. The Sailor Boy appeared quite up to the movements of Sam, and would not be decoyed from his mode of fighting by the stratagems of the young Israelite. Severe counter-hits, which told on both sides. Jones, however, received a heavy one on his listener as he was going down.

7.—A long fighting round, and Harry as good as Sam. A sharp rally, and mischief in it. The Sailor Boy broke ground, but soon returned to his adversary, laid hold of him by the body, and sent him down in an ugly manner. (“Well done, Jones—you can’t lose it!”)

8.—Sam’s left hand was stopped by Jones; still the former persevered till he made a good hit. Sharp counter-hitting; rather too hot for Jones, so he retreated; nevertheless he returned to the charge in a passion, and planted a flush hit on the young Israelite’s face. Jones ultimately went down.

9.—The upper works of Sam napped a little one; and Jones got away laughing. A severe rally; give and take without flinching. Sam tried milling on the retreat, was successful, and the Sailor Boy slipped down.

10.—This round was decidedly in favour of the Sailor Boy. The latter began his work without delay; and Sam slipped down by accident, receiving a heavy hit on his conk; but, like a trump, he jumped up and slashed away without ceremony. The Sailor Boy drove him to the ropes. Sam adopted the weaving system, but not with effect; the Sailor Boy hung upon his neck, till both went down.

11.—The Sailor Boy was a dangerous customer. He planted a heavy blow with his left hand—then boldly went up to his opponent, and caught him round his neck—it was then blow for hit, till Sam was thrown. (Lots of applause for the Sailor Boy.)

12.—The chaffing-box of Sam received rather an ugly thump from Jones; but Sam was determined to be with him, cutting the skin of his eyebrow like a knife, the claret following. Good milling, till Jones seemed a little abroad, and pulled Sam down.

13.—Jones parried well; and in a sharp rally the Sailor Boy was extremely active. Sam was cautious, but kept milling with his opponent. Ultimately Jones went down.

14.—The young Israelite appeared distressed, and also exhibited marks of punishment. The blows of Sam, at this period, seemed to have but little effect on Jones. The Sailor Boy again parried the hitting of his opponent with much skill; but he bored in, and caught hold of his adversary round his neck. Sam, in order to extricate himself, fibbed his opponent, and at length got away. Jones went down.

15.—Severe counter-hitting, after which, Jones bored Sam to the ropes. It was expected the Sailor Boy would have done some mischief, but after a little struggling he went down.

16.—Jones planted a sharp facer with his left, but the young Israelite, in return, jobbed him with his right. A rally, of no long duration; and in closing Sam was thrown.

17.—The Sailor Boy planted several hits, after which he bored in with his head down, in order to escape milling. A struggle for the throw, when Jones got down anyhow. (“I don’t like that,” observed an Old Ringgoer; “he’s going to cut it.”)

18, and last.—Sam came up to the scratch quite gay; and the Sailor Boy was lively to all appearance. After some sparring, Sam planted a blow on the right side of his opponent’s nob, and he fell on his back. It did not appear by any means a finishing blow, and the amateurs did not like it. When time was called, the Sailor Boy was deaf to it; and Young Sam was declared the conqueror. The battle was over in fifty-three minutes.

REMARKS.—There is nothing new in the Sailor Boy’s cutting it: in several of his battles he has done the same thing, when the amateurs have been perfectly satisfied that he had the best of it. It was exactly the same sort of thing in his last battle with Stockman. He showed himself decidedly the best fighter, and was also the strongest man. In truth, when he had got his clothes on, he was very little the worse for milling! The blows of Sam were more showy than effective, and his hits were trifling on the nob of Jones, compared to the style with which he finished off Stockman. To sum up the matter, it was the opinion of the majority of persons present that Jones, although a good fighter, a strong chap, and capable of doing severe execution, by the manner of his giving in, showed the “white feather” most unmistakably.

Sam’s defeat of Harry Jones did not add much to his reputation; but he was soon matched with Tom Cooper, the Gipsy, for £30 a-side. This battle was decided on Tuesday, the 25th of April, 1826, at Grays, in Essex, nearly opposite Gravesend, twenty miles from London by road.

It would be wrong to state that the road was covered with amateurs on the appointed Tuesday; nevertheless, the “Old Ring-goers” were in motion at an early hour, and a good muster of the Fancy, in gigs and other vehicles, were trotting over the ground, to arrive in time at the scene of action. Tom Cooper, by his manly behaviour in a turn-up with Bishop Sharpe, which continued for twenty minutes and upwards, was viewed as an opponent likely to test the “staying capabilities” of the Young ’Un. Nevertheless, the betting was decidedly in favour of Sam, six and seven to four. The ring was formed in a field near the Thames, in a most delightful spot; the ships in the river added to the picturesque effect. The ride from London was truly charming. At one o’clock the combatants entered the ring, Dutch Sam attended by Dick Curtis and Harry Holt, and Cooper waited upon by Jem Ward and his brother Jack Cooper. After the hands were crossed together in friendship, the men made their toilets, and in a few minutes set to.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Sam looked well, and the advantages of careful training were perceived in the improvement of his frame. The “Hero of the Bush” was also in good trim; in fact, Cooper is naturally a hardy, wiry sort of chap. Both on the alert, but cautious; and a short time occurred in manœuvring to obtain an opening. At length the Gipsy let fly, and touched Sam’s canister slightly, but the son of the Phenomenon returned a sounder on the body of his opponent with his right. In a rally, counter-hits took place. Sam, however, got away in style; but the Gipsy, anxious to do mischief, again made use of his right hand, when Young Dutchy, with great celerity, planted a second body blow. Sam also, by his skill, bored the Gipsy into a corner, and exhibited his superiority, to the delight of his backers, by using his left and right hands on the index of Cooper, producing the claret, until he went down. (Uproarious shouts of applause for Sam, and two to one offered without the slightest hesitation. “Sam will win in a canter.”)

2.—The blows of the Gipsy were seen on the frame of Sam, but did not appear mischievous. Caution again on both sides; but the Gipsy, always fond of slashing, used his left hand with success on Sam’s head. Dutchy, like a good one, and master of his art, took the lead, went in, and punished the nob of his opponent like fun. The Gipsy did not like it, but kept fighting as he was retreating from danger. A sharp rally, and milling on both sides. Sam, perceiving that he could go in without much danger, again drove his antagonist to the ropes, where the Gipsy, rather tired, went down. (“It’s as right as the day!” said the Pet of the Fancy; “we shall win without any trouble.” “Sam for a hundred.”)

3.—The mug of the “Hero of the Bush” was now the worse for fighting, but his pluck was as good as ever, and mischief seemed his object, by his slashing away at his adversary. Random shots seldom tell, and so it turned out for the Gipsy. Sam took advantage of this sort of wildness, and put in a conker so sharp that Cooper was quite mad, rushed in to work, helter-skelter, and planted a severe blow under Sam’s right ogle, which produced the claret. (“Capital!” from the friends of Cooper; “another like that, and summat will soon be the matter!”) Young Dutchy, as gay as a lark, returned the compliment by two severe hits, and as a sort of tie-up to the round, sent his opponent headlong on the turf. (“Dat’s de vay!” from the Sheenies; “Vat a peautiful hitter! Dat’s vat he ish, my dears! He’s an article not to be shold for his vally!”)

4.—The coolness displayed by Sam, as well as his superiority as a boxer, satisfied the judges he must win it, although he had napped a severe one under his left eye, which bled rather copiously. His left mauly was also a tiny bit damaged, and the friends of the Gipsy announced the circumstance with delight and hopes that it was a good chance for their man, who, they said, could last a long time. Sam got away cleverly from a desperate blow, but went in to his opponent, and by a flush hit on his mouth set Cooper’s ivories dancing. The Gipsy, not dismayed, returned on the body. A sharp rally followed, in which Cooper was floored; and Sam, rather weak, reeled against the stake. (Five-and-twenty pounds to ten, but the backers of the Gipsy did not fancy it.)

5.—This was a prime round; and the friends of the Gipsy observed, if he had but commenced the battle as he now fought, the chance might have been in his favour. The Gipsy wildly fought at the body, while Sam (adopting the traits of his master, Curtis, who was at his elbow) kept milling at the head, and doing considerable execution at every hit. Sam also got away from numerous blows; and such was the fine science he exhibited, uniting tremendous punishment, that he nobbed the Gipsy five times, one after the other, and then, by way of a quietus, floored him. (The Sheenies were now roaring in ecstasy, offering any odds on their “peautiful Young Dutch Sam!”)

6.—The courage and resolution of the Gipsy were admired by every one present, but his mode of fighting was wildness instead of science. He trusted much to desperation, and slashed out without looking at his opponent; in a word, he was no marksman. In the hands of a scientific boxer like Young Dutchy he stood no chance. When once kept out with a few nobbers such a fighter becomes an easy prey, and is licked off-hand at the leisure of the cool miller. Thus was the Gipsy disposed of in this round. He napped “divers blows in sundry places,” and was ultimately floored. (Five to one, but no takers.)

7.—The appearance of the Gipsy was considerably altered, but his friends insisted he was now fighting better, and thought they perceived a small turn in his favour. Anxiety and friendship for a man, in addition to backing, too often punishes the pocket of the amateur—he does not view the contest in a proper light. The Gipsy was still mischievous, and a chance blow might win the battle. (“Be on your guard,” said the Pet. “Give nothing away. Be ready for him; he’s coming, wild as an ox.”) Sam waited for his adversary, met him in the head, and in the struggle for the throw both went down.

8.—In this early stage of the battle it was a guinea to a dump as to the best fighter. Sam did as he pleased, as a superior tactician, and finished this round in great style by a flooring hit. Any odds.

9.—The Gipsy was piping, all abroad, and of little use, with his index out of shape. He was also fatigued, yet he went to work desperately, in order to obtain something like a chance in his favour. It, however, was “no go.” The wildness of the Gipsy was fast leaving him; and the jobbers he received at every turn rendered him nearly stupid. He was hit down distressed.

10.—It was “bellows to mend” with Cooper—in addition to which, Sam’s fists were never out of his face until he was floored. (Thirty to ten. “Take him away; he can’t win it.”)

11.—The Gipsy in this round endeavoured to hit up, which, if it had told upon Sam’s nose, might have been dangerous. But he was punished severely, and in endeavouring to make a return Cooper fell exhausted.

12.—The Gipsy was nearly done over, but he was gay, fought like a man, and contended till he went down. (“Take him away.”)

13.—Wildness and mischief was still the tactics of Cooper, but it was all up with him as to victory. Sam planted his hits as safely as if he had been attacking a dead mark. The Gipsy down.

14.—Cooper was now so distressed that all the champagne in Charley Wright’s extensive cellars—successful as it is in most cases towards recruiting drooping spirits—would have proved of no use towards renovating the strength of the defeated Gipsy. He was severely punished till he went down like a log of wood. (“Pray take the brave fellow away!”)

15, and last.—All things have an end, and the Gipsy was compelled to submit to defeat. Like a drowning man that catches at a straw, Cooper made a desperate rush as his last effort. But Sam finished his opponent by a tremendous blow on the nose as he was falling forward, which deprived him of his senses. When time was called the Gipsy was deaf to it, and Sam was declared the winner. The Young ’Un left the ring little the worse for the combat, excepting his hands, which were much swelled. The Gipsy did not open his eyes for several minutes, when he was not only carried out of the ring, but also to the nearest public-house. In fact, Cooper could not stand. The battle was over in thirty-eight minutes.

REMARKS.—Sam not only proved himself worthy the confidence of his backers, but he raised himself a step higher in the sporting world by his victory over Tom Cooper. He won the battle like a master of his art. His coolness was admirable. He was perfectly prepared at all points, and he met his man with all the skill of an experienced warrior. Cooper did not disgrace himself by this defeat, but he ought to have paid more attention to science. His mode of fighting may suddenly dispose of ugly commoners in a street row, but with a skilful pugilist, when desperation is stopped, the chance is gone, and it is a heart-broken attempt to retrieve the day.

At Ascot Races, on Thursday, June 8th, 1826, after His Majesty (Geo. IV.) had left the ground, a subscription purse of £50 was subscribed for a fight. Sam, determined not to let a chance pass him, entered the lists.

This mill was patronised by some swells of the first order, £50 being collected in the Royal Stand with little difficulty, and great interest was manifested by the spectators when Young Sam was announced as prepared to contend for the prize-money. It will be observed that only six weeks had elapsed since his last fight, and Sam’s hands were said to be somewhat damaged. His opponent, Bill Carroll, was a good man. He was seconded by M’Kenzie and Lenney; and Sam was handled by Dick Curtis and Barney Aaron. Sam took the lead, at two to one, till the tenth round, when he received a severe cross-buttock. This circumstance rather alarmed his friends; but he soon recovered from its effects, and finished off his man in a canter, in sixteen rounds, occupying thirty minutes. The Duke of Wellington was present during the fight, and subscribed £30 towards the stakes, and to a purse for the losing man.

From the great improvement exhibited by Sam, not only in his person, but his knowledge of milling, he was matched, without hesitation, against Jack Cooper, known as the Slashing Gipsy, for £50. This contest was decided upon a stage, on Tuesday, February 27th, 1827, at Andover, after Dick Curtis had defeated Barney Aaron. The Gipsy, attended by Jem Ward and Mr. Nathan, ascended the stage, and Dutch Sam was waited upon by his faithful friends Josh Hudson and Dick Curtis. The appearance of the latter hero as Sam’s second excited general surprise. Curtis said, “Gentlemen, a bet was laid me, ten pounds to one, that I did not win the fight and second Young Dutch Sam. I believe,” said he, laughing, “I shall win both events.” The combatants appeared in excellent condition; Sam seemed lively as a dancing-master, and full of confidence. The Gipsy’s mahogany mug bore a smile of triumph as, after shaking hands, the men set to.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Sam did not exhibit the determined character of his late sire, who was considered the hardest hitter of his time. Young Sam stepped in and out exactly after the lively manner of Curtis, and he also held up his hands like that great master of the art of self-defence. The Pet is a model for all boxers; and Uncle Ben (Burn) publicly expressed his regret that his Nevvy Jem was not at Andover, to have taken a lesson from the battle between Curtis and Aaron. Sam endeavoured to make a hit, after long sparring; but the Gipsy got away from mischief. A precious long pause, and both upon the watching system; at length the Gipsy went in hand over head, and planted a heavy blow on the left arm of Sam, which left its mark. (“I say, governor,” observed an old ring-goer, “if that there hit had knocked at the door of Sam’s victualling office, summat would have been the matter.”) Sam, on the alert, got away from another random shot. The Gipsy followed Sam all over the stage, but gained nothing by his bustling system. The Young One planted a facer; an exchange of blows was made, but Sam had the best of it. In closing, the strength of the Gipsy prevailed, and Sam went down upon his knees.

2.—This was a long round, Sam taking his time to punish his opponent. After several pauses, feints, and other manœuvres, Sam gave a facer which produced “first blood.” The Gipsy, rather wild, rushed in and planted a body blow; but it was a chance hit. Sam, upon the whole, was too leary for his opponent, and having Curtis at his elbow might be considered three points in his favour. He nobbed the Gipsy frequently, without any return. The long space of twenty-five minutes elapsed before this round was finished. In struggling for the throw, both down, the Gipsy undermost. Sam for £100.

3.—The Gipsy, at times, stopped well; but in general he had little discretion about his hitting; he, however, planted a body blow. Sam kept out of mischief with considerable skill, every now and then planting facers, which put the Gipsy out of temper—nay, made him so wild that he rushed in like a bull, and by a sort of scrambling pull, he got the Young One down; five and six to four on Sam.

4.—Had Sam been a punishing hitter, the numerous blows which the Gipsy had received upon his mug must have reduced the fight at this period to a complete certainty, and also short in its duration. Cooper is always a dangerous customer, and his scrambling hits may win a fight. Sam, aware of this feature belonging to the Gipsy, kept out of harm’s way with considerable talent, nobbing the Bush Cove at his leisure. The Gipsy’s mug was bleeding profusely, and in rushing in to do mischief, he ran himself down weak.

5.—This was a long round, but the Gipsy, although desperate at times, could not turn the fight in his favour. The face of Sam did not exhibit punishment. It is but right to observe that Cooper stopped several well-meant blows; but he fought open-handed, and missed numerous hits. If he had measured his distance properly, another account might, perhaps, have been given of the battle. The face of the Gipsy was bleeding in every direction, and he did his utmost to win. In struggling for the throw Sam undermost.

6.—“You need not be in a hurry, Sam,” said Dick, “you are sure to win it; he’s about cutting it now. It is £100 to a kick of the rump.” Sam planted a facer that sent the Gipsy staggering, but he returned to the charge, and fought desperately. In closing Sam fibbed Cooper down. Six to one upon Sam, and “Take him away! He’s of no use!”

7.—The Gipsy, quite abroad, ran at his opponent like a madman, receiving facers at every step; nevertheless, he bustled Sam about, who appeared a little distressed. In closing the Gipsy again napped it severely, and went down, covered with claret. (“Take him away!”)

8.—Strange to say, the Gipsy answered the call of time with alacrity. He also made two good stops. (“Bravo, Gipsy! you behave like a brave fellow!”) Sam now had nothing to do but wait for the rush of his opponent and nob him with ease and certainty. The Gipsy was again punished severely till he went down. (“It is all up now! ten pounds to a crown he does not toe the scratch again! Take him away!”)

9, and last.—The Gipsy, however, showed fight, and proved himself a much gamer man than his friends had anticipated. But he only stood up to receive. Sam milled him down without ceremony. The Gipsy would again have answered the call of time. He was game enough to have had another round, but his backer humanely interfered, and said “he should fight no more.” The battle continued for one hour three minutes and a half. It is impossible to describe the joy felt by Sam; he performed some regular dancing steps in the ring on being declared the winner.

REMARKS.—Sam is an improving fighter; and if he can but add force to his blows, bids fairly for the highest honours of the P.R. He left the ring without a mark upon his face, and no casual observer could have told that he had been engaged in a battle. The face of the Gipsy exhibited severe punishment. Jack Cooper never took anything like such a licking before. He did his best to win, and the bravest could not have done more. Sam is anxious to get higher on the pugilistic list; and if he can find friends to back him, expresses no hesitation to fight Bishop Sharpe. We should say, upon this point, to him, “Be bold, but not too bold!” But the Young One, perhaps, knows best what he is about. He asserts that he fancies “the Bishop” as a customer in preference to any other boxer in the Ring.

In the days of old “the road to the fight” was one of the features of sporting life, nor was the “return from the fight” made without its vicissitudes. On this occasion the sudden alteration in the weather, and the overwhelming showers of rain, rendered the roads almost impassable between Andover and Basingstoke, and the men and horses were beaten to a stand-still. But “it is an ill wind that blows no one any good,” and the “Wheatsheaf Inn,” at Virginia Water, was not neglected either in the journey from or return to London. A good larder, excellent tipple, prime beds, and moderate charges are sure recommendations to the sporting world; and here many of the London division rested for the night. Curtis and Sam arrived in town on Wednesday night, with full pockets, and amidst hearty greetings. Before he left Andover for London, Sam called upon the Gipsy, and made him a present of two sovereigns.

On Thursday, March 1st, 1827, Young Dutch Sam took his benefit at the Tennis Court, and was well supported. The sets-to generally went good, the wind-up by Young Sam and Ned Stockman. Sam was as gay as a lark, fresh as a four-year-old, and quite ready for another mill. Stockman stood up well against his clever adversary; but Sam had decidedly the best of the bout. Curtis also appeared at the Court, and was congratulated by his numerous friends upon his recent conquest over Aaron. His face was considerably swollen, and the handiwork of Barney evident. The Star of the East also showed himself. Barney’s peepers were completely in mourning; his mouth also damaged, and he complained of soreness of his throat. He was quite cheerful, consoling himself that he had done his duty like a brave and honest man.

The Gipsy did not exhibit much punishment—his head was rather out of shape—a proof that Sam was not so hard a hitter as the Pet. Sam himself had no visible signs of recent fighting about his nob; his face was entirely free from marks. He returned thanks for the support he had received, and hoped he had given his friends satisfaction.

Dick Davis, the “Pet of Manchester,” stood so high in the provincial Fancy, from his repeated conquests, that the patrons of boxing in Manchester were determined Davis should have a shy in the London Ring. He was accordingly matched with Young Sam for £100 a-side. This battle was decided on Tuesday, June 19th, 1827, near Stony Stratford. The journey was rather too long for the cockneys, being nearly sixty miles from the sound of Bow bells; as it is also one hundred and twenty-nine miles from Manchester, it was also above a joke for the Manchester lads to leave their homes. Therefore the muster of the Fancy was but thin at Stony Stratford, although the battle between Sam and Davis excited considerable interest among the lovers of boxing, both in town and country. Davis was a native of Lancashire, and twenty-eight years of age. He was employed in Mr. Peel’s iron foundry, at Manchester, as a moulder—in height about five feet six inches and a quarter, weighing ten stone twelve pounds. Davis, by his numerous victories, stood high as a milling cove; and his friends at Manchester flattered themselves that he was invincible, as with his country opponents he was never particular as to weight and size. Davis defeated twice Jack Wilson, also Witman twice; with Tom Reynolds he made a capital battle, which was brought to a wrangle; and he likewise defeated Fidler Hall. Davis entertained an opinion that he could conquer any pugilist of his own weight with the greatest certainty. Sam had now proved victorious in five battles; Ned Stockman, Jack and Tom Cooper (Gipsy), Carroll, and Harry Jones (the Sailor Boy), all in succession had surrendered to his conquering arm.

Davis, with two of his backers, and Phil. Sampson, arrived at Stony Stratford on Saturday, making the “Cross Keys” their headquarters. Davis wore his working dress, consisting of a fustian jacket and wide thick trousers; he also wore a check shirt, and he looked as rough a customer as might be met with in a day’s walk, offering in these respects a striking contrast to the smart and natty London boxer, who was a decided swell in dress and deportment.

Sam arrived with Curtis during Monday, and made his headquarters at the “George.” In walking through the streets of Stratford, the men met each other for the first time, and shook hands like brave fellows. After this rencontre, Davis appeared yet more confident he should prove the winner, the opinion of the countryman being that “such a fine gentleman couldn’t stand to be spoilt.”

On Tuesday morning the knowing ones laid their nobs together as to a spot of ground, and a field at Haversham, about five miles from Stony Stratford, was named as the scene of action. Thither the travellers repaired, and a few minutes past twelve o’clock Sam, attended by Curtis and Oliver, threw in his tile. Sam sported silk stockings. Davis appeared immediately afterwards, followed by Sampson, and Johnny Cheetham, of Manchester. The colours, yellow for each of the combatants, were tied to the stakes. Sam was the favourite for choice; but his friends were not inclined to give above five to four. Sam won the toss.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Davis reminded us of Bishop Sharpe, but was even more formidable in appearance. He had been well trained; in fact, he was up to the mark, and his heart also in the right place. To win, and nothing else but to win, he said, he left Manchester. Sam was gay as a lark, but his friends did not think him so well as he might have been, and one of his knuckles on the left hand was tender and swelled. Sam had the advantage in height and length, but the superiority in weight was with Davis. The latter hero looked every inch a milling cove. On appearing at the scratch Davis was still cautious, and watching the movements of Sam from his eyes down to his toe. Sam also measured his opponent at all points, and felt assured that he had a rum customer before him. Offers on both sides, but no blows; at length Davis rushed in, and slightly planted a hit on Sam’s arm. Sam, with great skill, crept, as it were, by degrees, up to his adversary, and let fly on Davis’s sensitive plant. Davis’s ogles winked again, (“Sam for £100!”) A trifling exchange occurred, when Sam cried, out, “First blood!” the claret slightly appearing on the mouth of Davis. Sam was not long before he planted another snouter, but Davis received it very coolly. Davis put in a body hit. Exchange of blows; when they separated, Sam waiting for another turn. A long pause. Davis would not make play. Sam planted another successful noser. Several minutes had elapsed; so much caution was observed on both sides that it was certain that a long fight would be the result. Sam retreated from some heavy work to a corner of the ring, where he received a bodier; but he returned a heavy nobber, which sent Davis staggering until he went down. This was considered a knock-down blow; and the two events had been obtained upon the part of Sam, as to first blood and the first knock-down blow. (The Samites opened their mouths like good ones, saying, it was as right as the day, and offering any money on the son of the Phenomenon.)

2.—Davis hit Sam on the ribs. Sam returned right and left. Davis missed two heavy blows. A long pause. Sam again felt for the nose of his opponent. Davis gave two body hits, but they were short, and not effective. Counter-hits; but the length of Sam gave him the “best of it.” Another tedious pause. Sam walked round his opponent to get an opening. (“As you are a fine fighter,” said Sampson, “why don’t you go to work?” Curtis observed to Sampson, “Do you recollect Ned Neale?”) Davis stopped a left-handed blow cleverly; he also got away from another. The men now went to work, and several blows were exchanged. In closing Sam endeavoured to fib his adversary; but the strength of Davis was too much for him, and in struggling for the throw Sam got down well. “Well done, Sam!” from the London boys.

3.—The claret was now visible upon the mug of Davis, and the nose-enders he had received put him on the winking system. This round was a truly tedious one—five minutes at a time and no blows passed. Sam was determined, like a skilful general, not to lose an inch of ground, and only to hit when it was a certainty to get home. Sam let fly, and the face of his adversary napped it. Some sharp fighting occurred, Davis endeavouring to do mischief, and he ultimately succeeded in planting a desperate left-handed hit on the side of Sam’s head, which floored the Young One. The Lancashire lads began to open their mouths—“That’s right, Dick!”—while the Samites not only looked blue, but were silent as fish.

4.—Sam looked rather stupid; he was labouring under the effects of the last blow. Davis did not follow up his success, but waited for Sam to make play. The latter with great ease put in a rum one, and Davis put up his hand to feel if his nose was in the right place. Sam stopped a well-meant body blow. A short rally, but Sam broke away. In closing some expressions of disapprobation saluted Davis for his mode of throwing. But as it did not appear to be done intentionally, the umpires did not notice it, and Sam was under.

5.—This was a short round, but the milling in it was better than in any of the preceding rounds. The exchanges were at par. Davis thrown.

6.—Several of the London Fancy began rather to be alarmed, and got their money off by backing Davis. Excepting his nob he was none the worse for the battle, although one hour and more had passed away. The science displayed by Sam was the delight of the amateurs; he jobbed Davis repeatedly; but the game of the latter was not to be reduced by the left-handed blows of Sam. The right eye of Davis was cut in the corner, and the claret was streaming from his nose. He made some counter-hits, but had the worst of the round until he went down.

7–9.—The fighting of Davis in all these rounds was the same; he would not go in; and stood out to be nosed at the will of Sam. The latter was thrown heavily in the last round.

10.—This was a long round. Sam was more than cautious; and under the circumstance of his bad hand his fighting was entitled to praise. The lip of Davis was cut severely. He received lots of smashers in the face, and the claret running down his throat annoyed the Lancashire man much. In closing Davis was under.

11–16.—The superiority of the style of Sam’s fighting in all these rounds gave him the lead; yet the goodness and game of Davis rendered him a troublesome customer. The latter could not get at Sam with anything like certainty, and therefore his favourite hits were at the body. Sam was thrown, and also received some heavy blows. In the last round he received a severe cross-buttock.

17–21.—(“Pray take him away,” said Tom Oliver to his backer; “he is one of the gamest fellows I ever saw, but he cannot win; you will get yourself into trouble—nay, all of us. It is a shame to let such a brave fellow fight any longer.” “Well done, Tommy,” replied a Manchester covey; “he is not half licked yet; Davis will soon begin; he can’t lose it. Sam has not strength to lick a baby.”) The head of Davis, by the repeated jobbers he had received, was quite out of shape; both his peepers were damaged, his cheeks puffed up, and his nose cut and bleeding. But his backers relied upon his gameness, and several of them calculated upon his winning. The last round was well fought, and rather in favour of Davis, who went in to fight. Sam was down.

22, 23, 24.—Nose and mouth. Although it might be termed quite safe to Sam, and three to one offered upon him, yet the son of the Phenomenon treated Davis as a dangerous rival, and kept out of mischief. He jobbed Davis at his leisure, reducing his strength every round. (“Take him away!” from all parts of the ring.)

25–27.—Davis would not listen to anything like “giving in,” and although his nose was hit two or three times in every round, he fought in the most manly style. He was down in every round. (“Take him away!”)

28.—The gameness of Davis never deserted him and it did appear to the spectators that he would sooner part with his life than lose the battle. (Ten pounds to a crown—any odds—but no takers.) Davis sent down.

29, 30, and last.—Davis again appeared at the scratch and showed fight. Sam now did as he liked with his brave opponent, punishing him in all directions, until he hit him down in the corner of the ring. His backers said Davis should not fight any more. In fact, Davis could not have appeared again at the scratch. The fight occupied three hours and thirty-five minutes.

REMARKS.—Against a fine fighter like Dutch Sam something more than gameness is required. Davis may defeat a mob of yokels, but it is quite a different thing to tackle London prize-fighters. Davis is a good man, a scientific hard hitter, and stands up like a chopping-block; but the above requisites, although essential to a boxer, will not ensure victory unless he can fight more than a little. He must learn to give as well as to take; a receiver-general is but a foolish character. Davis was severely punished about the head. Had he gone in according to the direction of Sampson a different account might have been given of the fight; yet it is but common justice to say of Davis that he exerted himself all in his power to win the battle. Sam, notwithstanding it took him upwards of three hours to defeat his opponent, won the fight like a first-rate tactician. If the left hand of Sam had not been injured he would probably have won the battle in half the time. He left the ring quite fresh, and could have fought another hour without difficulty.

The backers of Sam, without hesitation, now pitted him against the “all-conquering Bishop Sharpe” for £100 a-side. This match excited an unusual degree of interest. Sharpe had the majority in his favour, particularly the old ring-goers; nevertheless, Young Sam stood well with the Corinthians and the lovers of fine fighting. The following remarks as to the different capabilities of the combatants were published a few days previous to the day appointed for the battle to take place: “First on the list stands Bishop Sharpe, the Bold Smuggler, who has proved himself successful in upwards of twenty battles, both in and out of the Prize Ring. The Smuggler never picked his customers, but took them as they came, and always got through the piece with victory. As a fighter, Bishop Sharpe is not generally admired; but as a hitter he is tremendous, and one blow well planted has often rendered it ‘no go’ to his opponents. The Sage of the East pronounces him to be ‘prodigious;’ and the John Bull Fighter asserts, ‘He hits them as I like, and so hard as his opponents do not like!’ But Sharpe will be opposed by a ‘leary’ fighter in Sam, cautious in a high degree, and who has a very great aversion to be hit at all. This renders Sam a very difficult cove to be ‘got at.’ He is also a very dangerous adversary for those customers who like to ‘go in,’ as he nobs and gets away, frequently without any return; his blows are considered light, and of the sparring school; but the Manchester Pet tells another tale. We are inclined to think—nay, almost certain—that Young Sam cannot punish anything like his late papa, nor hit as hard; but he has a knack of hitting a man twice in a place which nearly amounts to the same thing. Sam is confidence personified, and the Bishop thinks victory is as safe to him as if the battle were at an end. Sharpe is at present the favourite, five to four.”

Tuesday, October 23rd, 1827, was the day set apart for the battle to take place, and great anxiety was manifested upon the event. Many of the Londoners started overnight for the scene of action; and in consequence the Bonifaces on the road to No Man’s Land came in for a turn, more especially at St. Albans, the “Blue Boar” being the grand rallying point.

Before peep of day on Tuesday morning, the North London road was covered with vehicles of every description, filled with the lads of the Fancy, picturing to themselves a prime day’s play between Sam and the Bishop, and the complete fill up of the scene by Barney Aaron and Redmond. The “Crown,” at Holloway, kept by Joe Emms, was attractive; Young on Highgate Hill was not forgotten; Pepper, at the “King’s Arms” at Barnet, came in for a good slice, and “Little Tim’s Crib,” near to the twelfth milestone, was overflowing with company.

Sharpe, on the Monday evening, made his quarters at St. Albans, and Sam took up his residence for the night at “Little Tim’s.”

As the day wore on, it was ascertained that a screw was loose, and five to one offered that no fight would take place. Such was the state of things for two or three hours at St. Albans; at length it was announced that Sam was upon the road, and he shortly afterwards made his appearance in a post-chaise.

Time was on the wing; and Sharpe and his seconds, Peter Crawley and Ward, made the best of their way to No Man’s Land, where the ring had been previously made by Joe Fishwick. At one o’clock Bishop Sharpe threw his hat into the ring, according to custom, in order to claim the stakes should Sam not make his appearance, but Sam, attended by Curtis and Harry Holt, showed himself within the ropes. All was happiness amongst the crowd for a few minutes, and nothing but a scientific battle expected to take place; but the mishap was soon developed; Sam took off his fogle, but the remainder of his toggery remained untouched. The traps now appeared, and said they had a warrant against Sam; but on no occasion whatever did officers ever conduct themselves more gently, or act “according to their instructions” to behave in a gentlemanly manner to the offender against the law, than these did. This compliment is most certainly due to them. The warrant was demanded, and was soon brought to light. It purported to be from Marylebone Office, signed by Mr. Rawlinson, directing all constables, &c., “to apprehend Samuel Evans and bring him before the said magistrate of the county of Middlesex, on suspicion of his being about to commit a breach of the peace with one Bishop Sharpe.” During the conference with the traps, the Bishop addressed himself to several gentlemen in the ring, observing, “It is too bad—it is rascally conduct to rob me of the battle-money,” and taking off his clothes, went up to his opponent, and said to him, “Sam, do you mean to fight? I am ready for you.” Sam replied, “What am I to do?—I can’t fight in the face of the officers.” His seconds, Holt and Curtis, declared they would not give a chance away by seconding Sam in defiance of the law. The traps, to prevent any further misunderstanding on the subject, and to make “their visit pleasant,” in the most gentle manner gave Sam a hint that his services in the ring would be dispensed with, so, like “a good boy,” he retired from within the ropes without giving them any further trouble. Bishop Sharpe put on his clothes; but before he left the ring he said he had no doubt the lovers of fair play would not let him be deprived of the stakes, and thus the affair ended.

On Thursday, October 25th, 1827, the Pet of the Fancy took his benefit at the Tennis Court; and, considering the unfavourable state of the weather, it was a good one. Several bouts proved attractive; but the great feature of the day was the set-to between Harry Holt and Young Dutch Sam. This gave the amateurs an opportunity of judging of Sam’s condition; and, in the general opinion of the audience, he appeared nothing wanting; on the contrary, he was considered up to the mark. Young Sam was pitted against one of the best sparrers on the list, and one who has had great experience, not only in fighting with Jack Randall, but continually setting-to with the Nonpareil in his best days. Holt has been opposed to all the first-rate men on the list, and always proved himself a distinguished scientific artist. The attack and defence were a masterpiece on both sides. Harry was perfectly aware that he had a troublesome customer before him, and Sam had not to learn that the eyes of all the Court were on him. We do not know a better opponent than Holt for Sam to produce a trial scene for the Fancy in order that they may draw their own conclusions. Harry was capital, and Sam proved himself excellent. The “best of it” was of a doubtful nature, and a feather in the scales of candour and justice might have been the award on either side; but it should be recollected that Sam was in condition, and Harry quite out of it. This, however, was not the point in view; but the most remarkable and valuable feature in the above set-to was this—Sam, it was seen, could change his mode of fighting as circumstances presented themselves—no hopping about, no standing still, but stopping and hitting his opponent with the utmost ease, rallying like the most determined boxer, and getting out of trouble with ease, style, and decision. Indeed, such was the display of Sam and Harry Holt that the greatest admirers of Bishop Sharpe on witnessing the set-to, must have pronounced the “Young One” a formidable and dangerous customer to the Bold Smuggler. Tumultuous applause crowned their exertions and exits from the stage. It was pronounced by the whole of the visitors one of the best sets-to ever witnessed at the Tennis Court.

Several persons of rank who were present wished that Sam would give some explanation on the subject of his not fighting with Sharpe. He replied “that he had no explanation to give; he had been used very ill, and it was not his fault!”

DECISION OF THE STAKEHOLDER.—The “Castle Tavern” was overflowing on Wednesday, October 24th, 1827; Bishop Sharpe and his backers were present. The stakes of £200 were demanded by the Bishop, on the score that he was in the ring, and ready to fight, according to the articles of agreement. He said that Sam had declined to fight through the collusion of parties, under the idea they would lose their blunt if he fought, and not on account of any fair magisterial interruption. One of the backers of the “Young One” resisted the stakes being given up until the whole of Sam’s backers were present, as they had nothing to do with the matter in dispute. The stakeholder, Tom Belcher, considered, in point of right and fairness, the Bishop was entitled to the battle-money, and accordingly gave Sharpe one hundred pounds, holding the other hundred as an indemnity against any legal proceedings which might be instituted against the stakeholder.

Sam, full of pluck, and anxious to obtain a job, offered to fight Peace Inglis, but no match was made.

In April, 1827, Dan M’Kenzie was matched against Young Sam for £50 a-side, but the backers of M’Kenzie ultimately preferred a forfeiture to running the risk of a battle.

In a set-to with “the Young Gas” at the Tennis Court, Sam distinguished himself, proving a most troublesome customer. Jonathan had “all his work to do” to prevent his being placed in the background by the superior tactics of Young Sam.

The set-to between Young Sam and Harry Holt had given so much satisfaction to the amateurs that a second bout was called for by the admirers of the art of self-defence. At the benefit of Jem Burn at the Tennis Court on Tuesday, December 11th, 1827, the above pugilists again met. Sam, as a rising performer, appeared anxious to obtain the superiority, and Holt was equally on the alert to prevent losing his laurels obtained as an accomplished sparrer. The latter defended himself with considerable skill; but the length and activity of Sam ultimately gave him the advantage. Upon quitting the stage they received thunders of applause from a delighted audience.

The following statement, addressed to the sporting world, appeared in the newspapers in vindication of Young Sam’s character:—

“November 1st, 1827.

“GENTLEMEN,—I have been much surprised to perceive that almost all the blame of the disappointment experienced by the fancy owing to the fight not taking place between Bishop Sharpe and myself has been laid upon my shoulders, and yet I have been unquestionably the greatest sufferer; for I am confident that had no interruption taken place the battle-money would be now in my possession. An inference is drawn to my prejudice that as the warrant from the Mary-la-bonne Office was granted on the information of my mother, I had employed her to give such information, or, at least, that she acted with my knowledge and consent; but I declare most solemnly that this was not the case. I had no previous knowledge whatever that any one intended to adopt such a course, nor did I know that such a warrant was issued, till informed of it on the morning of fighting. Whether or not this warrant was obtained at the instance of persons who had taken a strange alarm and were afraid to risk their money on me, I shall not pretend to say; but of this the Fancy may be assured, that I meant to do my best to win, and felt fully confident of success. With respect to the assertion that the officers had no authority to take me, as their warrant was issued from Middlesex, and was not backed by a Hertfordshire magistrate, I can safely plead that they told me they certainly had full powers to act, and I did not feel sufficiently acquainted with legal niceties to resist their authority. I could not venture to fight in defiance of a couple of experienced officers, who I reasonably concluded must be much better judges of the extent of their powers than I could be. As to the alleged error of a misnomer in the warrant, my real name is Samuel Evans, so that the document was correctly drawn in that respect at least. The whole affair has ended most unfortunately for me; I am bound over to ‘keep the peace towards all his Majesty’s liege subjects for twelve months,’ and am thus prevented from exercising my profession in the Ring during that period—a consequence of most serious import to a young man who, vanity apart, was rising into notice, and had been hitherto invariably successful. Of course, it is useless for me to talk of making any match at present; but, when the above period has expired, I shall be prepared to fight any man in England, of my weight, for from £100 to £500. And now a word or two to Bishop Sharpe: If he has one spark of English feeling belonging to him, he will not fail to give me the preference as soon as I am free from the fetters of the law and able to meet him. I have a prior claim upon his notice, and shall never rest satisfied till I have a fair opportunity of proving which is the best man. Good luck, and the unfair precipitation of the stakeholder, have placed the battle-money for our late match in the Bishop’s possession (to which, under all the circumstances, he was not entitled); let him add to the windfall as much more as he pleases up to £500, and, at the end of one year from the date of this letter, I will fight him for the whole.

“Yours, &c., SAMUEL EVANS “(Commonly called Young Dutch Sam).”

During the twelve months of enforced exclusion from the ring as a principal, Sam figured in a turn-up in February, 1828, with a big carman who insulted his friend, Dick Curtis, near London Bridge, polishing off the wagon-driving Hercules in five rounds. The affair will be found in the memoir of Dick Curtis, post.

In the autumn of 1828, in consequence of some personal unpleasantness, the veteran Jack Martin (the once-renowned conqueror of Scroggins, Josh Hudson, Phil. Sampson, and Ned Turner) challenged Young Sam to the battle-field, and a match was made for £100 a-side. For some months this affair was the talk of sporting circles; Sam’s conduct being the subject of much censure. At length, all preliminaries being arranged, the men met on the 4th of November, 1828, at Knowle Hill, Berks, thirty-four miles from London, a spot celebrated from its having been the scene of similar exhibitions on a former occasion—we allude to the fights between George Cooper and Baldwin, Young Dutch Sam and Ned Stockman, and Goodman and Reidie, all of which were decided on the same excellent arena without interruption. In fact, a more suitable spot could not have been selected; first, from its being at a distance from any populous neighbourhood; and next, from one side of the grounds being bounded by a gradual elevation, from which the spectators could look down upon the sports as from a sort of amphitheatre. The distance from London, too, four-and-thirty miles, brought the journey within the scope of a day, and enabled the amateurs to go and return without any serious sacrifice of time or labour.

Both men had been attentive to their training; Martin at Milford, in Surrey, and Sam first at Hartley Row, and then at the “New Inn,” Staines. In the early part of his training, Martin, from having but just recovered from a severe fit of illness, as well as from the deep wound which his feelings had sustained, was in anything but promising condition. At last he came out with every appearance of renovated health. At his benefit, on the previous Tuesday, he seemed to have reached his pristine vigour, and, as he said himself, was quite as well as an “old ’un” could expect to be. Of the result of the battle he always spoke with perfect confidence, and led his friends to believe that victory was certain. So persuaded was he himself of this issue that he advised all whom he knew to back him without hesitation, and actually gave them money to lay out on his account. In the end this confidence proved to be misplaced, and the milling maxim that “old stale ones are of no use to young fresh ones,” was fully exemplified; Martin, who had been for some years a licensed victualler, being in his thirty-third year, while Sam’s summers numbered but twenty-one. It was stipulated in the articles that Martin should not weigh more than 11st. 7lbs. on the morning of fighting—a superfluous condition, seeing that his weight, in his prime, was under 11st., and his recent illness had reduced him some pounds. Sam stated his weight at 10st. 12lbs.; to us he looked more than half a stone heavier. The toss for choice of place was won by Sam, and he very naturally named the scene of his former good fortune. On Monday afternoon Martin reached the “Castle Inn,” on the further side of Maidenhead; and Sam, accompanied by Dick Curtis and other friends, shifted his quarters from Old Shirley’s at Staines, to the same neighbourhood. It was soon ascertained that the magistracy would not interfere, and the anticipation of the approaching contest was thus unalloyed by those fears which were but too common even in those days in meetings of a like character.

The road from London during Monday afternoon was crowded by drags of every description. A great number pushed on to Maidenhead, while others pulled up at Cranford Bridge, Colnbrook, or Slough.

The dawn of day produced a new cavalcade from all quarters. Carriages, post-chaises, and gigs kept pouring through the town all the morning in an almost uninterrupted line, reminding men of the days when Crawley Downs was the favourite resort of the Fancy. Many persons of distinction were among the motley assemblage, whose patronage, under the encouragement afforded by the Fair Play Club, was hourly increasing. The weather was as propitious as the most fastidious could desire; the sun shone with brilliancy, and every countenance seemed gladdened by the cheering prospect of a good day’s sport.

The Commissary was early on the ground, and formed the ring with his usual judgment. The whole was surrounded by wagons and other vehicles, which were drawn up three and four deep, and the most perfect regularity was preserved. As the hour of combat approached the throng came rattling in from every point of the compass, and the “yellowman” of Sam and the “blue bird’s-eye fogle” of Martin were everywhere sported. Tom Cribb and most of the old members of the P.R. were present, and we were glad to recognise in the circle many of those old Fancy mugs whose countenance in former days lent life to the scene.

At half-past twelve there were not less than ten thousand persons assembled. At this time the F.P.C. whips were put into the hands of twelve of the “Order of Regulators,” and the ring was immediately cleared of interlopers, all of whom, with a few exceptions, retired behind an outer ring of ropes, in which situation they remained throughout the contest.

At a quarter before one o’clock it was announced that both men were on the ground, and in a few minutes afterwards Sam entered the ring, attended by Dick Curtis and Jem Ward. He looked serious, and was a little pale, but still appeared well and confident.

In a few minutes afterwards Martin entered from the opposite side of the circle, attended by Tom Spring and Peter Crawley. He was received with loud cheers, and appeared in high spirits. He came forward with a smile on his countenance, as if, to use the words of an old toast, “the present moment was the most happy of his life.”

Martin paid but little attention to his antagonist, while Sam eyed him with a searching look, and, turning towards his friends, said, “It will be seen to-day whether fear forms any part of my composition.” On peeling, Martin showed a fine muscular pair of understandings, and had some good points upwards; but it was obvious that his frame was not in its prime. His breast showed marks of recent blisters as well as the bites of leeches, and the flesh about his collar-bone and ribs wanted that fulness and freshness which betoken good health. Sam was “all over right,” and was evidently in slap-up condition. Though not so well pinned as Martin, his upper works were symmetry itself, and the fine muscle of his shoulders and arms was visible at every move. At length, both men being ready, the toss for choice of position took place, and was won by Curtis. The men then went to the scratch, and shook hands slightly, and immediately threw themselves into position. Breathless silence prevailed, and the seconds retired to their corners. At this time the betting was twenty-five to twenty on Martin.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The men set to across the sun, with their sides to it, and each got close to the side of the ring. Sam had the higher ground, and made one or two dips or half plunges with his left, as if going to let fly; but Martin was steady, and held his arms well up to guard his nob. In this way they stood opposite each other for some seconds, when Sam again made a feint with his left. Martin immediately broke away, and veering round, got the upper ground, so that they, in fact, changed positions. Three minutes had now elapsed, when Sam hit out slightly with his right, but was stopped. He tried it again, and popped in his left and right with great force on Martin’s right eye and left cheek. Martin then rushed in to a rally, but was cleverly met by Sam with his left, and both hit away, Sam well in, and quick with his right and left. Martin slipped on his knees from the moist state of the ground, or from a hit in the neck, but was up in a moment. Sam, ready at all points, instantly plunged in to a close in the corner of the ring, and a desperate struggle ensued, each trying for the advantage, Sam hitting right and left at the body and head, while Martin grasped him round the neck. Sam cleverly disentangled his left hand, and delivered a slashing hit on his right eye; he then hit him with the right, and both still continued to struggle with all their force, Martin receiving some severe hits, but making no return; at last Sam threw out his leg, and catching Martin on his thigh, flung him over, and fell heavily on him. The ring was in an uproar, and all Martin’s friends in dismay. It was a fearful but decisive struggle in favour of Sam, for on Martin rising to his second’s knee his right eye was closed and dreadfully swollen, while his face exhibited other marks of Sam’s handiwork. Sam himself had not a mark. “It’s all over,” was the general cry—“Sam must win;” and, indeed, it was evident that Martin was quite abroad, as well as obviously distressed. The round lasted five minutes, and six and seven to four were freely offered on Sam, but no takers, for all were too much astonished to think of hedging.

2.—Both men came to the scratch with deliberation, and each seemed desirous of recruiting his wind, which was in full play from the violence of the previous struggle. Sam again poised himself on his left leg, keeping his head well up, and his fists ready for delivery. At length Martin, as if he considered something desperate was necessary, hit out with his right, but the blow fell short; he then rushed in, but was met cleverly by Sam with his left. Martin, quite wild, bored him to the ropes, but Sam, cool and steady, broke away and jobbed him with his right. Martin, rather abroad, now tried at the body, and rushed in with his head down—Sam again met him with his right, and closed, when he caught poor Jack’s nob under his right arm, and hit up with his left ultimately flooring him, and falling on his head. Three to one on Sam, and no takers.

3.—Sam cautious, and in no hurry to begin. Martin stood with his back close to the ropes, and many thought Sam ought to have gone in to finish. He seemed to think, however, he had the game in his own hands, and was evidently collecting his wind. At last he put in a fearful job with his right on Martin’s left eye, and again with his left on the nose, drawing claret in abundance. Martin broke away and took up fresh ground (Approbation). Both got to the corner of the ring, and again waited for Captain Wind-’em. Martin hit out with his left, but was neatly stopped, and Sam smiled; Martin then tried his right, but was short, and this was followed by another desperate rally, in which Sam’s deliveries, right and left, were precise and severe. His hitting was admirable, and style of attack beautiful. Quick as lightning Martin had it in the chops, without being able to make a successful return, and again in the throat. At last Martin closed for the fall, running in with his head down, and succeeded in getting Sam down, and falling upon him. (Ten minutes had now expired, and it was pretty evident the first round had taken the fight out of Martin).

4.—Martin all abroad; but still kept his hands well up. At length he rushed in with his head down, and attempted to deliver a body hit, which fell on Sam’s breast. Sam stepped back and met him as he came in, and then closing hit up with great force, and delivered a tremendous body blow with his right. In the struggle for the fall both went down, Martin under.

5.—Spring now called for a lancet, if possible, to let the blood from Martin’s right eye, but could not obtain one; he endeavoured to scarify the skin with a penknife, but without effect, and poor Jack was again brought to the scratch, when Sam lost little time in jobbing left and right on the sore spots. This dose he repeated and broke away. Martin rushed in wild, hitting right and left, but short and without effect. Sam again closed, fibbed, and threw him. (Fourteen minutes had elapsed.)

6.—Martin came up quite abroad, when Sam, after a feint, threw in a tremendous smack with his right on the left jaw, and dropped him, thus winning the first knock-down blow as well as the first blood.

7th, and last.—It was now Bushey Park to a lark sod. On Martin being brought to the scratch Sam jobbed him right and left on the head and ear, and repeated this discipline till his man went down completely abroad and woefully punished. He tried to make a rally, but it was all in vain, and on being lifted up by Spring, he said it was no use, he was too stale, and had not a chance. Spring tried to persuade him to get up for a few more rounds, but he would not “have it,” and on his rising on his legs Spring gave in for him. He then walked a few paces, and Spring gave him his knee when he complained of his being sick at stomach. Sam was declared the victor in sixteen minutes.

REMARKS.—In the history of Martin’s pugilistic feats—with the exception, perhaps, of his quick despatch by Jack Randall in his second fight, upon which so much was said at the time—we never witnessed greater disappointment or astonishment than was manifested on the present occasion. Hundreds of individuals, many of the highest respectability, who had long since abandoned the sports of the Ring, were induced to come from distant parts of the country in full confidence that they would be gratified by seeing something worth looking at, but what was their surprise to find that their anticipations were groundless, and that the man on whose talent and game they had relied proved to be below mediocrity, indeed, we have never seen even the most unpretending commoner so easily and so quickly disposed of. After the first round, in fact, he had not the ghost of a chance. It is said that he was taken by surprise by the quick assault of Sam, who from being a cautious out-fighter suddenly changed his style and became the assailant. This may have been the case; and we know that Sam, under the advice of Dick Curtis, adopted this mode as the most likely to puzzle a man of Martin’s bustling manner. Sam’s first feints were evidently dictated by a desire to try what Martin meant, and whether he would stand to be jobbed if an opening offered. The experiment told. Curtis saw the advantage, and exclaiming to Sam, “Go it!” the latter at once made play. This quickness immediately drew Martin to a rally, in which he clearly lost his presence of mind, and left himself open to the severe punishment, which he received without making anything like a return. Feeling the sting of Sam’s hits he had recourse rather to hugging and endeavouring to get his man down than to the more prudent course of dropping or breaking away. This effort in his state of constitution was decidedly the worst he could have made, as it could only lead to exhaustion on his part much more easily than with his more vigorous and youthful assailant. It also gave Sam an opportunity of hanging upon him, and fibbing him in a way which, of all things ought to have been evaded. Sam was alive to all his advantages and availed himself of them in the most decisive manner, and in so short a time we have seldom witnessed more decided execution. If anything were wanting to prove the “patched up” state of Martin’s frame, it was the rapidity with which his eye puffed up from the effect of Sam’s left-handed hit, and the distress which he exhibited when he was placed on his second’s knee. It has been observed that after this he lost his temper, but to this we do not subscribe, as he came up with great coolness and courage. He had, however, sufficient reason to lose his confidence, which combined with the punishment he had received, led him to the wild efforts he subsequently made, and exposed him to the excellent generalship which Sam displayed—not only in averting his antagonist’s injudicious rushes, but in making the best of the openings which were offered. It is true that after the first round Sam’s work might be considered as done, but still he preserved his caution, did not throw his chance away, and finished his man in a very masterly manner. After the first round Martin was sick at stomach, and when all was over this was his principal complaint, for, though severely hit, we have seen him take five times the hitting with not one tithe of the effect. A good deal of regret was expressed that Martin should have had so signal a defeat added to his other mortification. We have only to look to the character of the men in the ring; and, in this view, to give Sam every credit for his milling talent, which we unhesitatingly pronounce of the first order. From the ring Martin was led to an adjoining cottage, where he was put to bed, and received every necessary attention. Previous to Martin quitting the ring Sam went up to him and begged him to shake hands. This Martin for a long time refused, but at last put up his hand coldly, and Sam promised to give him £10 of the battle-money. Sam dressed on the ground, and appeared as if nothing had happened. He returned to dinner at Shirley’s, and arrived in town the same night. Martin, on recovering went to the “Castle Inn,” and set off the same evening for Godalming, where he arrived alone at twelve o’clock at night and remained there. He was much depressed, and refused to see any person who called.

The battle-money was given up to Young Dutch Sam on the following Thursday evening at Tom Cribb’s, in Panton Street, in the presence of a full muster of the Fancy, and all bets were of course paid.

In the September following the defeat of Ned Neale by Baldwin (White-headed Bob), Neale fought and defeated Nicholls, who had defeated Acton, an opponent of Jem Ward. This match was for £100 a-side, and was won by Neale in eighteen rounds and seventy-eight minutes. On the 2nd of December, 1828, he beat Roche for £100 a-side, in thirty rounds, occupying exactly half an hour, and was now without a competitor. At this time Young Dutch Sam, who was in the zenith of his fame, was naturally anxious still further to increase his reputation, and, although he knew that Neale was a much heavier man than himself, he, with a different feeling to that which is now but too prevalent, issued a challenge to fight Ned, provided he would confine himself to 11st. 10lbs., he (Sam) undertaking not to exceed 11st. His fighting-weight was declared to be under 10st. 10lbs., so that, in fact, he gave away at least a stone. Neale, although his milling-weight was 12st. 4lbs., agreed to reduce himself to the stipulated 11st. 10lbs., the match was made, and everything went forward satisfactorily, the battle exciting intense interest.

FIRST FIGHT BETWEEN YOUNG DUTCH SAM AND NEALE, FOR £100 A SIDE.

The battle took place on the 7th of April, 1829, at Ludlow, in Shropshire, but, owing to the distance from the Metropolis, and the difficulty of getting thence to the scene of action, did not attract that crowd of London Particulars which the known capabilities of the men would have undoubtedly attracted had it come off nearer home. The inducement to the men to go so far afield seems to have been a sum of £100 subscribed for them by the inhabitants of Ludlow.

Neale, it may be remembered, had but once found his master, and that in the never-flinching Baldwin (White-headed Bob); and Sam, although not quite so old a member of the pugilistic corps, had at this time never been beaten.

Strong apprehensions were entertained that Neale, by reducing himself so much below his fighting-weight, would weaken his frame, and give his more youthful antagonist an advantage over him (apprehensions which were fully justified by the result). Neale, however, did not participate in this feeling, and, after a sparring tour, he set out for his training quarters, at Milford, where, by constant labour, he gradually got off his superfluous flesh, and, a few days before fighting, was five pounds under the stipulated weight. This was certainly carrying the point too far, and although Ned himself said he never was in better health, he was forced to confess he did not feel so strong as when his weight was greater. In point of spirits and confidence, it was impossible that he could have been in better form, and he booked winning as a certainty. He left Milford on Saturday, and proceeded direct by mail to Ludlow, where he arrived on Sunday afternoon, under the convoy of a gallant Captain, and the Portsmouth Dragsman, the well-known Will Scarlett. It is needless to observe that such a journey so near upon the approaching struggle was not consistent with strict prudence, but such was Neale’s estimate of his opponent, and such his reliance on his own physical powers, that he treated the remarks on this subject with levity, and fancied the laurels of victory already entwining his brow. Young Sam, who trained first at Staines, was not less attentive to his duties. He was known to be in tip-top condition, and as sleek and active as a deer; showing at the same time a confidence in his carriage not less obvious than that of Neale. He said his game had been doubted, but the approaching combat would show whether these doubts were well or ill founded. He, more wisely than Neale, left London with his backers and friends on Friday, slept at Worcester, and reached Bromfield, near Ludlow, on Saturday, and there remained till the morning of fighting. He was attended by Dick Curtis and some of his favourite pals, who lost no opportunity of reminding him of those qualifications which he had so often shown to advantage, and which, in fact, had obtained for him the character of one of the prettiest fighters of the day. In point of age there was but little difference, Sam being twenty-two, and Neale twenty-five. In the course of Monday the town of Ludlow was all bustle and gaiety, and the certainty that no apprehensions were to be entertained from the officiousness of the beaks gave universal satisfaction.

The ground chosen for the lists was admirably suited for the purpose, and was situated upon the top of a hill, in Ludford Park, within a hundred yards of the adjoining county of Hereford. The ring was formed under the direction of Tom Oliver and his secretary, Frosty-faced Fogo, in their very best style, and was encompassed by an extensive circle of wagons, which were liberally contributed by the farmers in the neighbourhood, who behaved like trumps on this occasion, and were heart and hand in favour of the game.

On Tuesday morning the men were “up with the lark,” and having taken their customary walks, laid in a few strata of mutton chops, and other belly furniture, after which they submitted to the titivation of their respective barbers, who turned them out as blooming as a couple of primroses, and looking as well as the most sanguine hopes of their friends could have desired. As the day advanced, the crowd thickened, and all betook themselves to the ring-side. By twelve o’clock upwards of 5,000 persons were assembled. The weather partook of the varied character of April—alternate showers and sunshine—but, on the whole, was favourable.

At half-past eleven o’clock the men went to scale, and were both found within their weight, Sam about 2lbs., and Neale full 4lbs., but neither was weighed to a nicety. Neale, when stripped, looked extremely thin, and excited the surprise of many who had seen him in the same town a few weeks before in the full proportion of thirteen stone, and it was evident that his admirers became less sweet upon his chances, for the odds of two to one, which had been freely offered on the night before, received a sudden check, and few were found to offer them.

Immediately after the weighing had taken place, the £100 promised to the men was placed in the hands of a gentleman chosen by both, and thus the good folks of Ludlow honourably performed their part of the contract.

Soon after twelve o’clock Neale and his friends set out for the ground in a barouche and four, all sporting the blue bird’s-eye; while Sam, also in a carriage and four, displaying a bright yellowman, with a scarlet border, and a garter in the centre, surrounding the letters D.S., and bearing the Latin inscription, “Nil desperandum,” was close at his heels.

At ten minutes before one Sam entered the lists, attended by his backer and Phil. Simpson and Dick Curtis, who was very lame, as his second and bottle-holder. He was as gay as a lambkin, and remarked, as he paced backwards and forwards, “It has been said that I am not game, but the issue of this battle will prove whether this imputation is well or ill-founded. I have made up my mind to take a bellyful, and let him who first says ‘hold!’ be written down a coward.” There was nothing of foolish bravado in his manner, but his demeanour was such as betokened a man who felt the importance of the stake he had to play for, and the consciousness that he should have his work to do. His friends immediately offered to take £100 to £50, but there was no “done” in the case. Sam was loudly cheered on his arrival, and a similar compliment was paid to Neale, who soon approached, attended by Tom Spring and Harry Holt. He was the picture of health and good humour, and it was pretty clear that the last thought which found place in his breast was the apprehension of defeat. He shook hands with Sam, and offered to bet £5 each on first blood, first knock-down, and the battle, but this was no go. All was now fixed attention. The ring was admirably kept throughout under the superintendence of the Fair-play Club Whipsters. The toss for choice of position was won by Curtis for Sam.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On coming to the scratch, the frames of the men were open to general criticism. Sam was admirably proportioned and had a decided advantage in height and length of arm over his opponent. His muscles, too, were well developed, and we must say that a finer looking young fellow of his weight, age, and inches, has never entered the ring. Neale also looked well, and his broad shoulders and muscular arms betokened strength and vigour; but, taking him downwards from the waist, he was much thinner than he appeared in his former battles. Each threw his arms up, ready for attack or defence. Mutual feints were made for an opening, but both were on the alert. Sam poised himself on his left foot ready for a shoot, and kept working for mischief, but Ned stood well to his guard. At last Sam broke ground and planted his left slightly. Ned was with him, right and left, and rushed to a close. Sam stepped a little back, and jobbed him right and left as he came in. Ned grappled for the throw, when Sam caught him round the neck, and fibbed with great quickness. Ned stopped this game by seizing his arm, and endeavoured to get his favourite lock, and give him a cross-buttock, but Sam was too much on the qui vive, kept his legs well away, and at last both went down at the ropes, Ned under.

2.—Again did each manœuvre for an opening, and show his readiness for defence by throwing up his guard when assault was offered. At length Ned rushed in, and planted his right on Sam’s head. Sam returned as quick as lightning, when Ned rushed to the close, and another trial for the fall took place, during which Sam fibbed slightly, and at last got Ned down.

3.—Sam, elated, dodged on his left leg three or four times, and tried to pop in his left, but was prettily stopped. Ned broke away. Both sparred cautiously. Good stopping, right and left, by both men. Ned now finding that nothing was to be done at long bowls, rushed in, planted one of his right-handed slashers on Sam’s left cheek, and then, boring Sam to the ropes, shoved him across them, chopping with his fists as he lay, and this he continued till Sam fell on the ground, amidst cries of “foul,” and “fair,” but no exception was taken.

4.—Sam came up rather flushed in the physog, and looked serious. Sam, steady, tried again for his favourite plunge with the left, but Ned stopped him in good style, and then rushing in, hit Sam down with a left-hander on his bird-call. (First knock-down blow for Ned; and a cry of first blood, but none was forthcoming from Sam’s dominoes, although pointed at.)

5.—Ned again bored, and planted a blow on Sam’s mouth, but had it beautifully, right and left, in return. Ned now closed, and tried once more for the fall. Sam, ready, fibbed prettily, and in the end, Ned, finding it would not do, slipped down.

6.—Both their mugs flushed from hitting, and both looked serious. Ned stopped Sam’s left, when Sam tried left and right in succession, both hitting away in a beautiful rally, and each receiving pepper, but the balance against Ned. Sam delivered a stinging upper-cut as Ned got away. After a pause, both again fought to a rally, in which the nobbing was heavy. In the close, Sam hit up, and Ned got down.

7.—Little time was lost in going to work, and a beautiful rally was fought, in which hit followed hit in rapid succession. Sam’s blows were delivered with most precision, and Ned’s right ogle began to swell, while first blood was visible on his nose. Sam looked wild, and a swelling on his temple showed that Ned’s operations had not been without effect. Sam’s upper-cuts in this round were excellent, and Ned went down weak; he had clearly reduced his ordinary strength, and was altogether out in his wrestling calculations, as Sam was too quick, and, when seized, too firm on his pins for a clear throw.

8.—Ned’s face much altered and swollen, and Sam’s jowl puffy. Sam dodged for his left, and planted it neatly on Ned’s smeller. Ned rushed in, and forced back Sam to the ropes. Sam caught him round the neck, and hit up. Ned slipped down.

9.—Ned distilling claret from his snuffler, and rather abroad. Sam, ready, jumped in and jobbed him right and left, and Ned was down, bleeding at all points. Sam decidedly the best out-fighter, and betting even.

10.—Sam steady to his guard. Ned finding no chance at out-fighting, rushed in, his right hand passing over Sam’s shoulder. Sam grasped him round the neck, and hit up with great severity. Ned went down.

11.—Ned rushed in, planted left and right-hand round hits, and, in getting back, fell.

12.—Ned rattled in with his left, but received a heavy counter-hit on the nose. In the trial for the fall, both went down, Ned on his back, Sam on him.

13.—Ned again rushed in, and planted his left on Sam’s throat, but in return, Sam jobbed him right and left, with dreadful effect and precision, and in the end Ned fell.

14.—Sam put in a left-handed snorter. Ned fought wildly, and, in coming in, received the upper-cut, and fell.

15.—The odds were now in favour of Sam and the fight had lasted half an hour. Ned hit short with his left, when good counter-hits with the right were exchanged; both had it heavily, and Ned got down.

16.—Sam tried to plant his left, but was stopped; the blow was not well home. Ned retreated, Sam following him rapidly, and Ned stopping right and left. Ned at last fell, weak.

17.—Ned came up a little fresher, and well on his legs, but Sam was too quick for him, and popped in his left and right. He then retreated, Ned following him up, when Sam gave him a severe upper-cut. Ned seized his arm to prevent repetition, and after a struggle at the ropes, both went down, Sam uppermost.

18.—Ned stopped Sam’s left very scientifically, and planted his right in exchange. Sam, not dismayed, drew back a step, and then plunging in, caught Ned left and right as he approached, and hitting up very heavily, Ned got down.

19.—Good stops on both sides. Ned closed for the fall, and after a struggle, both went down.

20.—Good counter-hits, right and left. Ned rushed in, when Sam seized him round the neck, and gave him a couple of heavy upper-cuts. In the trial for the fall, both down, Ned under.

21.—Ned stopped Sam’s right and left, and after a short spar, Sam rushed in to work. Ned retreated, and actually turned round and bolted, to get away from his impetuosity. Sam still persevering, Ned went down, amidst some grumbling, and cries of “Sam, it’s all your own.”

22.—Good stopping by both, when Ned planted his right, and, in retreating, fell.

23.—Ned popped in his right at the body, but had a nobber in return. Good scientific stopping on both sides, when Ned popped in his right on Sam’s muzzle. Sam rushed in to deliver tit for tat, but Ned got down.

24.—Ned made his left on Sam’s mouth, but received a severe return on the right eye. Hits were then exchanged, rather in favour of Sam, who hit Ned down with a right-hander. Ned lay at full length on his back till picked up by his seconds, and his face exhibited severe marks of punishment, both eyes black, and his right all but closed.

25.—Ned stopped Sam’s left, and fought on the retreat. Sam followed him up, jobbing him right and left, and Ned soon went down at the ropes any how.

26.—Sam stopped Ned’s right and left, and, retreating, met Ned with the upper-cut as he followed with his head inclined. Sam’s style of fighting was the admiration of the ring; he was ready at all points. Ned went down.

27.—Sam jobbed with his left. In a second effort his left was stopped, but he planted his right on Ned’s jaw. Ned, in getting away, fell, amidst cries of “foul,” but again the umpires saw nothing to grumble at; indeed, there never was less disposition to take frivolous advantage.

28.—Ned stopped Sam’s first attack, but in a weaving bout which followed he had the worst of it, and went down.

29.—Ned showed his scientific powers of defence, stopping as he retreated. Sam, however, pursued his assault, planted his right and left, and hit Ned out of the ring. Two to one on Sam.

30.—Sam rushed in to punish, when Ned slipped on his knees.

31.—Heavy hits exchanged, right and left. In the close, both down.

32.—Right-handed hits exchanged. Sam retreated, but met Ned with the upper-cut as he came in, and, in the close, Ned pulled him down.

33.—Ned rushed in rather wild. Sam again gave him the upper-cut, and Ned went down.

34.—Ned rushed in wildly. Sam retreated, and met him with the upper-cut right and left. Ned, still game, would not be denied, and hit out desperately with his right, but it went over Sam’s shoulder. His hits were not straight, and consequently, did not tell with half the effect of Sam’s. In the close, he went down.

35.—Ned, still game as a pebble, though woefully punished, rushed in to fight, and caught Sam a nasty one with his left on the mouth. Sam, ready, returned left and right, and hit Ned down with his left.

36.—It was now evident that nothing but an accident could deprive Sam of victory; but still Ned was not beaten in spirit. In this round counter-hits with the right were exchanged, and Ned went down, thereby avoiding a severe slap from Sam’s right.

37.—Ned, still resolved to do his best, jobbed prettily with his left on Sam’s mouth. Counter-hitting. Sam had it again on the whistler, which began to pout most uncouthly, while the left side of his face was considerably swollen. He was not idle, planted his left, and Ned went down.

38.—Sam came up rather stupefied from the hits on his mouth in the last round, and was bleeding freely from his grinder-case. Ned went to work right and left, but was well stopped. He would not be denied, but rushed in, when Sam gave him his favourite upper-cut, and Ned went down bleeding and dark in the right ogle, the left greatly swollen.

39.—Sam kept a respectful distance, and hit short. Ned rattled in, but hit open-handed. Sam planted a couple of good nobbers. Ned down.

40.—A good peppering rally, both had it, but Ned went down.

41.—Ned, still trying his utmost, made an admirable delivery on Sam’s left eye, with a cross-hit from his left. Sam winked and blinked unutterable things, and Ned’s friends were again shouting for victory. A reprieve to a trembling culprit could not have been more welcome. Ned followed up this with a right-handed smack on the mouth, receiving the left in return, and going down.

42.—A good rally, Ned stopped uncommonly well, though dreadfully punished, and was still good on his pins. Spirited fighting on both sides, which ended in Ned going down. The fight had now lasted one hour, and the hopes of Ned’s friends were kept alive that he would ultimately wear Sam out, which was clearly the game he was playing, although Sam had the best of the fighting.

43.—Ned’s right hand was much puffed, but his left was still sound, as he proved to Sam by planting another cross-hit on his mouth. Sam returned the compliment by a terrific job with his right, and another with his left. He then gave the upper-cut with his right, then with his left, as Ned was going down. Sam’s style of fighting was still the admiration of the throng, while Neale’s determined game was equally the theme of praise.

44.—Counter-hitting, and a rally, in which Ned got more pepper, and went down weak.

45.—Ned popped in two excellent jobs with his left on Sam’s mouth, and went down.

46.—Sam was awake to the renewed energies of Ned’s left, and stopped it neatly. Ned rattled away. Sam retired, tried the upper-hit, but missed, most fortunately for Ned, who fell.

47.—Sam caught another poser from Ned’s left on the conversational, and looked more than surprised. Sam again missed his upper-hit, being out of distance, and Ned went down.

48.—Sam rather abroad, though still steady on his pins. He bled considerably at the mouth. Ned cautious, when Sam, after a short pause, rushed in and delivered his one two heavily on Ned’s canister, who dropped almost stupefied, and many thought it was all up; but not so, Sam had yet much to do.

49.—Ned went in to hit with his left, and that was stopped, and he went down.

50.—Ned planted his left, while Sam missed his upper-cut, and Ned dropped.

51.—Sam jobbed with his left, and, rushing in, hit up. In the close, both down, Sam uppermost.

52.—Ned popped in his left once more. In retreating, Sam rushed to punish, and Ned got down.

53 and 54.—Counter-hitting in both rounds. Ned down.

55.—From this to the 62nd round, Ned always commenced fighting, but Sam was quick in his returns, and Ned invariably went down. Nothing but a miracle, it was thought, could save Ned, and, indeed, the severity of his punishment, and the fast closing of his left eye, seemed to forbid even the shadow of a hope; still his heart was good, and he continued to come up.

63.—Sam jobbed right and left. Ned did not shrink, but, boring in, delivered another heavy smack on Sam’s mouth, and drew more crimson. Renewed shouts for Ned. Sam rushed in, and Ned went down.

64.—The long exposure to the cold air, as well as the profuse use of cold water, seemed now considerably to affect Sam, and he trembled violently. Ned seeing this, rushed in and delivered right and left. Sam was quick in his return, but Ned fell, and Sam tumbled over him.

65.—Ned popped in his right, but got a severe upper-cut in return, and went down.

66.—Sam, ready, though cold, met Ned as he came in, caught his head in chancery, and fibbed till he got down. From this to the 71st round, although Ned tried every manœuvre in his power, Sam had the best of the hitting, and Ned always got down. Still these exertions seemed to be exhausting Sam, and although every care was taken of him by his seconds, he got rather groggy at this point. It was remarked that chance might yet turn the scale in Ned’s favour. Sam, however, rallied himself, and, though apparently weak when on his second’s knee, on being placed at the scratch, resumed his self-command, met his man bravely, and planted several severe hits. To the last Ned stopped well, but in the 78th round received a finishing jobbing hit with the right on his left eye, and fell in a state of stupefaction. Every effort was made to restore him, but in vain, and when time was called, Sam was pronounced the victor, amidst the most triumphant shouts. Ned was totally blind, while Sam was enabled to walk to his carriage, but his punishment was severe on the left side of his head. There were scarcely any body blows during the fight, which lasted one hour and forty-one minutes.

REMARKS.—We have been thus minute in detailing the rounds of this fight as it excited an extraordinary degree of interest among the betting circles. Neale was such a favourite on Monday and Tuesday evening that he was actually backed at three and four to one; a degree of confidence in his merits to be ascribed, we think, rather to a supposed want of pluck in Sam, than to any superior fighting points on the part of Ned, who, although a game man, and known to possess a good deal of ready resource in the ring, has no pretensions to be what is called a fine fighter. Whatever might have been the grounds for want of confidence in Sam, however, they seemed to have been strangely out of character, for he not only showed himself a quicker and more scientific fighter than Ned, but proved that he was equally possessed of courageous qualities; in fact, he never showed the slightest inclination to say “Nay.” When before his man he was ready at all points, and, by the quickness with which he took advantage of every opening, showed that he was perfectly cool and collected, and even when most punished would not throw a chance away. Of his weight there is not a man in the country who can cope with him, and, by his victory over Neale he has ranked himself deservedly high in the list of pugilists of the age, while he proved himself to be a true “chip of the old block.” Of Neale too much cannot be said in favour of his bravery and perseverance. It was clear, from the very first round, that the reduction of his weight, and especially so much below the necessary standard, had also brought down his strength, and that those closes, which with Cannon, Baldwin, Jem Burn, and Nicholls, were so effective, with Sam were of no avail. In fact, in Sam he found a man as strong as, and certainly more active, than himself, and the only chance which was left him to save his honour, and his friends’ money, was by endeavouring to take advantage of that chapter of accidents, which, in the course of a protracted fight, are often found to produce a fatal change where victory seems most inclined to rest. Neale was blamed for going down so often, but it was his only game, and we need not say he fought to win. It was admitted on all hands that a better fight has not been witnessed for many years.

Neale did not appear at all satisfied with this first defeat by Sam, and therefore issued a challenge for a fresh trial. A good deal of disputing took place as to terms, but after many angry meetings a match was at length made, which it was determined should come off on the 1st of December, 1829, Sam staking £220 to £200. Previous to the eventful day, however, Sam was grabbed and bound over to keep the peace. There was an immense deal of fending and proving, recrimination and abuse, on both sides. A postponement was, however, inevitable, and it was at length agreed that the fight should take place on the 18th of January, 1831, on which day, accordingly, the gallant battle, of which the following is an account, came off at Bumpstead, in Essex.

Sam’s victory in the first battle was by Neale’s friends attributed to the fact of Neale being reduced twelve pounds below his natural weight, while Sam’s friends, on the contrary, claimed all the credit of superior science and generalship, persuaded as they were that on the day of battle Sam was by no means up to the mark in point of condition. In order to set these doubts at rest, there were no restrictions on either side in making the second match, and thus the respective qualifications of the men were fairly brought to the test, the extra weight of Neale being placed in the scale against the superior science of Sam. Thus balanced, the general opinion of the sporting world was that a more equal match could not have been made, and of this feeling the betting throughout was characteristic, for with slight fluctuations, in which Sam was the favourite at guineas to pounds, the betting was even. It was thought, from the friends of Sam being members of high Society, and his following including several noble and aristocratic backers, that the odds on him would have advanced to five and six to four; but they were steady to their point, and rather than advance beyond the nice limits of their calculation they remained stationary. In point of stakes Neale had a decided advantage, for what between forfeits from Sam’s apprehension and laches, and a hundred guineas given on one occasion by Sam for a postponement, he had received back £165 of the original stakes of £220 put down, so that in point of fact Sam was fighting £365 to £55.

Sam won the toss which entitled him to choose the place of fighting; he named Newmarket as “headquarters,” and proceeded thither himself on the Wednesday before the mill, taking up his residence at the “White Hart.” Neale, who had been training at the Isle of Wight, on the Monday before fighting proceeded to the “Swan,” at Balsham, within six miles of headquarters, where he pitched his tent till the next day.

The road down to Newmarket, both on Sunday and Monday, exhibited considerable bustle, but the Londoners were by no means so numerous as might have been expected; still the town was crowded, and all the inns had a fair proportion of visitors. The “White Hart” especially was thronged to overflow, the friends of Sam being decidedly more numerous than those of Neale, and the display of his colours (the bright yellowman) gave a lively finish to the scene.

On Monday evening it was arranged that the ring should be formed in a field a short distance beyond Burrough Green, about seven miles from Newmarket, whither the Commissary and his assistants proceeded to make the necessary arrangements.

On Tuesday morning the rapid arrivals of swells and commoners from all parts of the surrounding country gave additional life to Newmarket; many had travelled 100 miles, and the towns of Birmingham, Nottingham, Norwich, and even Liverpool and Manchester, had numerous representatives. All the post-horses were in requisition, and the turn-out of drags was highly respectable, but the equestrians were by far the most numerous. At an early hour Sam, accompanied by Holt and Curtis, set out for a farmhouse close to the ring, where they met with the most hospitable reception. Thither they were followed by the toddlers in great force, and as the day advanced a general move took place in the same direction. Neale and his friends were seen in the cavalcade, and by 12 o’clock the approaches to Burrough Green were occupied by a dense mass of spectators, the distant view of the ring, surrounded as it was by thousands, filling them with happy anticipations of the sport. A sudden stop, however, of the advanced guard produced a general feeling of alarm, which was confirmed by the report that a beak was abroad; and in truth it was soon announced that Mr. Eaton, a magistrate of the Quorum, had appeared, and declared his fixed determination to prevent hostilities, either in Cambridgeshire or in the adjoining county of Suffolk. This was, indeed, a damper, and the cry of “no fight” became general. Every effort was made to soften the heart of his worship, but in vain; he had determined to do his duty. At length, finding resistance to such a mandate would be not only absurd but dangerous, it was resolved that a move should take place into the county of Essex, a farmer at Bumpstead having kindly offered a field for the accommodation of the belligerents. This resolution was soon communicated to the multitude, and a simultaneous advance of horse and foot was commenced amidst a general feeling of mortification, which was increased by a change in the weather for the worse, the bright rays of the sun having given way to the gloomy influence of murky and dark clouds. The vicissitudes attending the march were numerous and characteristic, many of the toddlers were bowled out, and some of the cattle which had come from long distances were completely knocked up, so that the throng, on reaching the given goal, although still immense, was stripped of much of its original proportions.

The Commissary lost no time in fixing the lists afresh, which were soon surrounded by a larger circle of horsemen than we ever remember on former occasions, behind which were ranged the carriages and gigs, the wagon train being, of course, completely thrown out. The men arrived by the time everything was ready, Sam attended by Dick Curtis and Harry Holt, and Ned waited on by Tom Spring and Tom Oliver. Sam first entered the mystic quadrangle miscalled “the ring,” and was quickly followed by Ned.

At half-past three both were stripped. Neale looked uncommonly well, his skin clear and healthful, his eye brilliant, and his weight 12st. 4lbs. Take him for all in all, we think it impossible a man could have been in better trim. With respect to Sam, he looked as fine as a racehorse; every muscle showed to advantage, and the symmetry of his frame and fine proportions of his bust were particularly conspicuous. In height and length of arm he had an evident advantage over Neale, although his weight was but 11st. 2lb. The important moment for commencing operations at length arrived; the ring had been beaten out, and was in excellent order, and at thirty-two minutes after three business commenced.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On coming to the scratch both looked serious; there was nothing of idle bravado on either side. The position of each was the defensive—the hands well up, and the manner confident. Each seemed desirous for his antagonist to commence, and a long pause followed. Sam made one or two of his dodging feints, but Ned simply threw up his guard. Absolute silence prevailed round the ring. Sam at last hit slightly at Ned’s body, and Neale sprang back. Sam tried his left short, but Neale again threw up his right, and was well on his guard. At last Sam let fly his left, catching Ned slightly on his nob. Ned countered with his right, and this brought them to a rally, in which facers were exchanged right and left. Neale bored in; Sam retreated, fighting, to the ropes, against which he was forced. Neale then closed, and a struggle took place for the fall, which Neale obtained, falling heavily on Sam in a cross-buttock. Neale’s friends were loud in their cheers, but on rising the marks of Sam’s right on Ned’s left eye were obvious from a slight swelling, while Sam showed a blushing tinge also on each cheek. In the hitting Sam had the best, and while in fibbed prettily.

2.—Both men again assumed the defensive, Ned waiting for Sam, and Sam trying to get an opening, but for some time in vain. At last Sam let fly with his left, and Neale countered, but not effectually. A smart rally followed, in which Neale was hit heavily left and right. Good fighting on both sides. Sam fought to the ropes, but got well out, and again went to the attack with quickness and precision. Ned hit with him, but not so much at points. All head-work. At last Sam planted his left well on Neale’s mug as he was on the move, and dropped him prettily on his nether end, amidst loud shouts of applause, thus winning the first knock-down. Neale, on coming up showed a flushed phiz, and Sam exhibited trifling marks of additional hitting on the face.

3.—Again both cautious. Neale stopped Sam’s left with neatness, but had it in a second effort. He returned with his right. Neale popped in his left cleverly on Sam’s mouth. Good counter-hitting followed, left and right. Sam had it on the left ear, and Neale on the left eye, which increased in swelling. A spirited and determined rally, in which Sam swung round on his leg, and then renewed the attack. Neale rushed to the charge. Sam endeavoured to get from his grasp, and fibbed at his nob. Neale, however, seized him round the waist, lifted him from the ground, and threw him heavily. The exertion on both sides was great. Neale, though most punished, was loudly cheered by his friends, and was now the favourite from his superior strength; he however, showed first blood, giving Sam the second point.

4.—Sam on coming up began to blow a little and was clearly on the pipe, from the exertion in the last round; he was steady, however, and both kept on the defensive. Neale tried his left, but was short, catching Sam under the right eye. Sam, ready returned with his left, but Neale jumped away. Each tried to plant his left, but without success. The stopping was excellent. Long sparring. Sam popped in his left, and Neale countered. A rally, in which Sam shook the pepper-box in good style. Both were rather wild, and in the end fell from their own exertions on their hands and knees. Ned in this round tried his right-handed chopper, but hitting round it went over Sam’s shoulder.

5.—Sam having caught it on the nose in the last round, came up with his eye watering and blinking. Neale tried to pop in his right but was beautifully stopped. Ned put in a left-handed nobber, but had it in return on the neck. Ned stopped the left of Sam with the effect of a brick wall, and caught him on the shoulder with his left. Both awake, and the slaps and returns excellent. A pause. Sam put in his left on Ned’s body and made him curtsey. The blow was rather short. Ned stopped right and left and made a chopping return with his right, which caught Sam on the right side of his mouth. Had he been an inch nearer, the effect would have been severe, and as it was it made Sam look serious. Both again on their guard, and each waiting for the attack. Ned again stopped the left and tried his return, but his blow shot over Sam’s shoulder, and his arm caught him on the neck. Sam put in his right, and a spirited rally followed. Neale bored him to the ropes, but Sam hit as he retreated, and broke away. Ned, after him, closed, and tried for the fall. He could not succeed in getting the lock. Sam kept his pins wide apart, and each grasped the other’s neck. Holt cried to Sam to go down, and Sam at last fell on his knees, Neale falling over him.

6.—Neale again on the waiting system stopped Sam’s left-handed lunge with great precision. Ned hit out with his left, and in a rally heavy blows were exchanged. Neale again missed his right-handed lugger, which went over Sam’s shoulder. He then rushed to the close, but Sam began to fib. Neale pinioned his arms, and at last, finding he was wasting his strength, went down himself, Sam upon him. On getting up Neale exclaimed, “You may punch me as much as you like, but don’t put your finger in my eye;” alluding to Sam’s touching his eye when on the ground.

7.—Neale again kept his hands well up, and waited for the attack. He stopped a slashing hit from Sam’s left. Sam tried his left again, but did not get home. Neale dashed in right and left, and a terrific rally followed. Severe counter-hitting took place, Sam catching it on the nose, from which blood was drawn, and the side of the head and neck, and Neale on the nose, mouth, and both eyes. Sam retreated to the ropes, but still hit with vigour, and ultimately shifted his ground and got away. Neale rushed after him, and the flush-hitting was repeated. Both men strained every nerve. At last Neale jumped in to catch Sam for the fall; Sam received him in his arms and fibbed. Neale pinioned him, and finding he could not gain the throw, fell. On getting up both showed additional marks of punishment as well as distress. The fighting had been extremely fast, and the wind of both was touched. Sam, especially, piped; but was still steady and collected. Neale’s left eye was nearly closed, a slight glimmer only being open.

8.—Ned pursued his system of waiting, and again stopped Sam’s left-handed lunge beautifully, and almost immediately caught Sam a left-handed chop on the mouth, which he repeated. Sam looked serious, but shortly after put in his left on Ned’s body. A severe rally followed. The hitting on both sides was quick and effective. Sam caught a desperate hit on the neck from Ned’s arm, which almost put it awry. Nevertheless, he fought fearlessly, gave Ned a smasher on the mouth, and closed. After a struggle, both went down, and Sam, being raised on his second’s knee, was faint and sick; his colour changed, and he was clearly in a ticklish state. Ned’s friends called out he was going, and urged Ned, in the next round, to go in and finish. Ned was himself, however, piping, and distressed from punishment.

9.—On being brought to the scratch, Sam was weak and groggy on his legs. “Go in,” cried Ned’s friends, but he did not obey the call. He was himself in such a state as to be incapable of making this effort with safety. At last Ned rushed in, hitting with his right, which went over Sam’s shoulder, and caught him on the back of the head. Sam retreated to the ropes, Ned after him, but here Sam showed his quickness, even in distress. He hit away with precision, right and left, catching Ned flush in the mug. At last both got from the ropes, and after a sharp rally and close, Neale went down.

10.—Ned made himself up for mischief, and after stopping Sam’s left, got into a desperate rally. The hitting was severe on both sides, but Sam’s muzzlers told most. The men got on the ropes, where a hard struggle took place, Ned leaning heavily on Sam, and Sam hitting away, while Neale was not idle. At last both went down, Ned uppermost. Sam was now more distressed than ever, and all hands were very busy in fanning him with their hats.

11.—Sam came up evidently weak. Ned pushed in and hit right and left. Sam was bored to the ropes, and Ned kept hitting away, but wild. Sam, though distressed, jobbed with vigour, left and right. Ned got away, and Sam was after him. A spirited rally, and both fought boldly, but Sam had the best of the hitting. In the close, Sam fibbed, and Ned, finding he could do no good, got down, heavily punished, his left eye quite gone, and his right fast closing, while the claret trickled from a tap on the top of his head.

12.—Ned came up steady, but cautious; and Sam, though somewhat groggy, was well on his guard. Ned put in his right on Sam’s body, and succeeded in jobbing him twice on the mouth with his left. A rally, in which both caught nobbers, but Ned the worst of it, from Sam’s strength. At last Ned caught a flush hit on the mouth and, falling on the ground, rolled over, weak.

13.—Sam came up more collected, and commenced the attack with his left, which Ned stopped. Sam, after trying a feint to bring Ned out, gave him a tremendous hit on the swollen eye, drawing more of the ruby, and the light was again partially restored. After a slight rally, Ned closed for the fall, but could not get his lock. He at last pulled Sam down, and fell himself.

14, and last.—Both weak, but steady. Ned tried his right, but his hand opened, and no damage was done. Sam countered beautifully with his left, and put in his right at the body. Good fighting on both sides. Ned again put in his right at the body. A pause; both on their guard. Neale distilling claret from many points. Another short rally, and both away; Sam getting more steady and collected, but still disinclined to throw a chance away by trying too much. He hit short at the body to see whether Ned could return, and Ned returned weak with his right, and his hand open. Another pause, in which neither seemed capable of doing much. Ned kept his hands well up for some time, but appeared too cautious for a rush. At last Sam hit out left and right, catching Ned on the phiz. This was the finisher. Ned dropped, and, on being again picked up, his head fell, and he slipped from his second’s knee. He was stupefied by the repeated hits on his head, and could not be again brought to the scratch. Sam was now well on his legs, and the welcome sound of victory restored all his vigour. The shouts of his friends were deafening. He was borne off in triumph, after shaking hands with his vanquished but gallant antagonist, whose tie-up was quicker than had been anticipated, but it was clear that he had received enough to satisfy an ordinary glutton, even before the last round, and he had not strength enough to make a turn in his favour. The ring was instantly broken and it was some minutes before Ned could be brought to his carriage. The fight concluded at 24 minutes after 4 o’clock, thus making its duration 52 minutes.

REMARKS.—This was decidedly one of the best styles of fights for science and good generalship. It was admitted that Neale never fought so well before, but the superior length and tact of Sam gave him every advantage. It was remarked in counter-hitting, that Sam always caught Neale first, so that the force of Neale’s blows was diminished; added to this, all Neale’s heavy lunging hits at Sam’s ear passed over his shoulder, and this saved him from certain destruction. Had the return in the fifth round been an inch nearer, it was thought Sam’s jaw would have been broken. In the 9th round, too, could Neale have summoned strength to make an impression, his chances would have been certain, but what Sam had lost by exertions, Neale wanted in hitting. The precision and straightness of Sam’s blows told with unerring certainty; even when piping, and in distress, his presence of mind never left him. He was always ready for opportunities, and invariably seized them with success. Throughout, the battle was fair and honourable. There was no wrangling or dispute, with the exception of Holt once having thrown himself in the way of Sam to prevent his falling; and even those who lost their blunt could not but confess that Neale did all that his natural powers permitted. Neale was himself dreadfully mortified by the result of this battle. Sam fully confirmed his claim to the title of the Young Phenomenon, and, of his weight, was considered without a rival.

Two years now elapsed, during which Sam was chiefly heard of as a “man about town,” and the boon companion of a clique of young swells noted for their exploits in the night-houses of the Haymarket and the saloons of Piccadilly, then in all their rank, riot, and disorder. He was then pitted against Harry Preston, but owing to magisterial interference, was apprehended and bound over to keep the peace for six months, and Preston’s friends being unwilling to wait so long, a draw took place.

In the interim, Ned Neale, his last opponent, had been defeated by Tom Gaynor (See life of NEALE, ante, p. 325), and that boxer, immediately on the expiry of Sam’s recognisances, challenged him for £100 a-side. This Sam’s friends declared insufficient, but proposed that Sam should fight the Bond Street carpenter for £300 to £200. The offer was closed with, and the mill came off, after several attempts made by the authorities to put a stop to it, on the 24th of June, 1834, near Andover, Wilts. It appeared that a warrant was obtained from Sir John Gibbon, to apprehend both men. This came to their ears, and they each had to make several moves, the persevering constable who held the warrant contriving on several occasions to find them out, and get his warrant backed by the magistrates in the neighbourhood of their places of retirement. The men, however, on the day before fighting, cautiously approached the trysting-place (Hurstbourne Green, near Andover). Here they were pursued by the constable with his warrant, which he again got backed; but by some “unfortunate accident” (?) he fell into bad company, got drunk, and lost his warrant, a fact he did not discover until he became sober the following morning, when he went off to obtain a fresh warrant. This he succeeded in doing, but owing to the secrecy which had been observed as to the place of fighting, he did not discover it until the men had been fighting some time; and then, after making a vain effort to interfere, he judged discretion the better part of valour, and having done his duty so far as he was able, he retired from the ring-side, and did not again endeavour to spoil sport.

The men and their friends set off from Andover at an early hour for the scene of action, but owing to the caution it was found necessary to exert to keep things dark, the heroes of the day did not reach their tilting ground till 12 o’clock, when Sam entered the ring attended by Dick Curtis and Frank Redmond, Gaynor being seconded by Jem Ward and Deaf Burke. The ring was preserved admirably throughout the day, and nothing was left to be desired by the men or their friends.

On stripping, Sam looked uncommonly well, although his friends said he might have been better had not his presence in town for a few days when at his best, become necessary, in consequence of an action-at-law in which he was engaged. To the casual observer this was not visible, and his fine muscular and symmetrical form never appeared to better advantage, while his countenance displayed the utmost self-possession and personal confidence. His weight was about 11st. Gaynor also appeared in admirable trim, and was not less confident than Sam, although there was more solidity in his manner. His round shoulders offered a striking contrast to the elegant proportions of Sam, and gave him the appearance of a natural stoop, but in all other respects his shape was faultless, and his condition of the first character. He did not seem to have a superfluous ounce of flesh on his body, and weighed as nearly as possible 12st. In length of arm, Sam had the advantage, and the discrepancy in years (Gaynor having the disadvantage of ten years) was sufficiently obvious. So “nutty” were Sam’s friends on their man at this moment, that the odds rose from two to one to five to two, and at this price much business was done.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Precisely at 7 minutes to 1 the men commenced business. Both put up their hands in a defensive position, and eyed each other with scrutinising looks. Each was ready, and appeared to wait for his antagonist to commence. Sam made two or three slight dodges, and Gaynor drew back. Each moved to the right and to the left, but still no opening was offered. The movements on a chess-board could not have been more scientific. At last Gaynor hit out at the body with his left, and got away. Sam stopped the compliment, and smiled. After a long pause, they both made themselves up for mischief, and at last ended suspense by slashing out their counter-hits with the left, Gaynor planting on Sam’s jaw, and Sam on Gaynor’s mouth, which showed a prominent mark. The blows were heavy, and while first blood was drawn from Gaynor, Sam licked his lips, but certainly not with the goût of a cat over a pat of butter. Another pause, when counter-hits with the right were exchanged. Sam stopped Gaynor’s left with great neatness, but in a second effort with the same hands, in the counter-hitting, Sam caught it over the mouth, while Gaynor had it on the left cheek. “How do you like that?” cried Gaynor, laughing. Sam looked serious. Gaynor dodged, but found Sam ready for a fly, and drew back. Gaynor stopped Sam’s left, and tried his right at the body, but was short. Sam hit out with his left, but was short. A long spar, in which each seemed determined not to throw a chance away. Gaynor hit short with his right, open-handed. Sam smiled. Tom again stopped a nasty one from the left, and popped in his right slightly at the body. Sam played a steady game, and drew on his man. Gaynor on the look-out, retired to the side of the ring. Both extremely cautious. At last Sam saw his opportunity, and with great quickness sent in his left, with plenty of elbow grease, on Gaynor’s nob, and dropped him as if shot, thus giving first knock-down, amidst the shouts of his friends. This round, which was admirable, from the exquisite science of the men, lasted ten minutes.

2.—On being called to the scratch, Gaynor came up bleeding at the mouth, and Sam showing symptoms of receiving on his lips and cheek. After long and cautious sparring, neither giving a chance, Gaynor suddenly planted his right on the side of Sam’s head. Cheers for Gaynor, who thus stole a successful march. Sam was not behind in returning the compliment, and after a short time for reflection, popped in a tremendous slap on Gaynor’s mouth with his left. Gaynor’s blow, in countering, passed over Sam’s shoulder. Another cautious spar, when Gaynor hit short with his left. Heavy counter-hits, Sam on the mouth, Gaynor on the left eye. Sam dropped his left on Gaynor’s ribs, and got away. Sam in left and right, but rather out of distance. Gaynor stopped his left in another shy, as well as a hit at his body. Another pause, each on the look-out, when terrific counter-hits with the left were exchanged. Gaynor pointed at Sam’s mouth, which had tasted his knuckles, but he had it heavily himself on the cheek. Excellent stops on both sides, Gaynor planted a round blow on the side of Sam’s head, but it was with the front of his knuckles, and seemed to make no impression. Counter-hitting with the left, Sam’s blow falling heaviest. A pretty rally, in which some wicked blows were exchanged. Both broke away, and sparred for a fresh opening, Gaynor showing most punishment. Sam planted his left three times in succession, hitting first, and Gaynor’s counters non-effective. Gaynor hit short with his left, and fought on the retreat. Counter-hits with the left. Gaynor had now got in the corner, and was so covered by Sam that he could not escape. He waited for the assault, when Sam jumped in with his left, and caught him on the eye. Gaynor returned, and in the close, after some in-fighting, Sam got the fall, and fell heavily on Gaynor, who fell out of the ropes. This round lasted twelve minutes and a half, and it was admitted that Sam had not the easy customer that his admirers anticipated.

3.—Gaynor looking the worse for wear, but strong as a horse, and gay as a lark. Sparring for an opening, when Gaynor caught Sam slightly with his left on the mouth. Sam tried a lunge with his left, but was beautifully stopped. In a second attempt he was more successful, for he planted left and right, cutting Gaynor’s left cheek with the latter. Gaynor countered, and the men closed for the fall, which Gaynor obtained, giving Sam a cross-buttock, and falling heavily upon him. Sam’s right shoulder came heavily against the ground. Cheers for Gaynor. The round lasted four minutes.

4.—Both cautious, and sparring for an opening. Gaynor hit short with his left. Another pause. Counter-hits with the left. Sam caught his man first and hit him heavily. Gaynor’s blow was not so effective. Sam popped in a tremendous muzzler with his left, and Gaynor bled profusely; his old wounds were opened, and his mouth became much swollen. Gaynor again planted his right on Sam’s head heavily. Shouts for Gaynor, and Sam seemed puzzled, but preserved his steadiness. A pause, during which Sam recovered himself. Counter-hits with the left, and a brisk rally, in which heavy hits were exchanged. The men broke away. Long sparring; both ready, and no opening offered. Good stopping on both sides, and the game played with matchless skill. Mutual dodging, but no chance. Sam tried his feint, but it would not do. At last Sam crept well in, and delivered a heavy left-handed jobber. Gaynor countered, and in the close, after a severe struggle, Sam threw Gaynor a beautiful cross-buttock. Cheers for Sam; his friends up in the stirrups. The fight had now lasted forty-five minutes.

5.—Gaynor, on coming up, showed a little distress, and heavy marks of punishment on the mouth and left eye. Sam dodged, but Gaynor was well on his guard. Both stopped by consent, put their hands down, and looked at each other. At it again. Gaynor hit short with his left, and got away. Sam again dropped his left on Gaynor’s eye, and followed this up by a hit with the same hand on the body. Gaynor went in with his one two, catching Sam with his left on the cheek, and his right on the side of the head. Sam returned with his left, and after a short rally, the men closed, and went down. Sam had the best of the round.

6.—Gaynor’s left eye shutting up shop, and he was otherwise much damaged in the frontispiece. “Sam will win it without a black eye,” cried Curtis. Sam made himself up for mischief, and kept stealing on his man, but Gaynor got away. A rally, and exchange of hits. Gaynor’s leg tripped Sam, and he fell upon him. Fifty minutes had now elapsed.

7.—Curtis chaffed on time, and said, as the hour was nearly up, on which he had been betting, Sam might go in to finish. Gaynor, distressed, tried his left, but was out of distance. Sam rushed in to hit with his left, but was cleverly stopped. Gaynor rushed to in-fighting; Sam hit up cleverly with his left, but in the close was thrown a cross-buttock, which gave him a serious shake.

8.—The men had now fought fifty-four minutes, and both were distressed, while it did not seem so safe to Sam as had been booked. Both steady on their guard, and waiting for an opening. Sam’s left well stopped. Gaynor away. Heavy counter-hits with the left; both received stingers, but Sam hit hardest. In the close, both down.

9.—Gaynor’s left eye quite closed, but he was still strong on his legs, and resolute. He again stole a march on Sam, popped in his left, and got away. Both fatigued, but a fine breeze blew over the common, and gave them fresh vigour. Gaynor’s left stopped, and he napped it severely on the nose in return. Gaynor made some admirable stops, and popped his right heavily on Sam’s ear. Gaynor on the defensive, and retreating to the ropes. Sam thought he had him, but Gaynor broke away. Sam followed him, dodged, and popped in with his left. Gaynor closed, caught him round the neck with his left, and hit up with his right. In the scuffle, both fell.

10.—“Not so safe as if it was over,” cried Gaynor’s friends; and it was clear Sam had yet his work to do, as Gaynor got up strong and confident. On going to the scratch, after a short spar, both again put their hands down for a short time. Beautiful fighting followed, and the stopping on both sides was first-rate. The fight had now lasted one hour and five minutes. “Tom can fight another hour,” cried Ward. Mutual dodging. Gaynor planted his left slightly, but there was not sufficient pepper in his blows. A rally, close to the ropes, with hard hitting, when Sam in getting away fell. Shouts for Gaynor.

11.—Both came up steady and serious. Gaynor gave Sam a heavy slap on the mug with his left. Sam was full of self-possession, and looked out for an opening. Gaynor was steady on his guard. Sam popped in a left-handed teaser, and hit at the body with his right. Gaynor made his one two on Sam’s face. Counter-hitting with the left. A body hit with the right from Gaynor. Hard counter-hits with the left; heaviest from Sam. Sam now delivered his right on Gaynor’s ribs; the latter hit short with the left. Some excellent generalship on both sides. Sam dropped his arms as if fatigued. Sam now popped in a slight left-hander, but had it heavily in return on the phiz. Gaynor, whose conk was bleeding, now put both hands down, and beckoned Sam to come to him. Sam approached him, and, after a sharp spar, received a touch on the bread-basket. Gaynor stopped a tremendous left-hander, intended for his good eye. Sam also stopped, and got away. Gaynor tried at the body with his right, but was stopped. Sam got away from a heavy lunge from Gaynor’s left. Sam in with the left; Gaynor returned. Sam dodging, and Gaynor, in getting away, fell.

12.—Gaynor came up steady. Sam waited for him. Gaynor tried his left, but was stopped, and got away. Sam then, throwing his head back, saved himself from a heavy delivery from Tom’s right. Gaynor stopped a left-hander, and popped in his right at the back of Sam’s head, but was heavily hit with the left in return. Both covering themselves well. Sam in with his left on the body. Tom got back, and put his hands down. Counter-hits with the left, and Gaynor short at the body with his right. Both men with their hands down. On again getting into position, Gaynor seized one of Sam’s hands with his left, intending to give him a swinger with his right, but Sam pulled his mauly away, and smiled. Gaynor stopped a left-handed job with the utmost precision. Heavy counter-hits with the left; Sam first in. Gaynor hit out with his left, but his hand was open; he, however, planted a right-hander on Sam’s nob. Sam gave him a tremendous smasher on the gob. Gaynor looked a painful spectacle, though still full of pluck. Some heavy exchanges with the left. In the close, Sam, at in-fighting, gave his antagonist some severe punishment on the ropes, and Gaynor, in pulling himself away, fell over Sam.

13.—Gaynor showed weakness, and Sam seemed now to think he had got him safe. Gaynor hit short with his left. Sam tried his left, but was stopped. A close, and severe struggle for the fall, at the ropes. Sam gave an upper-cut with great force, while Gaynor was not idle. Both down.

14.—Gaynor made play, but was short with his left. Sam steady, and jumping in, delivered his left heavily on Tom’s altered mazzard. A close, and some good in-fighting. A tough struggle for the fall; both down. This effort was exhausting to both. In the close, Sam hit up well.

15.—Gaynor piping, and Sam not fresh. Gaynor in with his left; tried his right, but was stopped. Heavy counter-hits. Both again paused by mutual consent, and put their hands down. Again to work. Good exchanges; Sam at the head, Gaynor at the body. Both cautious. Gaynor on the retreat. Sam got close to him, and hit out viciously, but Gaynor ducked his head, got away, and fell.

16.—Gaynor’s friends were still very confident, as he seemed strong, and Sam appeared fatigued. Counter-hitting with the left, but Sam hitting out first, got home the heaviest. He put in a tremendous left-hander on Tom’s left ogle. Again did both take breath, and drop their arms. Sam steady, and both well on their guard. Mutual stopping. Gaynor short at the body with his right. Counter-hits with the left, terrific from Sam. Two hours were now completed, and the men walked about for wind. Gaynor hit out of distance with his left, but Sam measured him with more precision, and dropped in one of his left-handed chops with full force. Gaynor, after a short pause, seized Sam’s right, while Sam seized his left, each holding the other down. Sam looked at his man for a moment, and then dashed his head into his face with great force. (This, as our readers are aware, is now foul.) Gaynor staggered back, while Sam rushed after him, and jobbed him severely on the nose with the left, and, repeating the dose in the same spot, hit him down as clean as a whistle, being the second knock-down blow in the fight.

17, and last.—Gaynor came up groggy, when Sam popped in his terrific left, and downed him. This was the finisher. The butt, followed by such polishing hits, reduced poor Gaynor to a state of insensibility, and on being raised on his second’s knee it was at once seen that it was all U. P. “Time” was called, and Sam was proclaimed the conqueror with triumphant shouts. The fight lasted two hours and five minutes. Sam was immediately taken to his carriage, much exhausted, but soon became himself again. Gaynor was in a complete state of stupor, and was carried away in a helpless condition.

REMARKS.—This was decidedly one of the finest displays of courage and science combined which had been witnessed for many years, and was acknowledged to be so by the oldest patrons of the Ring who were present. The courage exhibited by both men was unquestionable, and considering the disadvantages under which Gaynor fought, he earned for himself a reputation that placed him in the first class of game men. There is no doubt that the butt in the last round but one proved his coup de grace, or he would have prolonged the contest for many more rounds—with what chance of success we cannot say. The reader should be informed that this manœuvre, though seldom practised, was not at this time against the rules of the Ring, and the position, Gaynor holding both Sam’s hands with an iron grip, was peculiar. The “chapter of accidents” might have produced alterations, and as it was Sam, during the fight, showed great weakness, which was not surprising, as it was afterwards ascertained that in the cross-buttock in the third round his right shoulder was so much injured as to deprive him of the use of his right hand, so far as hitting was concerned, for the remainder of the battle. During the fight, many expressed surprise that he should have kept that hand so idle, and that Gaynor was so repeatedly enabled to job him with his left. Sam could not, in truth, lift it above his head, and but for throwing his head back when the blows were coming in, his punishment would have been much more severe. Although Gaynor had clearly the gift of hitting with equal force, it is considered that but for this accident Sam’s labours would have been considerably curtailed. At one time it was thought to be anybody’s fight, and Sam’s friends were by no means jolly as to the result. His fine generalship, however, enabled him to overcome every difficulty, and the quickness with which he took advantage of Gaynor’s ill-judged seizure of his hand, in the last round but one, while it showed his self-possession, proved him to be a thorough master of the art as then practised. The account of the rounds will show that in point of science Gaynor was little behind Sam, but it must be confessed his powers of punishment were very inferior, while the force of his blows was greatly diminished by Sam’s generally hitting first in the counters. From first to last the combat was conducted with the utmost fairness and good humour; and while all sympathised in the fall of a brave man, they could not but admit that he had honourably sunk before the superior power of his younger and more expert opponent. Such was the impression made in Gaynor’s favour that £17 7s. was collected round the ring, and other sums afterwards contributed. This was the last appearance of either Sam or Gaynor in the P.R.

Sam’s last match in the Ring was with Reuben Martin, for £100, subsequently made into £180 a-side; it was fixed to come off in June, 1838, but an unfortunate occurrence occasioned a forfeit of £80 on the part of Sam. He had volunteered to second his friend Owen Swift in his battle with Phelps (Brighton Bill), and officiated in that capacity on the fatal 13th of March, 1838, at Royston. The details of this unlucky encounter will be found in our memoir of OWEN SWIFT, in Vol. III.

The coroner’s jury having found a verdict of manslaughter against Owen Swift, as principal, and Samuel Evans, Richard Curtis, Frank Redmond, and Edward Brown, as seconds aiding and abetting the same, Sam, Curtis, and Swift at once gave “leg-bail” to the law and departed for the Continent, where they remained until the time for surrendering to take their trial at the Hertford Assizes. Frank Redmond,[52] whose business as a licensed victualler at the “George and Dragon,” in Greek Street, Soho, was suffering ruinously from his enforced absence, alone surrendered. He was defended by Mr. Dowling (who was also a barrister), and acquitted on the 10th July, at the summer assizes. Thereupon Curtis and Brown, who were awaiting the result, surrendered themselves and took their trial. They were not so fortunate as their predecessor in trouble, for the jury convicted them of manslaughter in the second degree, as “present, aiding, and abetting,” when the judge passed the lenient sentence of three months’ imprisonment.

Young Sam and Swift, alarmed at this result, did not return at once. Besides, they found their stay in the French capital, where some of Sam’s aristocratic patrons were also residing, both pleasant and profitable, of which further details will be found in our Life of OWEN SWIFT. Some violent newspaper attacks upon the Ring, and denunciations of prize-fighters and their backers, in the now defunct Morning Herald (a renegade sporting paper) and other publications, made it advisable to await the blowing over of the storm.

Sam’s residence in France, however, found in its result the adage of “out of the frying-pan into the fire.”

Jack Adams was in Paris teaching the art of boxing. Adams, a ten stone man, was twice matched with Swift, and on the second occasion the French law, which deals so leniently with murderous duels and homicide in general, was scandalised and outraged by a duel with fists; so Young Sam and Swift were tried (in their absence), convicted, par contumace, and sentenced to thirteen months of imprisonment and a fine!

Soon after his return to England Sam was arrested and conveyed to Hertford Gaol, and on February 28th, 1839, at the spring assizes, Swift took his place beside his friend Sam, and the trial proceeded. From a failure of evidence a verdict of “Not Guilty” was recorded, and the friends quitted the dock amid the congratulations of the crowd.

Owen Swift arrived in London the same night, but not so his companion in misfortune; Sam’s exit was stopped by a detainer from London, for a forfeiture of bail, incurred in this wise.

A short time previous to the battle of Swift and Phelps, Sam, in company with a “noble earl” and some aristocratic friends, had been engaged in a fracas at a public-house in Piccadilly. This was the disgraceful period when, fired by a vulgar emulation of the worst characteristics of Pierce Egan’s vulgar, vicious, and silly caricatures of two town and country sporting gentlemen, whom he named “Tom and Jerry;” and whom he made the heroes of his wretched, grammarless galimatia called “Life in London,” clerks, apprentices, prigs, pugilists, and peers played the blackguard and ruffian on the stage of real life. The great and beneficial changes which have taken place in our police and street Acts, as well as in the hours and regulations of refreshment rooms and all licensed houses in the Metropolis, make it almost impossible for the present generation to realise the scenes of disorder, profligacy, and ruffianism with which “the West or worst End of the city” nightly abounded. From Temple Bar westward, through Drury Lane, Covent Garden, St. Martin’s Lane, Leicester Square, and its surroundings, to the Haymarket and Piccadilly, “night-houses” admitted the drunkard (when not too drunk), the night prowler, the debauchee, the gambler, the thief, and the prostitute of every grade—the only distinction being the higher or lower tariff. From the swell supper-room, saloon, elysium, or “finish,” of “Goody Levy,” “Goodered,” “Rowbotham,” “Mother H.,” or the “Brunswick,” through the musical and more respectable chop-and-kidney-grilling “Evans’s,” the “Garrick,” the “Cider Cellars,” “Coal Hole,” or “Shades,” down to the common dramshop kept open on the plea of the neighbouring cabstand or theatre until the small hours of the morning grew large, all appealed to those who sought “recreation and refreshment after the theatres.”

In one of these houses, the “Royal Standard,” in Piccadilly, on the morning of the 17th of February, 1838, there appear to have been assembled after a night’s debauch a number of loose characters. Among them were the Earl of Waldegrave and several “Corinthians.” According to the evidence of Mr. Mackenzie, the prosecutor, he, after leaving duty, entered the house in question, where “he saw the prisoner (Young Dutch Sam) and several gentlemen, some of whom he certainly had interfered with in their nocturnal sprees; indeed, he had been instrumental in introducing them to the magistrate at Marlborough Street.” We think nowadays this policeman’s conduct would be strictly canvassed. “Whilst he was standing before the bar,” we copy the report, “the prisoner whispered to Lord Waldegrave, and immediately afterwards, addressing the company, he said, ‘Gentlemen, do you care to see a policeman laid on his back?’ He then seized him (the prosecutor) and threw him on his back, falling upon him with all his weight. He was so much injured as to be under the doctor’s hands for some time, and unfit for duty. The prisoner was held to bail by the magistrates at Marlborough Street, and had forfeited his recognisances.”

Mr. Ballantine addressed the Court on the part of the prisoner in mitigation of punishment. The prisoner had been made the tool of certain parties with whom he had been drinking on the night before the assault was committed, and although they had urged him to the commission of the offence which led to his present position, not one of them had been to visit him, or render him the least assistance during his incarceration.—Mr. Doane, having addressed the Court for the prosecution, described the defendant as a pugilist, but added “that he did not say this to create a prejudice against him on that account, for he felt convinced that the unmanly and terrible crime of stabbing was increasing in this country, in consequence of the absurd and mischievous interference of the county magistracy with the sports of the Ring. Those sports (the learned gentleman observed) had some disadvantages, but they were amply counterbalanced by the habit they engendered of fighting in a fair and manly manner, and by the universal indignation with which anything unfair was regarded in a pugilistic contest.” The Court sentenced the prisoner to three months’ imprisonment.

A motion was subsequently made that the estreat on the recognisances might be taken off, but was refused, on the ground that the Court had no power to interfere.

We have been the more particular in the narration of this case as the facts were known to the writer, and as a most false and exaggerated report of the affair was subsequently published in the Morning Herald, in an attack upon the Prize Ring, penned by an Irish sporting reporter who had been discharged by the editor of Bell’s Life. The conduct of the policeman, to our thinking, more resembled that of a French agent provocateur than a guardian of the peace; and, without defending the assailant, we may remark that the fact that Young Sam so carefully avoided using his unquestionable pugilistic skill, although under the excitement of champagne and provocation, is a sufficient answer to the charge of “ruffianism” and “ferocity” cast upon him for this foolish escapade.

Shortly after this fracas a new police Act, and increased vigilance in the stipendiary magistrates, checked effectually these disgraceful excesses, by substituting imprisonment for fine, at the discretion of the justices, whereupon we find, in a contemporary “daily,” the ironical “Lament” of which the subjoined are a few of the leading stanzas:—

LAMENT OF THE “DISORDERLY GENTLEMEN.”

A plague on the new law! bad luck to the beaks, Opposed as they are to “disorderly” freaks; Ye pinks of high rank, let your sorrows have vent, And join with your pals in a doleful lament.

No longer at midnight, when coming it strong, Ripe for riot and row, shall we stagger along; No more of brave acts shall we “gentlemen” chaff, Nor floor a raw lobster and fracture his staff.

Till lately, when liquor got up in the nob, A fine of five shillings would settle the job; And none will deny who has starr’d on the town, A frolic or spree wasn’t cheap at a crown.

But now we’re informed by the beak, Mr. Grove (Whoever could seat on the Bench such a cove?), That if with strong liquors our tempers get hot, He’ll send us at once on the treadmill to trot—

That the pastime of wrenching off knockers and bells Must no longer be practis’d by high-minded swells; Or he’ll send us, to settle each paltry dispute, For a month to the treadmill our health to recruit.

O haste, brother pinks, such disgrace to prevent, Before this vile Bill has the Royal Assent; For herself it is certain Her Majesty thinks, And I’m sure she’ll attend to a prayer from the “pinks.”

What, never again be permitted at dark To insult modest females by way of a lark! Gone for ever our joys, and our gay occupation? Must we now like vile felons be marched to the station?

Forbid, ye proud nobs, any steps so degrading— The swells’ charter’d rights they are basely invading; Let us stand up for sprees and our leisure amuse, And still act as blackguards whenever we choose.

Young Sam, though occasionally exhibiting his skill with the gloves at the sets-to of the “Pugilistic Association” established about this period at the Westminster (now the Lambeth) Swimming Baths, by Tom Spring, Cribb, Crawley, the editor of Bell’s Life, and other leading friends of the P.R., was not popular with his brethren of the Ring, and did not care to associate with them. He became a publican first in Castle Street, Leicester Square, and then at the “Coach and Horses,” St. Martin’s Lane; but in both he was unsuccessful—it was said from inattention to business, which we can well believe. At length, in 1840, Sam wedded the daughter of a respected publican, and with her as a helpmeet he became landlord of the “Black Lion,” in Vinegar Yard, Drury Lane. From this house he migrated to the Old Drury Tavern, in Brydges Street, Covent Garden, and here his wife’s experience and management, together with her influence over his erratic disposition, seemed to be fast maturing the “Young ’Un” into a respectable and steady Boniface. For some time, however, the effects of early dissipation were visible in recurrences of inflammation of the lungs at the approach of winter or exposure to cold. In 1842 a severe relapse, accompanied by spitting of blood, reduced him almost to a shadow, and on the 4th of November, 1843, he died of decline, at the early age of thirty-six. The following appeared in an obituary notice in the leading sporting journal of the day:—

“In the sparring schools Sam was a master of his art to an extent but seldom seen and rarely equalled by professors. He often showed, and remarkably so when in conversation with his ‘betters (?),’ that his acquaintance with ‘letters’ was not merely of a mechanical description. He spoke well, and when he chose could ‘do the agreeable’ with a suavity highly creditable to his class, securing to himself throughout his career the patronage of many noblemen and gentlemen of the highest distinction. His temper was cheerful, and he possessed a flow of natural humour which rendered him an agreeable companion in social circles. A reckless disregard to his own interests, and an unhappy disposition to mix in those scenes which constitute what is called ‘Life in London,’ and in which he was often the companion of sprigs of nobility, to whose wild vagaries he was but too much inclined to pander, led him into scrapes from which he had some difficulty in escaping. It is not our wish, however, to speak ill of the dead; and knowing as we do that there are those of a higher grade whose example he was but too prone to follow, equally deserving of censure, we shall throw a veil over the past, and let the recollection of his faults lie hidden in the grave. As a pugilist he was always successful, for he never lost a fight, and as a skilful sparrer he has left no equal of his years. It was not till he married a woman who was his faithful and attached companion till the moment of his death that the foundation of prosperity was laid. She, luckily, was a woman of good sense, and considerable experience in the public line, which enabled her to ‘carry on the war’ with success. Throughout his last illness he was attended with exemplary kindness by his wife, who spared neither pains nor expense to alleviate his disease. He died calm and collected, surrounded by several of his friends, who while they pitied could not but condemn the headlong folly which had distinguished his passage through his short but eventful existence. Many of his faults and follies may be fairly ascribed to the nature of the associations into which the deceased, from his earliest outset in life, was accidently thrown. He was ‘a spoilt child’ of the Fancy, and like all spoilt children was wayward.”

Sam lies buried in the vault of his wife’s family in Kensal Green Cemetery.

MONODY ON THE DEATH OF YOUNG DUTCH SAM.

Scarce the illustrious Pet[53] his eyes had clos’d, When in Death’s cold embrace Dutch Sam repos’d; As brave a fellow from life’s scenes dismiss’d As ever faced a foe or clench’d a fist; Brave without bounce, and resolute as bold, And ever first fair fighting to uphold; Dauntless as honest, with unequalled game He dar’d defeat, and fought his way to fame; And burning still with pugilistic fire, Prov’d Young Dutch Sam was worthy of his sire,

Made of the same unyielding sort of stuff, Ready at all times for the scratch and rough, Delighting in the Ring at contest tough, And proudly scorning to sing out, “Enough!”

Ah! what avails it that in many a mill, With pluck unflinching he was conqueror still; With first-rate science dealt the unerring blow Which from the sneezer made the claret flow; Perplex’d the box of knowledge with a crack, And cloth’d the ogles with a suit of black; Forward his foeman fiercely to assail, And shower his body blows as thick as hail? Ah! what avails it? Dire disease at length Blighted his laurels and subdued his strength, Marking his features pale with Death’s cold stamp, While faint and feeble burnt life’s flickering lamp, ’Till wasted, wan, and worn the pulses stopp’d. The last sad scene was o’er, the curtain dropp’d. But thou hast mark’d a course correct as clear, By which the aspiring pugilist may steer.

Though fate decreed thou first shouldst breathe the air Within the classic precincts of Rag Fair— That region fam’d, as chronicles unfold, Sacred to Sheenies and to garments old, Owld coats, owld vests, to tempt the gazer’s view, And tiles dresht up to look as goot as new; But though in scenes like these Young Sam was nurs’d, The bonds that cramp’d his youth he proudly burst, And with ambition fired, and milling glow, From rolls retreated, and discarded dough; Cut Rosemary Lane, its sorrows and its joys, And left dead men to other bakers’ boys!

What though awhile he ran a printing-race At Charley Baldwin’s crib in Chatham Place? For though to duty never disinclined, ’Twas Caleb Baldwin’s deeds engrossed his mind; The star of Westminster as tough, as bold, Who cried peccavi to Dutch Sam the old.

What though awhile, the public to amuse, Through London streets he circulated news, Doom’d for a time from East to West to trip, And barter broadsheets for the ready tip? “By heaven!” he cried, “to fighting fame I’ll soar, And sporting journals I will vend no more, Of adverse fate I’ll overleap the bar, And follow to the Ring some milling star; Consign all braggart pugilists to shame, And show the Fancy Sam is thorough game!”

Thy spirit warmed by the exciting theme, Nobly Dutch Sam thy pledge thou didst redeem, And soon beneath Dick Curtis’ fostering wing, Blaz’d like a meteor in the battle-ring. Fortune upon thy hardy efforts smil’d, And Victory hail’d thee as her favourite child.

Beneath thy prowess prime, which nought could quell, The liveliest of the kids, Ned Stockman, fell; Then ’twas thy luck, scarce injur’d, to destroy The shine of Harry Jones, the Sailor Boy; ’Twas thine from Carroll Pat to strip the bays, And serve out Cooper Tom in style at Grays, Floor the swart Gipsy in time double-quick, And settle the proud hash of Davis Dick; The veteran Martin soon his colours struck, And twice Ned Neale was down upon his luck; And all his senses sent upon a cruise, It was the luck of Gaynor Tom to lose!

But vain are science, gluttony, and strength, And Young Dutch Sam has met his match at length— One whose sharp hits can ne’er be put aside, And at the scratch will never be denied. Brave man! we only mourn that thou art gone, Well worthy to be dubb’d “Phenomenon.” Sound be thy slumber in thy narrow cell, While with a heavy heart we sigh farewell!

=M.=

CHAPTER IX. TOM GAYNOR (“THE BATH CARPENTER”)—1824–1834.

It was said of Marshal Clairfait that, like a drum, he was only heard of when he was beaten. Tom Gaynor, in somewhat like fashion, takes his place among the celebrities of the Ring from the high fame of the men against whom he had the ill luck to be opposed. Beginning rather late in the London Ring, Gaynor’s first antagonist was Ned Neale (who had just polished off in succession Deaf Davis, Bill Cribb, Miller, Hall, and David Hudson), while his last (and too late) appearance in the Ring was in combat with the Phenomenon, Young Dutch Sam, before whom he stood for two hours and five minutes, at Andover, in the year 1834. This was proof sufficient that Gaynor’s heart was in the right place, and that his fistic skill was far above the mere “give and take” of second-rate boxers.

The sobriquet of Gaynor assigns Bath for his birthplace, and there, on the 22nd of April, 1799, the young Tom opened his eyes, as the son of a respectable carpenter in that fashionable city. Tom used to tell his friends, over a pipe at the “Red Horse,” Bond Street, of a wonderful uncle of his, hight Tom Marshall, who was champion boxer of “Zummerzetzhire,” and was never defeated. This uncle, who stood six feet one and a half in his stockings, seems to have been the idol of his nephew’s hero-worship, as another Tom [Carlyle] would phrase it. With this uncle young Gaynor was placed at Taunton, and there, at thirteen years old, was apprenticed. Here Tom’s skill with his “fives” was acknowledged, and at about seventeen years of age he was what modern times would call a “certificated pupil-teacher” in an “academy” of which a local boxer was the chief professor of “the noble art.” One Turle, a fiddler, had the reputation of being a dangerous opponent, but in a turn-up with the young Carpenter he received such a taste of his quality that he declined any further favours, and tacitly resigned his assumed title of “champion of Taunton” to the “’prentice han’” of Gaynor.

These were the times of election saturnalia, and though (testè Sir Henry James) Taunton, in these days of ballot and household suffrage, is no purer than it ought to be, in the times of borough-mongering it was much worse. A little episode in young Tom’s history may illustrate this. During a contested election for that riotous, thirsty, and by no means immaculate borough, the true blue champion, whose colours young Tom wore, had set abroach a hogshead of “raal Zummerzet soyder,” and to ensure the just distribution of the same had entrusted it to the care of a big rural rough, who churlishly denied young Gaynor a drop of the cheering home-made. This unfair treatment considerably riled our hero; but when the big bully threatened to add “a good hoidin’” to his refusal, “unless young Chips made hisself skeerce,” the joke was carried too far. The stripling stripped, and the countryman, consigning his charge to a friend, desired him to “zee to the zwill, whoiles oi polish off this yoong jackandapes.” But the battle was not to the strong, and in three sharp rounds, occupying about fifteen minutes, the “rush” of the yokel was so completely taken out of him by the cutting “props” and the straight “nobbers” of the young ’un that the countryman cried, “Enoo!” and went back to his tap, from which Tom and his friends drank success to themselves and their candidate without further hindrance or molestation.

Soon after Tom returned to his native city of Bath. Here he fought a pitched battle with a recruiting sergeant of some boxing fame in military circles. The soldier’s tactics, however, were of no avail against the superior strategics of young Gaynor.

Gaynor’s eyes, although he followed his calling industriously, were always cast towards the Metropolis with a longing gaze, and at the age of twenty-four he made his way to town, and having already met that professor in the provinces, he took up his quarters at the house of his “brother chip,” the scientific Harry Holt, the “Cicero of the Ring,” who then kept the “Golden Cross,” in Cross Lane, Long Acre. Here an accident brought him into notice.

Josh Hudson being at Holt’s at a jollification, the conversation, of course, was of “battles lost and won,” and in the course of “chaff” Tom Gaynor was introduced with an eulogistic flourish from his Ciceronian friend and brother-craftsman. This led to Josh, who was certainly not in his “coolest state of collectedness,” expressing his willingness to put on the mittens with the “young man from the country.” The result was unfortunate. Josh lost his temper, and for some twenty-five minutes it was very like a little glove-fight, in which “Tom was as good as his master.” Of course, Holt’s friends put a stop to this; but it raised Gaynor’s reputation.

Soon after, in a set-to with Ben Burn, Gaynor displayed such science and resolution that he was highly applauded by the amateurs at the Fives Court, and was hailed a clever “newcomer.”

Friends now came forward, and Tom was matched with Ned Neale, at whose hands he experienced an honourable defeat, on the 25th May, 1824, in one hour and six minutes. (See NEALE, Chapter V., ante.)

Gaynor, about this time, frequently appeared at public sparring benefits, and was much esteemed, notwithstanding his defeat by so practised and resolute a boxer as the Streatham Youth. At Epsom Races, on the 20th of May, 1825, Gaynor was in attendance, with many of the Fancy, when a subscription purse of fifty guineas was offered by the amateurs. For this Gaynor presented himself as a candidate, and was met by Jonathan Bissell (Young Gas). Gaynor was admitted to be sadly out of condition, while Young Gas was in first-rate fettle. Gaynor was compelled to give in, after a game battle of one hour and twenty-five minutes.

In the early months of 1825 Gaynor advertised for a customer, offering to fight any man of his weight—eleven stone and a half—in three months, for £100 a-side. Nearly one year passed away in sparring, when Gaynor, anxious for a job, challenged Reuben Martin for £50 a-side, in January, 1826. This, however, ended without an engagement.

Tom was at length matched for £50 a-side with Alec Reid (the Chelsea Snob), and the men met on Tuesday, May 16th, 1826, at No Man’s Land, three miles and a half to the right of St. Albans.

The Eton Montem, Greenwich, and Wandsworth Fairs, and other places of attraction near the Metropolis, rendered the road to the scene of action remarkably thin; indeed, so scarce were drags of every description that the turnpike men declared it a holiday for their apron pockets, while the roadside houses looked out in vain for a four-horse drag, or even a Hampton van. Yet such a scientific display, with manliness united, as the battle between Gaynor and Alec Reid, on the beautiful bit of turf belonging to the ladies, on that Tuesday in May, has seldom rewarded a journey of a hundred miles.

White-headed Bob was Gaynor’s principal patron, and like a good judge sent out his boy to a prime training walk. Baldwin also backed Gaynor to the amount of a £50 note—so high an opinion did the White-nobbed One entertain of his quality. The Chelsea Champion was under the protection of a Corinthian, and Richmond also looked after him. Both men did their duty while training, and their appearance, on stripping, satisfied the amateurs that they entered the ring in good condition. At one o’clock Gaynor threw his hat into the ropes, attended by Jem Ward and White-headed Bob, and a few minutes afterwards Reid repeated the token of defiance, followed by Cannon and Richmond. Gaynor was the favourite, at six and five to four; but the odds had previously been laid both ways. In fact, Reid was viewed as decidedly the best fighter, and in most instances was taken for choice. The colours, yellow for Gaynor, were tied to the stakes by Bob, and crimson for Reid were fastened by Richmond.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Gaynor was the bigger man on appearing at the scratch, and having length and weight on his side were no trifling advantages in his favour. Reid looked well; he was up to the mark, and confident in the extreme. Some little caution was observed on both sides, both of them ready to let fly upon the first opening. Gaynor endeavoured to feel for the nob of his opponent, but the arms of Reid rendered repeated attempts of no avail. Reid at length got a turn, and quick as lightning he tapped the sensitive plant of Gaynor so roughly that both his ogles were winking. (The Reidites gave a rare chevy, thinking it a good omen.) The science of Reid was much admired; he stopped two left-handed hits with the utmost ease; but in counter-hitting he received a tremendous blow on his mouth, which not only produced the claret, but almost displaced his ivories. (“First blood!” cried Curtis and Josh Hudson.) Reid, with much good nature, said to Gaynor, “That was a good hit.” The left hand of Gaynor again told; nevertheless, Reid was busy, and in turn felt for the upper works of Gaynor. The left peeper of the latter was damaged. Some excellent stops on both sides, until a rally ensued, when Gaynor fought resolutely until they were entangled—both down, Gaynor undermost. (It was clearly seen that the length of Gaynor made him a dangerous opponent, and he was decidedly the favourite at six to four.)

2.—Reid, like an experienced boxer, now stopped Gaynor well, but the latter would not be denied. He planted a heavy blow in Reid’s face, and in closing sent him out of the ropes. (“You are sure to win it, Gaynor,” observed his friends; and two to one was offered and taken.)

3.—Reid found out that he had a much more troublesome customer than he had anticipated. Gaynor got away from a heavy blow; a pause, and both on the look-out for squalls. Some sharp blows exchanged. The left hand of Gaynor told twice severely on Reid’s mug. A rally ensued, and Tom went down rather weak.

4.—This was a capital round; and the mode of fighting adopted by Reid delighted his backers. He went to work with much determination, and Gaynor napped considerable punishment. In closing, Reid fibbed his opponent severely, until a severe struggle put an end to the round, and both down. (“What a capital fight—both good ones; it is worth coming 100 miles to see! We have not had such a fight for these two years past!” were the general observations all round the ring.)

5.—The face of Gaynor was materially altered, and his right ogle in “Queer Street.” The mug of Reid was likewise damaged—his nose had increased in size; he had also received some heavy body blows. Good stopping on both sides; and Reid, in the estimation of his backers, put in some beautiful facers. In closing, Reid went down.

6.—A small change had taken place in favour of the “man of wax;” and he had now made his opponent a piper. The seconds of Reid and all his friends called to him to go to work; but Gaynor was not to be beaten off his guard—he sparred for wind till he recovered from his distress. Reid, however, got the lead, and milled away, till in closing at the ropes he was thrown, and had a bad fall. Reid was now backed as favourite.

7.—Gaynor was much distressed; and Reid, like a skilful general, never lost sight of the advantage. In closing at the ropes, Gaynor went down exhausted. (“Reid for £100!” and uproarious shouts of applause.)

8.—Reid, most certainly, at this period of the fight, was the hero of the tale; he tipped it to Gaynor at every turn, till the latter boxer went down. (Rounds of applause for Reid.)

9.—A more manly round was never witnessed in any battle whatever—it was hit for hit, the claret following almost every blow. Both men stood up to each other like bricks, and appeared regardless of the punishment they received. Both down. (“Here’s a fight—this battle will bring the Ring round! Reid’s a fine fellow, but he is overmatched.”)

10.—This was also a capital round; but whenever Reid made a hit Gaynor returned upon him. The length of the latter boxer enabled him to do this; and also in several instances his left hand did much execution, without being stopped by the Snob. Both down, and summat the matter on each side.

11.—Reid had the worst of it in this round; he received three jobbers, which made his nob dance again; but his courage never forsook him. In closing, the head of the Snob, in going down, went against the stakes, enough to have taken the fight out of most men, but he was too game to notice it.

12.—The changes were frequent, and at times it was anybody’s battle. Reid was never at a loss, and he fought at every point to obtain victory. In struggling Reid was thrown, and Gaynor fell on him.

13.—The left hand of Gaynor committed desperate havoc on Reid’s face; nevertheless, the former napped sharp ones in turn. In struggling, Reid went down.

14.—The appearance of Gaynor was now against him; and strangers to the Ring might fairly have entertained an opinion that he could not have stood up for a couple more rounds. Reid took the lead for a short time, but the round was finished by Reid being thrown.

15.—Nothing of consequence. Short, and both on the turf.

16.—This round was a fine display of science in favour of Reid. He punished Gaynor all over the ground, and floored him by a heavy facer. The Reidites were now uproarious, and applauded their man to the echo.

17.—Both men exhibited symptoms of distress. After an exchange of hits they staggered against each other, and went down. (“What a brave fight! Jack is as good as his master!”)

18.—Gaynor, although in distress, made some good hits; he also nobbed Reid, and fell heavily upon his opponent.

19.—This was a short round. Reid was exceedingly weak, and went down—Gaynor quite as bad, staggering over his man.

20.—Reid came to the scratch full of pluck, but he received two jobbers. Both down, Reid undermost.

21.—The falls were decidedly against Reid; and in this round he received shaking enough to have put an end to the battle, Reid went down, and Gaynor fell on his head.

22.—The oldest and best judges of the Ring still stuck to Reid, and made him the favourite. He commenced the rounds well, but in general, as in this instance, he was thrown.

23.—Gaynor now appeared getting rather better; but his mouth was open, and so were his hands. (The friends of Reid advised Gaynor to leave off, as he was a married man, and had a family; “It don’t suit me,” said Gaynor. “Hold your tongue,” said Ward; “it is six to one—sixty to one, I meant, in your favour—ain’t it, Bob?” “Yes,” replied the White-headed One; “it is a horse to a hen.”) Reid fell weak.

24.—Reid, like a good one, showed fight, and put in a nobber, but his strength could not second his science, and he was heavily thrown. Still Reid was offered as the favourite for five pounds, but no taker.

25.—It really was astonishing to view the high courage displayed on both sides, and the firmness and spirit with which they opposed each other’s efforts. In finishing this round, Reid went down, and Gaynor fell on him.

26.—This was a very good round, and the determined spirit displayed by Reid astonished every spectator. Counter-hits. Gaynor tried to escape punishment, and in retreating fell down. (“He’s going; you have won it, Reid.”)

27.—Gaynor’s face was badly battered, and the index of Reid was little better; but no complaints were made, and when time was called both appeared at the scratch with alacrity. Reid was busy and troublesome, till he was thrown. Another bad fall against him—worse than ten hits.

28.—Reid down; but he contended every inch of ground like a Wellington—a better little man is not to be met with, and the courage and good fighting he displayed this day delighted his backers.

29.—Gaynor was evidently the stronger man, although “bad was the best.” Reid was getting very weak, missed his blows, and went down on his knees.

30.—The change was now decidedly in favour of Gaynor; and in closing he gave Reid a severe cross-buttock. (“It’s all up,” was the cry. “I’ll give you,” said Josh, “a chest of tools if you win it.” “I have promised him,” said Tom Oliver, “Somerset House—but he can’t lose it.”)

31.—Reid got away from a heavy nobber, with much more activity than could have been expected by a man in his truly distressed state. Reid down.

32.—Gaynor pursued Reid to the ropes, where the latter fought with fine spirit and resolution, till he was sent out of them by Gaynor.

33.—Several persons were yet of opinion that Reid would win; in truth, the battle was never safe to either until it was over. Reid went down distressed.

34, and last.—Reid still showed fight, and an exchange of blows took place; but in closing, Gaynor in obtaining the throw fell heavily upon him. Reid’s head came violently against the ground, and when picked up by his second he was insensible. Gaynor was declared the conqueror. The battle occupied one hour and ten minutes.

REMARKS.—It was a near thing after all; and Reid, although in defeat, raised himself in the estimation of the Fancy. He fought up-hill against weight and length, and was likewise opposed to a man of science and a game boxer. Reid, it is said, weighed ten stone four pounds, and Gaynor eleven stone six pounds—but Gaynor declared, at the Tennis Court, on the Wednesday following, that he was under eleven stone. A better fight, in every point of view, has not been seen for many years. Gaynor received most punishment; but his conduct throughout the whole of the battle was cool and praiseworthy.

Gaynor was matched for a second battle with Young Gas, for £100 a side, to take place on the 5th of September. The stakes were made good, but owing to a misunderstanding the match went off.

In consequence of Gaynor having proved the conqueror with Reid, he was considered an excellent opponent for Bishop Sharpe, and his friends backed him against Sharpe for £50 a-side. This battle was decided also at No Man’s Land, on Tuesday, December 5th, 1826. Sharpe won the fight, after a very hard battle of one hour and ten minutes, Gaynor showing fight to the last. (See BISHOP SHARPE, Chapter XI., post.)

Gaynor’s defeat by the Bold Smuggler did not diminish the number of friends made by his general good conduct and excellent demeanour to his patrons and backers. But despite his readiness for a match, it was more than a year before one could be satisfactorily arranged. His challenge was then accepted by Charles Gybletts, whose reputation as a slashing hitter and well-scienced boxer was established by his defeats of Rasher, Phil Sampson (see post, Chapter XIII.), Robin Rough, and Harry Jones, and who had lately fought a draw with Reuben Martin.

Gybletts was the favourite, at six to four, and the stakes (£100) being made good, the men met on the 18th of May, 1828, at Shere Mere, Bedfordshire, on the borders of Herts. At this fight, Tom Oliver, who had received the true blue ropes and stakes of the Pugilistic Club, by order of Mr. John Jackson, its president, first appeared as Commissary-General of the P.R., and displayed that tact in the formation of an inner square and an outer circle which we so well remember, and so oft commended in long after years. Gaynor, who trained at Shirley’s, at Staines, came over on Monday to the “Blue Boar,” at St. Albans, Gybletts at the same time reaching the “Cross Keys,” Oldaker’s, at Harpenden. Both men were in the highest spirits, and in first-rate condition. Gaynor, joined by some Corinthian patrons, came on the ground in a well-appointed four-in-hand, decorated with his colours, a bright orange, and accompanied by a Kent bugle player, to the enlivenment of the road and scene. Gybletts was driven to the ring in a less ostentatious conveyance, a high, red-wheeled, yellow, one-horse “shay,” of the then “commercial” pattern, but was none the less heartily greeted by his admirers.

The day was brilliantly fine, and the attendance of the right sort, who are always orderly. Gybletts, waited on by Dick Curtis and Josh Hudson, first threw his castor into the ring. Gaynor, esquired by Harry Holt and Tom Oliver, quickly answered the challenge, and Oliver won for him the choice of corners. Gaynor’s weight was stated at twelve stone, Gybletts’s at eleven stone seven pounds. The odds were, however, still on Gybletts, and no takers.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On throwing themselves into attitude, each man showed his judgment in keeping the vulnerable points well covered. Gaynor manœuvred with his hands well up, and Gybletts played in and out, seeking an opening for a left-hand delivery. After some cautious movements, Gaynor broke ground, trying his right at Gybletts’s body, but he was cleverly stopped, and Gybletts jumped away nimbly. His left at the nob was also stopped, but in a second trial with the right Gaynor got home on his adversary’s cheek. Gybletts now went in to fight, and caught Gaynor a smack on the mouth with the right, Gaynor striking the centre stake with his heel in retreating. He recovered himself, however, and rushed to a rally, delivering right and left on his opponent’s frontispiece. Gybletts fought with him until they closed, when, after a sharp struggle, Gaynor threw him a heavy back fall, and tumbled on him. On getting up a tinge of blood was visible on the face of each, and the first event was undecided.

2.—Gaynor, first to fight, delivered his right on Gybletts’s body, who got away actively, and propped Gaynor as he came in. Gaynor again tried his right at Gybletts’s ribs, but was stopped. He got on, however, one, two, on Gybletts’s head, cutting his left cheek. In the close Gybletts struggled hard for the fall, but Gaynor, dexterously shifting his leg, got the inner lock, and threw Gybletts head over heels, amidst the cheers of his friends. Odds still six to four on Gybletts.

3.—A good scientific round; hitting, stopping getting away, in pretty stand-up style. Each got it on the body and pimple in turn, but the out-fighting was certainly in favour of Gaynor, who had the reach of his opponent. In the close, Gybletts got the fall, and the cheering of the last round was returned.

4.—Good stopping by both. Charley missed his right at the body, and received a heavy smack on the left cheek from Gaynor’s right, which sounded all over the ring, and imprinted a blood-mark on the spot. Charley was puzzled, but good counter-hits were exchanged. Gybletts stepped back, wiped his hands, and did not seem to know how to get at his long-armed, round-shouldered opponent. Caution the order of the day, and some excellent stops on both sides. Gybletts swung in his right on the body, but got it on the jaw. The men closed, Gybletts pegging away at Gaynor’s ribs, Gaynor at Gybletts’s head-piece; Gaynor threw his man heavily. (Even on Gaynor.)

5.—Charley got in his left on Gaynor’s neck, and followed it by a body blow. Exchanges, in which Gaynor’s length of arm told, Gaynor getting home on Gybletts’s forehead and mouth, Gybletts on his opponent’s ribs and ear. A close for the fall. After a short struggle Gaynor threw his man cleverly.

6.—Gaynor again caught a blow on the neck from Charley’s left, but the latter missed his body blow. Stopping in good style; at length Gybletts went in, delivering his right heavily. Gaynor turned round, and in getting away fell on his hands and knees by a slip. Loud cheers for Gybletts, and two to one offered by his friends, though both out and in fighting were in Gaynor’s favour.

7.—Gybletts got another sharp one on his wounded cheek. He retreated, but Gaynor followed, forced the fighting, and threw him.

8.—On coming to the scratch Gybletts’s shoe was down at heel. Dick Curtis came forward and busied himself in getting it up, Gaynor quietly looking at him. Tom Oliver made an appeal of “Foul,” but the umpires said they had nothing to remark, except that Gaynor was at liberty to get to work, as “time” had been called. During the discussion the heel was put to rights, and the men stood up. Gaynor got his right on to Gybletts’s body, Gybletts returned short, when Gaynor jobbed him twice on the head, and in the close both were down.

9.—Gaynor, first to fight, put in one, two, and closed; both down at the ropes.

10.—Good counter-hitting; both men stood bravely to the scratch. In the close, after a struggle, both fell, Gybletts on his head.

11.—Both men rushed to a close, and after a violent effort for the fall Gaynor grassed his man, falling on him.

12.—Good science on both sides. Alternate hits and stops. Gybletts had discovered that closing was not to his advantage, and kept out. In the exchanges he caught a heavy foreheader from Gaynor’s left, and was finally thrown.

13.—Gybletts cautious, but Gaynor would not wait his convenience; he went in right and left, and Gybletts dropped.

14.—Mutual exchanges and good stops. Gybletts again visited on his olfactory organ. Both down harmlessly in a scramble.

15.—Gaynor delivered a right-handed chop, and Charley, in return, caught him in the ribs with the right. A close at the ropes, and both down.

16.—A slashing round; hit away on both sides until Gybletts was floored.

17.—Gybletts came up remarkably cheerful, considering the last bout. He got a good hit in on Gaynor’s mouth, which bled freely. Gaynor returned, and went down in the exchanges.

18.—Both cautious. Gybletts sent in a teaser with his left on Gaynor’s mouth. Gaynor, a little surprised, rushed to a close. Charley got Gaynor cleverly in his arms, lifted him from the ground, and backheeled him, falling on him heavily. (Shouts of “That’s the way, Charley!”)

19.—Wild fighting on both sides. Gaynor rattled away, hit or miss. Gybletts returned at random; in the exchanges Gybletts slipped, and was on his knees, when Gaynor knocked him over.

20.—Forty-five minutes had now elapsed. The knuckles of Gybletts’s right hand were much puffed by repeated contact with the point of Gaynor’s elbow, which he dropped to protect his ribs from the unpleasant visitations of his adversary. Yet Charley was still the favourite, from his known gameness, and his friends maintained he must wear Gaynor out. Gybletts delivered his right at the body, and Gaynor closed for in-fighting. In the close, Gybletts got Gaynor down.

21.—Gybletts crept in, got in a blow on Gaynor’s proboscis, and was uppermost in the close.

22.—A good weaving round. Gybletts had it left and right, and was thrown unmistakably.

23.—Gaynor made a right-handed job, closed, and threw his man.

24.—Gybletts applied to the brandy bottle. He went up, sparred a little, tried at the body, missed, and was thrown.

25, 26, 27.—Gybletts fighting an up-hill game, but contending manfully, hit for hit. In the 26th round Gaynor caught his man on the nose, cutting the cartilage, the wound bleeding profusely. In the last round both were down.

28, 29.—Gaynor first to fight. Gybletts down.

30.—Gybletts got home sharply with his left in Gaynor’s left eye. Gaynor cautious. At length he let fly, but Gybletts ducked his head, thus saving it from a smasher. He then caught Gaynor heavily on the mouth, and drew the claret from that organ as well as the nose. Gaynor returned, but slipped down on his knees.

31.—One hour and five minutes had passed. Charley succeeded in planting a “snorter,” but Gaynor gave him a quid pro quo. Gybletts once again visited his adversary’s masticators, when Gaynor went in hand over hand, drove him to the ropes, hit up, and threw him.

32.—Gaynor took the lead in fighting. Charley drew back, putting in slightly on the nose. He got it in return on the mouth, and went down, Gaynor also falling back on the ropes, but quickly recovering his perpendicular.

33.—Gybletts came up cheerful, and after a few feints and parries went in for close quarters. After a stiff struggle Gybletts was thrown completely over the ropes out of the ring; Gaynor went over the ropes with him, with his heels in the air and his head on his man’s body.

34.—Gybletts, though piping, seemed strong on his legs. He stood well to his man, and it was hit for hit with no decided advantage, till, in the close, both were on the grass.

35.—Gaynor went in, and Charley jobbed him on the nose. Tom shook his head, and went at Gybletts with the right. Exchanges, a rally, and a heavy cross-counter; both men were on the ropes. Gaynor in an awkward position, when he got down. (Cheering for Gybletts.)

36.—One hour and a quarter had elapsed, and the odds were still on Gybletts, notwithstanding Gaynor’s out-fighting and wrestling were superior. Tom, first to fight, got in a mugger, and received a rib-roaster in return. Merry milling for a turn. In the close Gaynor got the fall.

37.—Gybletts stopped Gaynor’s left neatly, and got away; Gaynor followed. Both missed in the exchanges, closed, and Gybletts gained the throw.

38.—Gybletts, amazingly active on his pins, missed a right-hander; exchanges with the left, and a cross-counter. Gybletts went in wildly, but was heavily thrown.

39.—From this to the 45th round the men fought spiritedly; Gaynor, getting better, generally had Gybletts down at the ropes. In the 46th round Gybletts’s right hand was seen to have given way, and he had his left only to depend on as a weapon of offence. In the 48th and 49th Gaynor fought Gybletts down, and in the 50th threw him heavily.

51, and last.—When Gybletts showed at the scratch, Harry Holt called upon Gaynor to “finish the fight,” but Tom was so “bothered” he could do nothing with precision. He missed with the right, got hold of his man and turned him round, when both fell together, Gybletts pegging away at Gaynor’s back. Time, one hour and fifty-three minutes. An attempt was made to bring Gybletts to “time,” but in vain. The game fellow had swooned, and Gaynor was hailed the victor. Gybletts was bled by a medical man on the ground, and quickly came to. Gaynor, after a few minutes, walked to his carriage, saluted by “See, the Conquering Hero Comes,” from the keyed bugle.

REMARKS.—Gybletts’s friends had no reason to complain of their reliance on the gameness of their man, although their underestimate of his adversary’s powers led to his defeat. Gaynor’s superior length, and his wrestling capabilities, in which he has few superiors in the Ring, turned the scale in his favour—added to which, his endurance in receiving punishment, and skill in hitting and stopping, proved also to be superior to those of his brave adversary. The battle, as a whole, did honour to both victor and vanquished.

Gaynor took a benefit at the Tennis Court on the ensuing Thursday, when Tom Oliver and Ben Burn, Young Dutch Sam and Ned Brown (Sprig of Myrtle), were the leading couples. Gaynor returned thanks to his friends, and in reply to an expressed wish of Gybletts for another trial, said he hoped to be shortly in a position to retire from the Ring altogether; if not his friend Charley should be accommodated. The stakes were given up to Gaynor on the same evening, after a dinner at Harry Holt’s, when his backers presented him not only with the stakes he had won, but the sums they had put down for him.

So high did this victory place Gaynor in his own and his admirers’ estimation that it was considered a new trial with his old opponent of six years previously might lead to a reversal of the verdict then given. Accordingly Ned Neale was sounded; but that now eminent boxer having his hands full, the matter was perforce postponed, and it was only in the latter part of 1830 that a match could be made with Neale and Gaynor, to come off after the former boxer’s contest with Young Dutch Sam, as already narrated in this volume.

The terms were that Neale should fight Gaynor, £300 to £200, on the 15th of March, 1831, eight weeks subsequent to Neale’s fight with Sam.

Notwithstanding Neale’s defeat by “the Young Phenomenon,” he was the favourite at five to four, and these odds increased when information from Neale’s training quarters in the Isle of Wight asserted that the Streatham man was “never better in his life.” Gaynor was declared “stale.” He had for more than two years led the life of a publican, and was said to be “gone by.” His more intimate acquaintance did not share this opinion, as Tom was always steady, regular, and never a hard drinker.

Gaynor took his exercise at his old friend Shirley’s, at Staines, as on former occasions, and having won the toss for choice of place, Warfield, in Berkshire, was named by his party as the field of arms.

Soon after twelve on the appointed day Neale, who had arrived at Ripley the day before, came on the ground in a barouche and four, with numerous equestrian and pedestrian followers. Gaynor, in a similar turn-out, soon after put in an appearance. He had for his seconds Harry Holt and Ned Stockman—Neale, Tom Spring and his late opponent, Young Dutch Sam. The men shook hands good-humouredly, and commenced “peeling,” six to four being eagerly offered on Neale. Both men looked serious, and Gaynor’s skin was sallow. As for Neale, he looked bright and clear, and was generally fancied by the spectators. Gaynor’s weight was declared to be 11st. 2lb., while Neale’s was 12st. 3lb., Gaynor’s age being thirty-two and Neale’s twenty-seven. The advantage, therefore, seemed greatly on the side of Tom’s former conqueror, and so thought most persons, except Gaynor himself. All preliminaries having been adjusted the men were delivered at the scratch, the seconds retired to their corners, and at twelve minutes after one began

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Each man held up his hands as if waiting the other’s attack, and this determination being mutual they stood eyeing each other steadily for two or three minutes, doing nothing. Gaynor at length made a little dodge with his left, but Neale was wary, shifted a little, and would not be drawn out. More waiting, more dodging, when, at the expiry of nine minutes, Gaynor sent out his right at Ned’s body, who contented himself by stopping it with his elbow. Gaynor stepped back and wiped his hands on his drawers. Mutual feints, both cautious—the spectators becoming impatient. (“Wake him up,” said Stockman, “he’s taking a nap.”) After twenty minutes of manœuvring Gaynor planted his right on Neale’s mazzard. (Cheers, and cries of, “Now go to work.”) Neale would not break ground, and Gaynor could not get at him. More tedious manœuvring. Forty minutes had now elapsed (the same time as in Neale’s first round with Nicholls), when Neale went in, Gaynor retreating to the corner of the ring. (“Now’s your time,” cried Young Sam.) Ned went in with the right, Gaynor countered, and a scrambling rally followed. A few ill-directed blows were exchanged, a close, and some fibbing; then a struggle at the ropes, when Gaynor was uppermost. The round lasted forty-five minutes.

2.—On coming to the scratch Neale showed a small swelling over the left eye, and his face was somewhat flushed. (“Now,” cried Stockman, “you have broken the ice; cut away.”) Neale crept in on his man, who retreated, and shifted with a good defence. Neale let go his right at Gaynor’s listener, but missed, and at it the men went in a rattling rally. Gaynor hit up with his right, catching Neale on the jaw; while Ned gave Gaynor a heavy one on the cheek-bone, raising a very visible “mouse.” In the close fibbing was again the order of the day; at length Gaynor got his man down.

3.—Great shouting. The “Queen’s Head” for choice. Neale’s face was flushed, and he panted a little. Gaynor was as pale as a parsnip, barring the black mouse on his cheek. Gaynor made pretty play with the right, but was neatly stopped, and Neale did the same for his opponent. Gaynor tried his left, but Neale merely threw up his guard, and Gaynor desisted. Neale let fly and got home on Gaynor’s ivories, but had a sharp return on his left eye. Gaynor planted his right on Ned’s ribs, and got away. Caution on both sides. Neale crept nearer to his work, and Gaynor retreated to his corner; at last Neale went in, and a slight bungling rally followed. A sharp struggle for the throw, which Gaynor got, and rolled over his man. (Loud cheers for Gaynor. On the men getting to their seconds’ knees, Spring claimed “first blood” for Neale, from Gaynor’s mouth, which was allowed.)

4.—A new dodge was here discernible. Stockman, to prevent Neale holding his man, had greased Gaynor’s neck, the grease being very visible at the roots of his hair. Neale broke ground and began the fighting; Gaynor was ready, and fought with him. Neale was hit in the body and on the nose and brow, Gaynor on the jaw and cheek. In a loose rally Ned went down in the hitting. (Cannon claimed this as “first knock-down” for Gaynor. It was allowed; but there was not a clear knock-down in the fight.)

5.—On rising Neale showed marks of hitting on the left eye and nose. After a little cautious sparring Ned rushed in wild, and the men wrestled together. Both down, Gaynor uppermost.

6.—Neale steady. No great harm done on either side. Gaynor hit short with his left, then threw in his right with the rapidity of lightning. Both attempts were beautifully stopped. Gaynor laughed, but Neale put a stop to his hilarity by a sharp lunging right-hander on the mouth, which Gaynor returned with a smart smack on Ned’s proboscis. Another wrestling match, and Neale thrown. (On rising Neale showed blood over the right eye, and Holt renewed the disputed point by claiming it for Gaynor.)

7.—Neale stole a march, and popped in his left cleverly on Gaynor’s nose. Gaynor returned with the right; Ned rattled in, caught Gaynor so tightly round the waist that he could not extricate himself, then, with the back-heel, threw him on his back on the ground, adding his weight to the force of the fall. This was a smasher, and Gaynor’s nose sent forth a crimson stream.

8.—Gaynor on the piping order, and cautious. Ned again visited his snuff-box with his left. Neale fought into a close, and again threw Gaynor a burster. (Ned was now a strong favourite, at six and seven to four.)

9.—Gaynor was cheerful, and there was some good counter-hitting with the right. Neale napped it on his already swollen eye, which began to bleed, as did an old wound on Gaynor’s cheek-bone. In the close, Gaynor was thrown for the third time. He got up slowly, and seemed the worse for wear.

10.—Neale, still cautious, stopped a right-hander, but missed his return. Gaynor went in for the throw, and after a sharp struggle got his man down.

11.—Gaynor much distressed and groggy. Nevertheless, he planted his right on Neale’s damaged eye, which was fast putting up the shutter. Ned missed a vicious lunge at Gaynor’s ear, and Gaynor returned nastily on Ned’s nose, who rushed in, and seizing Tom, lifted him from terra firma, flung him heavily on his shoulder, and fell on him.

12.—Gaynor came up astonishingly steady, though bleeding from mouth, nose, and cheek. He hit short at the body with his right, then tried his left at the nob, but Ned frustrated his intentions. Gaynor swung out his right viciously, but Neale jumped back and escaped. Neale then went in for the throw, and a severe struggle followed, Ned chopping and fibbing; but at last Gaynor got the lock, and over went poor Ned, with Gaynor on top of him, a most audible thud.

13.—Gaynor piping. Ned planted his right hand on the body; he then closed. A long struggle for the throw, and both down.

14.—Gaynor, game as a pebble, went in to fight, but Ned got away, and Gaynor went down in the attempt to close.

15.—Ned made play, but was open-handed. Gaynor retreated to the ropes, where a struggle took place. Gaynor got Ned under, and hung on him on the ropes, until Ned fell outside them, Gaynor inside.

16.—The fight had now lasted one hour and thirteen minutes. A wild and scrambling round. Both down.

17–20.—Gaynor, game and ready, always came to the scratch; though much distressed, he never shirked his work. In the 20th round he seemed “abroad,” and fell, Neale falling over him on his head.

21.—Gaynor on the totter. Ned ran in at him, bored him to the ropes, caught him in his arms, and sent him a “Catherine wheel” in the air. (Ned’s friends all alive. Three to one on Ned, and no takers.)

22 and 23.—In both these rounds Gaynor was down, and Neale supposed to be winning in a canter—any odds.

24.—Ned the fresher and stronger man, apparently. Exchanges, when Gaynor rushed in and threw him. (“Not safe yet,” cried the knowing ones.)

25.—Gaynor went to in-fighting, closed, and threw Neale.

26.—Neale went in first, but Gaynor fought for a few seconds on the defensive, then closed, put on the crook, and threw Neale. (“Pro-di-gi-ous!” exclaimed Frosty-faced Fogo, after the manner of Liston’s Dominie Sampson.)

27.—Gaynor, though sorely punished, smiled confidently. Neale tried his left; Gaynor missed his right over Ned’s shoulder. Ned closed for the fall, but Gaynor again got it. (The odds at a stand-still. “Neale has to win it yet.”)

28.—Ned made another effort and won the fall, throwing Gaynor heavily.

29–31.—Neale cautious. Half-arm hitting and scrambling rallies. Both men tired, and little execution done.

32.—A wild round in the corner; Neale fell outside the ropes, and Gaynor inside.

33.—Neale walked firmly to the scratch; Gaynor was led up by his seconds. Neale fought in to a close, and heavy hits were exchanged. Gaynor fell on his knees, but was up in a second. Ned caught hold of the ropes, Gaynor closed, and Neale canted him completely over his head.

34.—Neale forced a rally. Gaynor waited for him and hit up. Neale closed, but seeing he was likely to get the worst of it, slipped down, amid cries of disapprobation, and “Take him away!”

35.—Curtis called out to Young Sam, “Six to four on Gaynor. Ned has cut it!” Neale in reply walked to the scratch. Gaynor ran in, seized Neale, and threw him with a swing. Shouts for Gaynor.

36.—Gaynor seemed getting second wind, and became steadier on his pins. Hits exchanged. Neale got the throw.

37.—Gaynor short at the body with his right. Neale nailed him with the left on the ribs. A rally in the corner, when Neale slipped to avoid. (Disapprobation.)

38–43.—Nothing remarkable except the men’s perseverance. Each round began with some mutual stops and misses, resolved itself into a rally, and ended by one or both down alternately.

44.—Gaynor seemed to rally all his energies, and forced the fighting; hits were exchanged, and Gaynor tried for the close, but Neale went down. Gaynor pointed at him as he lay on the ground. (Cheers from Gaynor’s friends. “We’ll illuminate the ‘Queen’s Head’ to-night!”)

45, and last.—Gaynor seemed to begin with new vigour. His spirits were roused by the cheers of his friends, and he went manfully to the scratch. Neale faced him with apparent alacrity, but was clearly down on his luck, and showed heavy marks of punishment. Gaynor went at him with the right, and planted a blow. Neale fought with him to a close, when Gaynor threw him and fell across him. There was nothing to indicate that all was over, but when “time” was called, Neale’s head fell back, and though Young Sam shook it and shouted, Ned was “deaf” to the call. Gaynor was accordingly proclaimed the victor amidst vociferous acclamations. The supporters of Neale were amazed and dumbfounded. Gaynor threw up his arms and cut a very feeble caper before walking off to his carriage, which displayed the orange flag of victory, and where he quickly dressed himself. Neale was some time before he recovered, and was then conveyed to Staines, and put to bed.

REMARKS.—It is difficult to account for Neale’s falling-off, as ten rounds before the close he was evidently the stronger and fresher man. We can only attribute it to the repetition of prolonged exertion and of punishment at an interval too short for the entire recuperation of his bodily and mental powers after such a defeat as that he experienced at the hands of Young Sam only eight weeks before. Indeed, we cannot but think the match was ill advised and imprudent, and the odds of £300 to £200 in the battle-money presumptuous. It was, however, brave and honourable in Neale to try the “wager of battle,” in which his too partial backers had engaged him. As to Gaynor, but one opinion can be formed of his courage, game, endurance, and fortitude, all of which were conspicuous in this contest with his superior in weight, youth, and the character of the boxers he had met and conquered.

On the following Thursday Gaynor took a benefit at the Hanover Assembly Rooms, Long Acre.[54] Here he was greeted with all the honours that wait upon success, and the best men of the Ring—Tom Spring, Oliver, Young Sam, Reuben Martin, Stockman, Reidie, &c.—put on the mittens. On Friday the stakes were given up at Tom’s own crib, the “Queen’s Head,” Duke’s Court, Bow Street, after a sporting “spread.”

Tom’s defeat of the redoubtable Streatham Youth led to a challenge from Young Dutch Sam. The circumstances of this defeat may be read in Chapter VIII., in the Life of that skilful boxer.

This was the last appearance in the twenty-four foot of either Sam or Gaynor. The latter, who was a civil, unassuming, and obliging man, attended to his calling, and died in the month of November, 1834, in Grosvenor Street, Bond Street, at the early age of thirty-five, of a chronic complaint of several years’ standing.

CHAPTER X. ALEC REID (“THE CHELSEA SNOB”)—1821–1830.

The pedigree of Alec Reid showed that he came of a “fighting family.” His father was a Chelsea veteran, for many years in a snug berth on Nell Gwynne’s glorious foundation, and in receipt, as we have seen in the books of that institution, of a “good service allowance of two shillings and fivepence-halfpenny a day.” Let not the reader smile superciliously. Alec, the son of a humble but heroic Alexander, once demonstrated the facts to the writer with honest filial pride, and moreover laid stress upon the fact that while his papa was in garrison at Guernsey, awaiting orders to sail with his regiment for the West Indies, his mamma, on the 30th of October, 1802, presented him with a thumping boy, the seventh pledge of her affection, who was in due time baptized Alexander, and was the subject of this memoir. At the age of fourteen, Alec’s father being then invalided, and “the big wars over,” the young ’un was apprenticed to his father’s trade, that of a shoemaker, and hence his pugilistic patronymic of “the Chelsea Snob.”

His first recorded display was with one Finch, a local celebrity who, to the advantages of height and a stone in weight, added three or four years in age. Mr. Finch, in two rounds, occupying ten minutes, was so satisfied of the young Snob’s superiority that he “caved in,” and quitted the “Five Fields” (now covered by the mansions of Belgravia), never again to show in combat with the “Young Soldier,” as Alec was then nicknamed by his companions.

Reid now purchased two pairs of gloves, expensive articles in those days, and started a series of sparring soirées at the “Turk’s Head,” in Jews’ Row, near the Military Hospital. His fame spread, and finding himself on Wimbledon Common, attracted thereto by a mill between Fleming and Curwen, two London boxers, and a purse being subscribed for a second battle, young Alec boldly threw his nob-cover within the ropes. His challenge was answered by Sam Abbott, a cousin of the once-renowned Bill, who beat Phil Sampson, and made a draw with Jem Ward. Young Abbott proved himself game and resolute, but notwithstanding the advice and nursing of his clever namesake, Alec punished his nob so severely that in twenty-five minutes his cousin threw up the hat, Abbott being quite blind. Alec raised himself immensely by this victory; and when, after the battle between Ward and Abbott, on Moulsey Hurst, October 22nd, 1822, a big fellow named Hearn claimed a purse of twenty-five guineas subscribed for a second fight, Alec disputed his claim. Hearn was disposed of in fifteen minutes, the big ’un being so out-fought that he put on his coat, declaring “it wasn’t worth a fellow’s while to go on without getting a crack in now and then.”

Alec now frequently showed at the Tennis Court, in the Haymarket, and Bob Yandell, a clever sparrer, who had defeated Crayfer and Dudley Downs, having expressed a disparaging opinion of Alec’s talents, a challenge resulted, and the men met on the 14th of January, 1823, in Battersea Fields. After a battle of one hour and a half Yandell was carried from the ground thoroughly beaten, while Alec showed in Chelsea the same evening but slightly the worse for wear.

On the 20th of March, 1823, after the fight between Gipsy Cooper and Cabbage, the Gardener, Alec joined fists with Paddy O’Rafferty, an Irish candidate for fistic honours, but in thirty-one rounds, occupying sixty-three minutes, the Chelsea hero polished off Misther O’Rafferty so completely that he made no further appearance in the Ring.

Dick Defoe having declared himself anxious to meet any eleven stone man, a gentleman who had a high opinion of Alec’s abilities offered to match Reid against him. Alec consented, and the men met on Tuesday, June 17th, 1823, in Epping Forest. After thirteen rounds, Reid’s backer, considering him to be overmatched, humanely interposed, and ordered Reid to be taken away. Many were of opinion that Reid would have pulled through had he been allowed to continue. Reid lost no reputation by this defeat.

Reid’s next opponent was Harris, the Waterman, who had beaten Bill Gould, Youna de Costa, and with the exception of this defeat at the hands of Alec, never lost a fight. They met at Moulsey Hurst, on the 12th of August, 1823, entering the ring after Peace Inglis had defeated George Curtis. On the ropes being cleared Alec, in high spirits and fine condition, threw in his castor, a white one, and waited on by his late opponent Dick Defoe and Tom Callas, proceeded to make his toilet; Harris, from the opposite side, answered his token of defiance, and esquired by Josh Hudson and Harry Holt, advanced to make friendly greeting. The ceremony over, the men stood up, Harris the favourite, at five and six to four.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Reid, with the advantage of youth, looked fresh and full of activity, Harris, though a few pounds the heavier man, looking leaner and more angular. Reid, after a few feints, bustled in to work, and planted a sharp right-hander on Harris’s ribs. The Waterman found he must lose no time, so he rattled in for exchanges, and Reid went on his knees from a slip. (“Bravo! here will be another good battle!”) Even betting.

2.—Reid came up gay as a lark, and made play like a good one. The claret was now visible on both sides, and hit for hit till Reid was again down.

3.—Harris met Reid well on his going in; but the Translator would not be kept out, and poor Harris went against the stake from a severe blow. Nothing else but fighting, till both were down. Reid for choice.

4.—Sparring was out of the question, yet good science was witnessed on both sides. Harris napped pepper, but not without returning the compliment. Both down.

5.—Reid took the lead so decisively in this round that he became the favourite, two to one. Harris went down piping.

6.—Reid got punished severely. Harris held him with his right hand, and whopped him with the other all over the ring. The Chelsea man at length rescued himself from his perilous situation, and by way of changing the scene fibbed the Waterman down. Anybody’s battle.

7.—Harris commenced this round with some fine fighting, and had the best of it for a short period, till Reid put in a straight nobber, when Harris found himself on his latter end, looking about with surprise, as much as to say, “How came I here?”

8.—Nothing else but milling. Harris repeatedly nobbed his opponent, but he would not be denied. A heavy rally occurred, and Harris, being near the stakes, struck his hand against the post. Harris down like a shot.

9.—Youth must be served. Harris fought like a brave man, but the punishment he received was too heavy for him. Down in this round.

10.—Harris could not reduce the strength of Reid. The Waterman possessed the best science, but the blows of Reid were most effective. It was a manly fight. Both down.

11–12.—Equally good as the former rounds. Two to one on Reid.

13.—Harris jobbed his opponent frequently, but Reid always finished the round to his own advantage. In the last round he fell on Harris in the close. (“Take him away; he’s a good old ’un, but too stale for the Snob!”) Any odds.

14, and last.—Reid went up to his man and hit him one, two; Harris did not return. He seemed all abroad. Reid bustled him down, and Josh threw up the sponge in token of defeat. The fight lasted only fifteen minutes.

REMARKS.—A better fight, while it lasted, has not been lately seen. Harris was not only stale, but was stated to be a little “off” in condition and health. Harris was not disgraced, though defeated by youth, backed by resolution and strength.

Only two months after this victory Alec was at Chatham, teaching “the art of self-defence,” when a rough and ready fisherman named Joe Underhill found local friends to subscribe a purse of £25, and £5 for the loser. For this, then, “the Chatham champion” proposed to meet the “London professor.” Underhill’s friends had miscalculated both their man’s skill and Alec’s science, for in the short space of nineteen minutes the fisherman’s chance was more than “fishy,” and at the end of the eighth and last round the Snob had so completely sewn him up and welted him that he cried, “Enough!” and refused to face his man. This battle took place on Chatham Lines, October 21st, 1823.

At the farewell benefit of the game Bob Purcell, at the Fives Court, February 15th, 1824, Reid set to with Gipsy Cooper, and gave the rushing Bohemian such a glove-punishing as led to a match. Cooper, however, forfeited a small deposit. A second match was made on Tuesday, April 13th, 1824; this, however, was prevented by magisterial interference, and the stakes were drawn.

An opportunity, however, soon offered itself, proving the truth of the adage that “where there’s a will there’s a way.” On the very next Tuesday, April 20th, 1824, both men found themselves (of course by accident) at Colnbrook, when and where Peace Inglis defeated Ned Turner. Twenty pounds were quickly subscribed for a second battle, and Alec having tossed his beaver into the ropes was answered by the Gipsy. Both men were in first-rate condition, and both equally confident. Josh Hudson and Dick Curtis, two of the ablest of seconds, looked after Cooper; the accomplished Harry Holt and the veteran Tom Jones, of Paddington, seconded Reid.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Cooper commenced the mill furiously, and his blows told heavily. Flattered with success, he went to work hand over head, throwing aside a number of blows. Reid could scarcely be quick enough for his opponent; but he stopped and shifted cleverly. A short pause, when the Gipsy again plunged in and drew first blood. In closing, both down. No harm done.

2.—The lip of the Gipsy was bleeding when he appeared at the scratch. He lashed out, neck or nothing. Reid put in two nobbing hits and threw Cooper.

3.—The Gipsy was furious indeed; he did not look at his man, to take any sort of aim, yet Reid was bustled about, and received a random shot or two on the body. In a rally he clinched the Gipsy and gave him a cross-buttock.

4.—This was a fine fighting round; the Gipsy appeared as if he meant to win and nothing else. The hitting was sharp on both sides. Reid was floored. (“The Gipsy will win!” and several now took him for choice.)

5.—The Gipsy was so desperate that he bored Reid down. Nothing.

6.—Cooper was amazingly active; he hit in all directions; nevertheless he retreated from Reid when the latter stepped in to exchange. In closing the Gipsy put in a heavy blow as they were both going down.

7.—The Gipsy had it his own way this round. Reid napped terribly, and was also milled down. (“Cooper will win in a canter. If he had fought like this with Bishop Sharpe we must have won our money,” from several losers on that mill.)

8.—The hitting of the Gipsy was tremendous; and if he had not thrown so many blows away, he might have been able to have given a better account of the battle. Reid went down heavily hit. (The cry was, “The Gipsy is sure to win it!”)

9.—Reid nobbed his adversary twice neatly, and kept him out, but the Gipsy bored in and both were down.

10.—The Gipsy had been so very busy that Reid had had scarcely time for a moment’s tactics. He, however, now showed the Gipsy that a dangerous customer stood before him—a boxer that would make him fight, and not let him get out of his reach at pleasure. The Gipsy napped two nobbers that made him reel; he returned and tripped up Reid.

11.—Severe counter-hitting, and Reid received such a swingeing hit that he reeled about and went down. (“Come, no tumbledown tricks,” cried Josh.)

12.—This was the best round in the fight. The men fought into a rally, and broke away. A pause necessary on both sides. The Gipsy slashing out hand over head, both were down, Cooper undermost. The Gipsy, quite frantic, struck Holt, who, he said, had acted “foul” towards him; but Harry very prudently did not return it, or the fight must have been spoilt.

13.—Reid was positively run down, without harm done.

14.—The Gipsy was so fast that the spectators had scarcely an opportunity of appreciating the clever defence displayed by Reid. Cooper violent as before, and Reid down smiling.

15.—Reid got hold of Cooper; fibbing at the ropes till both down.

16.—Reid would make the Gipsy fight, although the latter retreated from him. Reid was thrown in the close.

17.—In this round Cooper was not quite so fast, and Reid put in a stopper or two on his nob, that produced the claret. Reid also put in a clean back-handed hit on the Gipsy’s proboscis. Both down; Reid fell out of the ropes.

18.—Reid reminded the amateurs of Randall’s neatness of style. The Gipsy could not get away from his returns. The latter, however, fought desperately, and Reid went down.

19, and last.—The spectators did not apprehend the fight was so nearly over. Reid took the lead in great style, and by a heavy blow hit the Gipsy clean through the ropes. Cooper’s head rebounded as he rolled over, and when time was called the Gipsy had not awoke from his trance. Reid of course was declared the winner. Twenty-nine minutes.

REMARKS.—Reid to all appearance was little the worse for his battle, except a swelled cheek. The Gipsy is always dangerous from his lunging hits; but he trusts so much to chance that he is almost a “gift” to a steady and bold boxer. He does not look his man full in the face. Reid fought like a winning man, and showed excellent points.

What is the use of going out for a spree without making “a day of it?” say the jolly ones. Here is a case in point. It occurred, somehow or other, no matter, that a turn-up took place between Maurice Delay and Alec Reid, on the road home from the fight, after Stockman had defeated the Sailor Boy, on Tuesday, September 21st, 1824, near the “Coach and Horses,” at Ilford. Notwithstanding the disparity between the men as to size and weight, it was stated in the papers of the day that Reid had none the worst of it with his ponderous antagonist during two rounds, after which they were parted. Half-an-hour after Bill Savage offered himself to Reid’s notice for a £5 note which an amateur had offered for “a wind-up” to the day. A ring was formed near the Temple Mills, Essex, Harry Holt and Jem Burn waiting on Reid, and Savage seconded by his brother and George Weston. Darkness coming on a “draw” was declared after thirty-seven minutes, and the money divided. Reid, although out of condition, was said to have had the best of it.

Alec was now matched for £50 a-side against the renowned Bishop Sharpe, and a gallant fight was anticipated. Bishop Sharpe was well known as nothing else but a good man; he had beaten all his opponents, the tremendous Gipsy Cooper three times. Nevertheless, in the opinion of the judges of boxing, the Bishop did not rank as a scientific fighter; he, however, was the favourite, five and six to four. Reid stood well in the sporting world; nay, so much so that it was expected that Alec would prove a second Jack Randall.

On Thursday, December 11th, 1824, a long procession of London travellers crossed the ferry at Hampton, and the ring was formed on the classic Hurst of Moulsey. The Commissary-General, with the ropes and stakes, made a pretty twenty-four feet inner square, and a spacious circular enclosure marked the outer ring. The combatants peeled, the colours were tied to the stakes, a bird’s eye on a red ground for Reid, a yellowman for Sharpe. Oliver and Ben Burn attended upon Reid, Josh Hudson and Dick Curtis on Sharpe. The men shook hands, and then came

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Reid was in fine condition, and Sharpe looked hardy and well. Scarcely, however, had the men held up their hands, than surprise was expressed at the careless style of Reid. He stood so slovenly and with so open a guard that Sharpe at once went in and hit him slightly, when Reid stepped back and went down suspiciously. Opinions that “Mr. Barney” was not far off were freely expressed, Reid’s style was so unlike his former displays.

2.—Oliver said to his man as he went up, “If you don’t mean to fight, say so, and I’ll leave the ring.” Reid laughed and manœuvred about. Sharpe again forced the fighting. A few exchanges took place, to the advantage of Sharpe, and Reid was again on the grass. While sitting on his second’s knee Reid complained of sickness. “He’s coming it,” said Curtis. “No,” said Reid, “no such thing.” Ben Burn angrily said “he would not be second in a cross,” and left the ring.

3.—“Why don’t you fight?” asked Oliver. Reid could not or would not. He received a flush hit in the mouth, and first blood was claimed. Reid down, and the ring broken in. Oliver left the roped enclosure.

4, and last.—Reid came up at the call of “time,” amidst great confusion. There were a few exchanges, and again Reid went down in his own corner. “You have won,” cried Sharpe’s backers. “Don’t leave the ring yet,” said Josh Hudson to Sharpe.

REMARKS.—A curious conclusion was come to. Reid declared he was ready to go on, but his seconds had deserted him. At Hampton he maintained that he had no idea of fighting “a cross,” and that no one had even dared to propose such a thing to him. Our opinion is, in the absence of all direct evidence, that Reid was “hocussed,” by whom was never ascertained (he himself always asserted this to be the case), and that his temporary stupefaction went off before his arrival at Hampton. The referee not having been appealed to on the ground there was no decision. Accordingly, Tom Cribb, who was stakeholder, returned the money to the backers of each man, and all bets were drawn. Pierce Egan has half-a-dozen pages of incoherent persiflage upon this mysterious affair, cut from his own paper, from which little definite can be gathered.

Reid was now certainly under a cloud of dark suspicion. Yet a few friends were found who matched him for £100 against Jubb (the Cheltenham Champion), a boxer who had recently beaten Price (the Oxford Champion) in off-hand style, and whose friends were anxious to measure him with a London pugilist. The men met accordingly in Worcestershire, near Stow-on-the-Wold, on the 4th of June, 1825.

Benford, in Oxfordshire, seventy-one miles from London, was the place named, but on the morning bills were posted in the town signed by the magistrates of three counties, Oxford, Berks, and Gloucester, warning all persons against attending any fight within those counties, and ordering all constables, &c., to take the principals and seconds into custody as contemplating a breach of the peace. Worcestershire now seemed the only open point, and off went all hands to Icombe, a village on the borders, two miles from Stow-on-the-Wold, and ten or so from Benford. At half-past two in the afternoon Reid skied his beaver, Jack Randall and the Laureate Fogo acting as his esquires. Jubb soon followed, attended by Bill Eales, the scientific, and a provincial friend named Collier. On stripping both men looked well. Jubb had the advantage in weight, length of reach, and height, yet the London division laid odds on Reid at five to four when the countrymen would not take evens.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Jubb stood somewhat over Reid, with his hands well out, but somewhat awkward in position. He made play at Reid’s head, but was stopped neatly. Reid smiled and nodded, and broke ground actively. Jubb tried it again, but was again parried, and the Chelsea cobbler popped in such a cutting right-hander in return just over the left eye that Jubb’s optic flashed fire and he seemed all abroad, winking like an owl in the sunshine. The London division delighted. Reid bustled Jubb down.

2.—Reid treated Jubb’s attempts lightly. He followed him all over the ring, and after a heavy hit on his left eye, closed and threw him, amidst general cheering.

3.—Jubb, who somewhat fancied himself as a wrestler, seemed all abroad; he tried to catch Reid in his arms, but Alec hit up, caught him under the chin a rattler, and fell on his knees from the force of his own blow. Reid complained that he had no nails in his shoes.

4.—All the hitting came from Reid’s side. Jubb could only stop with his ribs or head. Reid down, the Cheltenham lads grumbling, “He dropped without a blow.” It was not so; many blows were exchanged.

5–7.—Similar in character. Jubb wild, Reid steady, and always ready as his man came in.

8.—In a rally Jubb caught Reid a swinging hit in the throat, which almost turned him round. The Jubbites cheered, but Reid returned to the rally, and the Cheltenham champion was floored.

Ten more rounds, in which Jubb was, with unimportant exceptions, receiver-general.

18, and last.—Jubb came up in the doldrums. He was hit in all directions, but was too game to go down. His backers humanely interfered, and desired his seconds to take him away. It was all over in twenty-three minutes and a half, and when Reid put on his clothes there was scarcely a mark perceptible on his face.

REMARKS.—Jubb did not avail himself of his height. On the contrary, he stooped to a level with the eye of Reid. Jubb is a game man, and would beat any countryman who merely relied on strength and going in. Reid fought with him whenever he attempted to force the fighting, and got on to him almost how and where he pleased, stopping his attack and turning it to his own advantage. Reid won first blood, first knock-down blow, and the battle, his backers drawing upon all three events.

Reid, on his return to town, addressed letters to the sporting papers challenging Bishop Sharpe, West Country Dick, or Aaron, for £100, and undertaking to weigh no more than 10st. 4lbs. on the day of fighting.

As there were difficulties in the way with Bishop Sharpe Reid’s friends matched him against Tom Gaynor, a man certainly his overmatch by a stone in weight and three inches in height. The fight, which took place May 16th, 1826, and in which Alec suffered defeat after a game contest of one hour and ten minutes, will be found in Chapter IX., ante, page 403 of this volume.

At length preliminaries were settled between Alec and his former opponent Bishop Sharpe, for £50 a-side. The battle took place on the 6th of September, 1826, at No Man’s Land, in Hertfordshire. It was anybody’s fight for the first twenty-five minutes, when Alec received what might be termed a chance blow in the pit of the stomach, from which he never recovered, and victory was declared for the Bold Smuggler.

Shortly after this (October 27th, 1826) Reid got into trouble for having acted in the capacity of second to a man of the name of Crow, in a pugilistic contest at Old Oak Common, with one Samuel Beard. The jury found Beard, Reid, and Michael Curtis guilty, and sentenced them, Beard to seven days’ imprisonment in Newgate, and the seconds to fourteen days, and to be held in recognisances “to keep the peace for twelve months towards all His Majesty’s subjects.”

Poor Alec, having done his term in “the donjon’s dreary keep,” and lived out his recognisances to keep the peace, was once again matched with his old opponent Bishop Sharpe for £100. Little preface is necessary to the detail of the battle between these men, which was one of the best that had been witnessed for many years, even when downright milling and upstanding rallies were far more common than they became in the succeeding years, which marked the decline and fall of the P.R. They had fought twice before, in both of which instances Reid was unsuccessful.

As soon as the match was made they went into training, and thus all gradually ripened for sport. On Sunday Sharpe took his departure for St. Albans, and took up his quarters at the “Blue Boar,” and on the next evening, after a benefit at the Tennis Court, Reid followed his example, pitching his tent at the “Red Lion.” Tuesday morning (July 15th, 1828) was unfavourable, nevertheless the roads were thronged at an early hour. Both men were visited in the town; both spoke well of their condition, and with modest confidence of success; Reid saying “he had everything at stake, for if he lost he was bowled out for ever, whereas if he won he was made a man of.” Sharpe soberly said he was “to win to-day,” and his shoemaker had already booked the event as certain by inscribing on the soles of his high-lows, “These are the shoes that are to win;” a prophecy which was unfortunately trodden under foot in more ways than one, for he was for the first time in his life forced to confess he was fairly conquered, after a long career previously unchequered by defeat. The odds during the morning were five and six to four on Sharpe.

As the hour for business approached the crowd increased, till the word was given to march, and all toddled to the scene of action, where Tom Oliver had previously pitched the ropes and stakes, and collected an outer ring of wagons.

Shortly before one o’clock the Smuggler bore down for the ring attended by Josh Hudson and Dick Curtis, and having thrown in his castor, entered himself. The Snob was soon with him, under the auspices of Tom Spring and the Lively Kid (Ned Stockman). After shaking hands, the Snob said he had four sovereigns, to which he was desirous of taking odds of six to four. This was at once laid him by Dick Curtis, and staked, and the operation of peeling commenced. On stripping, weight and muscle were evidently in favour of the Bishop. He looked fresher in the mug, too, although it was said he had been imprudently attending as the host of a canvas tavern at Woolwich Races and Fairlop Fair, where he dispensed the “real thing” in large quantities. Reid looked light and thin, but was in good spirits, and seemed confident.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Sharpe, as usual, came forward right foot foremost, measuring his man with a keen and searching eye. Alec was on the alert, both hands well up, and his right ready for a drop to save his bread-basket from the Smuggler’s favourite lunge. At last Sharpe broke ground, and planted his left slightly on Reid’s ribs. Reid instantly hit with him, right and left, at the nob, and Sharpe returned with his left in similar style. Both were rather wild, but, in the close, the Bishop was thrown. On rising to his second’s knee, there was a cry of “first blood” from Sharpe’s mouth, but at the same moment a similar tinge was seen from the Snob’s muzzle, so that on this point there was no advantage, and a tie was acknowledged.

2.—Alec ready, and the Smuggler looking for a run upon his starboard quarter. At last Alec planted his right in Sharpe’s mouth a second time. The Bishop instantly fought to a rally, and jobbing hits were exchanged with great rapidity, Sharpe again napping it in the mouth, and the Snob on the dexter ogle. Both showed more claret. In the close, the Snob was thrown, the Smuggler upon him.

3.—Sharpe now popped in his favourite left, but not in the right place, being on the ribs instead of the mark. Alec hit with him, right and left, in pretty style, and floored him with a right-hand muzzler. First knock-down blow for Reid.

4.—The Bishop’s mouth showed two incisions, which bled profusely. He, however, came up smiling, and delivered with his left on Alec’s jaw. Alec returned in good style. The Bishop then bored in wildly, and, in the close, both went down, Alec fibbing as he resisted Sharpe’s effort for the fall.

5.—Sharpe’s nose now began to show the weight of Alec’s fibbing, and claret streamed profusely. He, however, rushed in wildly, trying for the Snob’s body. The Snob got away, and, in a second trial of the same sort, he met the Bishop with a flush hit on the forehead, and, on repeating the dose, the Bishop bored in. The Snob again met him right and left, and floored him, hitting him severely as he was falling.

6.—Sharpe again hit short at the body with his left, and Alec, always ready, met him right and left, and, repeating the experiment, hit him down with a flush smack on the ivories.

7.—Alec waited with great judgment, and, as the Bishop came in, stopped his left, and returned heavily with his right. The Bishop would not be denied, but caught Alec a nasty one on the temple. Both broke away, but on Sharpe again rushing in, Alec met him right and left on the head, and then hit him heavily with the right on the ribs, and dropped him. (Shouts of “It’s all your own, Reid!”)

8.—The Bishop’s head the worse for bad usage, his left eye puffed, and a cut on each cheek. He, however, went in as game as a pebble to hit with his left. Alec was again away. Sharpe followed him up, but Alec, stepping back, met him twice on the frontispiece. He had then reached the ropes, and the Bishop became desperate. Alec went down to avoid, showing the tact of a good general.

9.—The Bishop rattled in and planted his left on Alec’s eye, but received severely right and left in return, and in the end went down.

10.—The Bishop bored in open-handed. Alec retreated a little before him, but then jumped in and met him with two flush hits, right and left, on the head. The Bishop closed for a rally, and desperate hits were exchanged. In the close, both down.

11.—The Bishop capsized with a straight visitation on the smeller from Alec’s left.

12.—2 to 1 on Reid. Sharpe bored in wildly, and Alec went down.

13.—The Bishop again bored in. Alec retreated, and tried his right and left, but missed. The Bishop, in returning, fell on his knees.

14.—Sharpe came in manfully, but Alec was ready, stopped his left, returned right and left on his canister, and then hit him down beautifully with a right-handed smack on his ribs.

15.—Counter-hits. The Bishop planted his left well on the Snob’s conk, and again had him on the body. Alec stepped back, and on the Bishop again coming in to make play, met him with a snorter with his right, and dropped him.

16.—Counter-hits with the left, and Sharpe hit away left and right with great spirit. Alec was not idle, but returned the compliments with quickness. Bishop closed for the fall, when Alec fibbed actively, though not effectively. Both down, Bishop under.

17.—The Bishop came up as bold as brass. Alec ready, waited for him and, on rushing in, he met him right and left on the face. Bishop retreated, but, on again rushing in, Alec dropped him with another touch on the nob.

18.—Bishop, first to fight, planted his left. Alec was with him, but Sharpe would not be denied, and closing, he threw the Snob a heavy fall, and dropped on him.

19.—Bishop rushed in open-handed, in wild style. Alec drew back, poising himself on his hind leg. Sharpe followed, and as usual, napped it left and right, and was floored.

20.—Bishop again pressed in (he saw he had no chance at out-fighting), when he was met as before, with great precision, right and left. A spirited rally followed. Good hits were exchanged, and in the close, Bishop was thrown heavily.

21.—The Bishop, in rushing in, was hit down by a right-handed job.

22.—A good manly rally, with equal advantage, hit for hit. Alec down.

23.—Counter-hitting with the left. Sharpe dropped his right on Alec’s smeller, and drew his cork. Alec at him again, and, after a severe rally, hit him down.

24.—Bishop bored in. Alec withdrew for the jobbing hit, but the Bishop fell on his face.

25.—On Sharpe coming in, Alec again met him with a facer, and followed this up with a tremendous body hit with his right, and dropped him.

26.—Bishop bored in wildly. Alec, as before, on the retreating system, met him with a facer, as he came in. Sharpe closed, and had the fall. Not much harm done on either side.

27.—A severe punishing round for Bishop. Alec jobbed right and left several times, and, in the close, floored him with great force, rolling him over from the impetus of the fall.

28.—Alec on the waiting system. Bishop rushed in with unshaken game, but, on delivering his left on Alec’s nob, he received a terrific hit on the ribs from the Snob’s right, close under his left arm, which again dropped him.

29.—Bishop again bored in, and was met, with great judgment, by another delivery from Alec’s right. Both away, and some good out-fighting. Alec jobbed well. A close, and both down, the Bishop under.

30.—Alec waiting steadily. Bishop the first to go to work. Alec stepped back, and Bishop fell forward on his hands and knees.

31.—Alec popped in his favourite hit on the side, but received in return on the head. Alec then retired, Sharpe after him, hitting wildly and short. Alec watched his points, and, after stopping with his right, hit Bishop down with a blow on the throat with his left.

32.—Good out-fighting. Bishop still strong; at last he rushed in, according to his old system, when Reid had him in the side with his right. Bishop rushed to a close, and pulled Alec down.

33.—Alec delivered his right and left as Sharpe came in, and got away. The Bishop, after him, would not flinch, and was again floored with a stupefying hit on the temple.

34.—Bishop again at work, delivered with his left, but in return was hit down by a straight facer.

35.—Bishop rushed in wildly, but Alec was on his guard. Good counter-hitting, and a manly rally. In the close, Alec was thrown. Shouts for Bishop, and his friends still in spirits.

36.—Sharpe came in wildly, but Alec was steady and cautious. His right was again familiar with Bishop’s ribs, and his right and left were once more in contact with his phiz. In the end, Sharpe was floored heavily.

37.—Alec had it in the right eye, but returned with interest, catching the Bishop twice on the mug, and Sharpe went down weak.

38.—Bishop on the boring system; Alec away. Sharpe caught him on the body slightly, and received on the head in return. A merry rally, hit for hit. Both down.

39.—The Bishop made his run, Alec met him with a job. Both away, and at it again. Alec pursued the same system of jobbing, but had a nasty one on the right eye, and went down.

40.—Again did Alec meet Bishop right and left. Sharpe caught him on the nozzle, and drew claret in a stream. Alec, merry, at him again, and down went the Smuggler.

41.—Alec met Sharpe right and left on the head, but received a heavy blow on the nob in return. In the close, both down, Bishop under.

42.—Alec met Bishop with a flush hit on the throat, and floored him.

43.—Sharpe caught Alec a terrific blow on the side of the knowledge-box, but had three for one in return, and Alec fell.

44.—Alec ready, but his physog. strangely out of shape, and as tender as a chicken; he could scarcely bear to wash his mouth. Bishop rushed in, but was hit down by a right-hander.

45.—Sharpe’s left ogle closed for the day; still he came up game, but Alec, ready, met him in the face. Bishop missed his left-handed lunge at the body and fell.

46.—Sharpe wild, was jobbed on the head, and fell.

47.—Bishop, still staunch, the first to mill. Alec waited, jobbed, and got away. Bishop followed him up, hit with his left at the body, closed, and threw Alec a burster, falling heavily on him.

48.—Alec, still awake, met Bishop right and left, and dropped him.

49.—Bishop again hit down with a heavy blow on the left ribs.

50.—Sharpe hit down from a left-hander on the nob.

51.—Again was Bishop hit down.

52.—Bishop charged. Alec retreated, but meeting Sharpe, dropped a heavy one on the body with his right. In closing, Alec hit the Bishop up terrifically with his right, on the smeller, and grassed him.

53.—Bishop hit down right and left.

54 to 60.—All in favour of Alec, who hit his man down every round, either from blows on the head or body.

61.—The Bishop went down without a blow. Cries of “foul,” but no decision.

62.—Bishop gathered all his strength, and came up in good force. He hit Alec with the left, but was jobbed down right and left.

63.—Bishop again hit down.

64.—Counter-hits. Sharpe went boldly to his man, but was dropped.

65.—Curtis now began to use all his tact to encourage his man, chaffed the Snob, and doffed his own shirt to be more at ease. Alec hit Bishop right and left, and he went down.

66.—Alec drank out of the bottle himself, and winked to his friends, as much as to say, “It’s all right.” Alec stopped his man with his left, and hit him down as he came in.

67 to 71.—All in favour of Alec, and Bishop went down every round.

72.—Bishop gathered himself for mischief, and tried his favourite left-handed body hit, but it fell short, and he caught it right and left and went down.

73.—Bishop attempted to hit, but went down without a blow.

74.—Alec jobbed with his left, and caught Bishop on the dexter ogle, which began to swell, and he went down.

75.—Sharpe hit down.

76.—The Bishop hit with his left at Alec’s mark, but it was without effect. Alec rushed at him to hit, but Bishop dropped, on the saving system.

77.—Again did Bishop try his left, and his friends still hoped he would pop it in the right place, but no go, he was jobbed down.

78.—The Bishop, in going in, went down without a blow. (Hisses, and cries of “foul.”)

79.—The Bishop went in wild, and fell. Cries of “Take him away.”

80.—Bishop again bored in, neck or nothing. Alec got away, and Sharpe fell.

81.—Similar to the last. Alec missed a tremendous up-hit, or all would have been over.

82.—Bishop jobbed down with the left, but both distressed, and severely punished in the head.

83.—Bishop hit down.

84 to 87.—The Bishop, dreadfully jobbed and hit in the body with the right, down every round. The crisis was now approaching. Alec had it all his own way, and nothing but a lucky lunge could change the aspect of affairs, and for this Bishop’s friends still anxiously sought.

88.—Sharpe came up wild, and was hit down.

89.—Bishop hit down again with a body blow.

90.—Alec saw the sore point. The Bishop winced, and he gave him another appalling body blow, which resounded through the ring, and felled him.

91, and last.—Poor Bishop got up to receive the finisher, and was floored by a tremendous hit with the left. All was now over; Sharpe was insensible, and, on time being called, his seconds gave in. The hat of victory was instantly thrown up, and the shouts of the crimson heroes proclaimed the success of their favourite, in one hour and twenty-seven minutes. Alec made a slight bound, and, after a short pause, was conducted to his carriage. He was so exhausted that some time elapsed before he could be dressed, after which he was borne off to St. Albans, with flying colours. Poor Sharpe remained for some time insensible to his fate.

REMARKS.—This was decidedly as game and determined a battle as was ever witnessed. Each man seemed deeply to feel the stake at issue. Fame and fortune were alike involved, and the contest was proportionally severe. The scientific style in which Reid fought was the admiration of the ring. His attack and defence were alike judicious. Aware of the dangerous left-handed lunge of the Bishop, by which he had before been robbed of victory when within his grasp, he took especial care not only to cover his vulnerable point, but to counteract Sharpe’s plan by a move of the same sort himself. Thus we find him constantly pinking Bishop’s body with his right, and so simultaneous were these efforts on both sides, that Alec’s right hand often met Bishop’s half-way. Alec’s caution, his waiting for Bishop’s rush, his judicious retreat, and rapid execution, right and left, when Bishop left his body unguarded, were beautiful; and our only surprise was, that, after such apparent mischief, Bishop was enabled to come up so steady and strong. Sharpe fought as brave as a lion, but his judgment was inferior when compared with Reid’s. He fought wildly, and without discretion, although in the end, when he found the chances were against him, he had recourse to every manœuvre to regain strength, and plant his favourite hit. His deliveries on Alec’s nose with his left were very heavy, as was sufficiently visible, and Alec no doubt felt their weight, for his head presented a dreadful spectacle on that side where the blows told, and his mouth and eye were much swollen; indeed, so distressed did he appear towards the end of the fight, that Sharpe’s friends to the last considered he had a chance, and the odds of three to one were offered with singular caution. It was not till Nature had deserted Bishop altogether that he struck, and his backers, though mortified, candidly confessed he could not have done more.

The conquest of the gallant but stale Dick Curtis by Perkins, the Oxford Pet, had rankled long in the minds of the London Fancy, although poor King Dick had fallen, not ingloriously, before superior weight, length, strength, and youth. It was thought that Alec would be a better match for him, and accordingly articles were signed for £100 a-side, and the day fixed for the 25th May, 1830.

As a short notice of Perkins, and a detailed report of his victory over Curtis, will appear in the appendix of this Period, we shall not further dwell on his Ring career. Perkins had trained at Chipping Norton, and Reid paid every attention to getting himself fit at Burford, in Surrey; and so favourable were the accounts of his condition that he was freely backed at six to four by his old friends.

On the Monday before the battle the ’Varsity city was full of bustle and activity. The “Red Lion” and the “Anchor” were crowded by visitors anxious to get the “tip” as to the whereabouts. This was found to be the “Four-shire Stone,” seven miles from Chipping Norton, at a point where the counties of Oxford, Warwick, Worcester, and Berks are conterminous. We may here note that on this occasion Reid fought under the alias of “Jack O’Brien,” owing to his being held to bail for a period then unexpired, for being present at a mill in the neighbourhood of London. The battle is reported in Bell’s Life as between “Perkins and Jack O’Brien.”

By eleven o’clock Commissary Oliver and his lieutenant, “Fogo of the Frosty Face,” had pitched the ring at the appointed rendezvous—it being surrounded by numerous undergrads, who had given the slip to “bulldogs” and “proctors” to attend the demonstration of craniology and the practical essay on “bumps” which Messrs. Reid and Perkins had prepared for their edification. At a little before twelve the Chelsea hero showed, waited on by Young Dutch Sam and Dick Curtis, the Oxonian quickly following, esquired by Harry Jones and Ned Stockman. Each man was heartily cheered. The colours, green with a crimson spot for Reid, and a fancy pink silk fogle for the Oxford Pet, were tied to the stakes. The whip-bearers of the “Fair Play Club” preserved an unbroken ring, and everything was arranged with regularity and order. The toss for choice of position was won for Perkins. The men shook hands, the seconds and bottle-holders retired to their respective corners, and the men, toeing the scratch, threw up their daddies and began

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Both appeared in excellent condition, but Reid had the advantage in weight, being 10st. 7lb., while Perkins was 10st. 3lb. This difference was not so obvious as they stood opposed to each other, although it might tell in the end; indeed, a more equal match as to size could scarce be imagined. A manly firmness sat on the brow of each, and everything like personal animosity seemed banished from their minds. No sooner had the seconds and bottle-holders retired than the Snob showed his determination to lose not a moment in bringing the enemy to action. Covering his points well, he advanced, and made slight play left and right; the Pet, awake, stopped these efforts with great neatness. The Snob tried the same manœuvre a second time; but the Pet again stopped and got away. He had not much time to deliberate, however, before Reid popped in his left on the “mark;” he tried his right at the nob at the same time, but it was “no go.” A bustling, active rally followed, good stopping was observable on both sides, and slight exchanges took place. In the end the Snob caught the Pet on the jowl with his left, and dropped him, although the blow was not delivered with decisive force; still, this was booked as the first knock-down, and Reid was loudly cheered.

2.—The Chelsea hero again all activity, the Pet cautious. The Snob’s first one two stopped, but his left was once more at the victualling office. In return, the Pet caught his opponent a nasty one on the muzzle, swelling his lips, and leading to a cry of “first blood;” but it was so slight, if at all to be seen, that he contrived to hide it from observation. A slashing rally followed, and the left-handed counters were beautiful—both “napping it” with considerable force. Reid had rather the advantage in the onslaught, but in following up his man the Pet went down, amidst cheers from his friends.

3.—The Snob first to fight, and all bustle in his operations; the Pet, cautious, stopped his one two. Perkins received a clinker on the left ear, and first blood was visible beneath, while the ear was puffed; this was declared as unequivocal of the second event for the Snob. The Oxonian, all alive, met the Snob’s attack, stopping his right, but catching his left slap in the muzzle, the Snob had it in return with equal force. The Snob put in a left-hand body hit, and got away. Returning again to the charge, he found the Pet armed at all points. The Pet retreated, stopping Reid’s right and left with admirable precision, and ultimately going down without a blow, upon the cautious system.

4.—Reid, first to fight, popped in a left-handed job on the potato trap, ditto on the ogle. The Pet saw the defensive would not do, and fought a spirited rally; the exchanges were quick and effectual—hit followed hit with electric rapidity, and each dropped claret—the Pet from the mouth, Reid from the conk. The scientific stopping on both sides during this rally was first-rate. The Snob tried his body hit with the left, but was short; the Pet smiled and got away. Reid would not be denied, but went merrily to his man; there was no getting away, and to it they went “ding-dong.” The counter-hits were numerous, and the stops equally so. The Pet put in a body hit with his right—but with both men most punishment was given with the left, and neither spared his opponent. In the end Perkins went down hitting, Reid smiling defiance.

5.—Good stopping right and left by both; the Snob stuck to his work, and countering was the order of the day. Perkins retreated, followed closely by Reid, who kept hitting away, when Perkins dropped on one knee, and put up his hand; Reid withheld a falling blow, though entitled to hit, and retired amidst the cheers of his friends.

6.—The Chelsea champion put in his left on the Oxford man’s nozzle, which was uncorked. He then went in boldly to punish, but the Pet dropped and smiled. (Cries of “Stand up!” and “Foul!”)

7.—The Snob; all alive, went to work, and put in a left-handed muzzler. The Pet returned the compliment. Heavy hits exchanged, but the Pet had the worst of it, and again went down amidst the grumbling of the Snob’s friends. (Ten pounds to five on Reid.)

8.—The Snob made play right and left—the first stopped, the second successful. Perkins returned heavily with his left; good counter-hitting, the science of both exciting general admiration. Perkins rather cautious, but Reid would be at work, and rattled in; more fine counter-hitting, and a spirited rally—the hitting was slashing. The Pet was hit down with a slinging hit over the right eye, which exhibited a gaping wound, but the Snob had it almost as heavily on the smeller, and fell on his hands and knees; both bleeding.

9.—Good fighting on both sides, but Reid had the advantage of strength. The Pet retreated before him, stopping, but caught it again on the right eye and on the cheek beneath, where an old wound was opened. Reid put in his favourite left-handed bodier, but caught a nose-ender in return. Perkins retreated, but was all alive, and popped in a jobbing hit with his left, and threw in his right on the Snob’s neck. The Chelsea man returned fiercely, hitting right and left, when the Pet fell on his hands and knees.

10.—Reid, all alive, planted his left on the body; counter-hits on the mazzard, and neat stopping. Perkins went down on his knees. (More grumbling from Reid’s friends.)

11.—Both showed strong marks of punishment. The Snob went to work, and cut away in good style; Perkins popped in his right at the body, but had it in return on the nob. Spirited rally. Reid again tapped at the victualling office of the Pet, and after good counter-hitting Perkins, on the retreat, went down.

12.—Perkins put in a right-hander on the throat of Reid, and stopped a counter-hit with his left; left-hand exchanges; the Pet went down. (Cries of “Shame!” from the friends of Reid.)

13.—The Pet cautious, and on the defensive; Reid went to him; good scientific stops right and left; excellent counter-hitting; the Londoner had it heavy on the grinders. (Shouts for Oxford.) A pretty active rally, hits pro and con., and Perkins slipped down.

14.—Perkins made play; Reid, ready at all points, tried to bring his man to a rally, but the Pet, after stopping some severe hits, went down on one hand and knee.

15.—Sharp jobbing right and left on both sides; heavy deliveries right and left from the Snob; claret in abundance; hit and hit; Perkins down; but the Snob, though vexed at his man dropping, stepped away, and smiled.

16.—A fine, manly rally; blows followed blows in quick succession, and both received pepper. In the end Perkins down, Reid, for the first time, upon him.

17.—The Pet still strong and confident. Reid delivered his left at the carcass, and got away. A rally; Perkins went down stopping.

18.—Fine fighting; Perkins on the retreat, Alec with him in good style. Severe exchanges, Perkins down—both distilling the purple fluid.

19.—Severe deliveries from Reid, and some neat returns. The Snob had the best of the fighting; the Pet down.

20.—Stopping at starting, but Reid would not be denied—fought with quickness. The Pet, retreating, was down, after some pretty returns, but he had the worst of the game, and was somewhat on the piping order.

21.—The Chelsea hero hit his man down with the left in good style, and became more jolly.

22.—Reid, all activity, planted his left on the body and broke away. Perkins went to work, and the fighting was beautiful while it lasted; but Perkins went down on both knees. His opponent withheld his falling blow, and looked mortified at this cautious system.

23.—Heavy jobbing; both received and returned, and were the worse for their work; Perkins floored.

24.—Merry milling, good countering; Perkins retreated. Reid bored him to the ropes, hit away, and fell upon him.

25.—The Pet’s left cheek cut with a slashing hit—claret in a stream. Perkins did not flinch, fought to a rally, but was dropped.

26.—Reid showed symptoms of fatigue, but still merry. Hit left and right, the Pet down.

27, 28, 29.—Good fighting rounds, heavy exchanges, but Perkins down in every round.

30.—Reid planted his left and right with great force; Perkins made a neat return with his left on Alec’s muzzle, but was hit down with a left-handed teazer. Reid smiled, and clapped him on the back as he was on his knees.

31.—Perkins was again hit down. (A heavy shower of rain now came on, during which there was a little confusion from a supposition that certain constables were breaking into the ring to save the Pet from defeat, but this proved to be a false alarm. The men in the interim fought with great spirit, and the hitting and stopping was kept up with great vigour, with pretty equal advantage. The Pet, however, was always down.)

37.—Tremendous rally. The deliveries on both sides perfect shakers, and the Pet rather the best of the hitting. (Shouts from the Gownsmen, and betting rather in favour among Perkins’s friends, but little done.)

38.—Reid again took the lead, but was courageously met. After a sharp rally, the Pet was hit down with a left-handed smack in the throttle. (Loud applause from the Londoners, and the odds again firm in Reid’s favour.)

39.—Both distressed, but game as lions. Hit away right and left, no mistake as to intention. Perkins floored with a left-handed job.

40.—Reid all life and confidence, the Pet “nothing loth.” Hit for hit left and right at the nobs. Perkins rushed to in-fighting, napped it as he came in, but gave the upper-cut. Reid down. (Renewed cheers from the “Gownsmen,” and Perkins’s friends still confident.)

41.—Science well exhibited by both. The stopping excellent. Counter-hitting. The Pet down. (The referee cautioned Perkins to make “a stand-up fight,” when he exclaimed “the grass was so slippery he could not help going down.” At this time, from the heavy rain, which had now subsided, there was some cause for the excuse.)

42.—Reid was again busy with the Pet’s bread-basket with his left. A slashing rally; good exchanges. In a close Perkins down, Reid on top of him.

43.—Reid, all gaiety, though woefully disfigured in the mug, went to his man, popped in left and right, and in the end Perkins, after a few exchanges, went down.

44.—No time wasted—good stand-up fighting, but the Pet getting weak. (“Take him away!” said the “Gownsmen.” “No,” said Sam, “he does not often dine at an ordinary; let him have a skinful.”) The Pet down.

45 and 46.—The mischief pretty equal, and the fighting excellent. Perkins down in both rounds.

47.—A desperate rally; both did their best; the Pet hit down, but Reid also fell on his hands and knees, rather weak.

48.—Perkins’s right eye was now completely closed, and his left looked queer. Reid went in to finish, but was manfully met; still Perkins had the worst of the fighting, and was hit down.

49.—Reid all gaiety, and again fresh; the Pet steady, but dreadfully punished in the phiz. The Londoner made play, and hit away right and left, the latter on the body. Perkins met him on the nose with his left, but in the return was hit down with a left-handed job.

50.—Reid was now the favourite at long odds, but the Pet’s game did not desert him; his heart was still in the right place, and he made a desperate effort to redeem his falling fortune. Reid, however, was too strong, and dropped him with a left-handed touch in the physog. The Pet fell forward on his face weak.

51, 52, and 53.—All in favour of Reid, though Perkins did wonders, and fought with unshrinking courage. In the last round he fell on his knees, resting on his adversary’s shoulder. Reid smiled, patted him on the shoulder, and walked away. (Cries of “Take him away!”)

54, and last.—The Oxford man came up to make a last effort, but it was evidently all over. Still he did his best—made some weak returns to slashing hits, and at last received the coup de grace; he fell, but gloriously, and his seconds, thinking he had had enough, gave in for him, the fight having lasted exactly an hour. Both men were heavily punished. Reid walked to his carriage amidst the cheers of his “pals,” and Perkins, having recovered from his temporary doze, rose soon after and followed his example, terribly mortified in spirit as well as altered in frontispiece.

REMARKS.—This was one of the best and fairest mills on record, and was throughout full of bustle and spirit. Reid, though not quite up to the mark of former times, was all his friends had a right to anticipate. He was active, vigorous, and quick, and never threw a chance away, save on one or two occasions, when Perkins slipped down intentionally, and when he might have been hit, but his opponent generously withheld his blows. This added to his credit; but it is due to say he suffered severely for his victory, and was heavily punished in the counter-hitting. The Oxford man fully maintained his fame, and although beaten fell gloriously before his superior in strength and weight, if not much so in science. Such was the equality of mischief in some of the latest struggles in the fight that there was no certainty till the fiftieth round; and on two or three occasions Perkins was the favourite with his friends, and backed at odds. With the exception of going down too often on the cautious system there was no fault to be found with the Oxford hero; and even this, though not consistent with the idea of “stand-up fighting,” was justifiable in point of good generalship. In fact, it was impossible for a beaten man to have done more to deserve the respect and approval of his backers.

About a week before the fight, Reid, in a foolhardy experiment to show how he would muzzle his antagonist, struck his knuckles against a door, and swelled up his hand; but from this piece of folly he sufficiently recovered not to show its effects. On the night after the fight both men showed at their respective headquarters at Oxford, and exhibited heavy marks of the conflict of the morning. The University city was all bustle and commotion, and both pleased and displeased had enough to say on the subject

Tom Spring, Gully, Phil Sampson, Tom Gaynor, and several of the old school of boxers were on the ground, and resolutely assisted in preserving order.

This was Alec Reid’s last occasion of exhibiting as a principal in the Ring. For some years he was a well-known exhibitor and teacher of the art in the London schools. In his latter days, being afflicted with paralysis in the left arm and side, he sunk into a sort of master of the ceremonies at boxing benefits, his civility of manner and respectful courtesy enabling him to earn a humble crust. For some years he was a room manager at Nat Langham’s, old friends, who remembered his game conduct and honest manliness, often lending him support in occasional benefits. Reid died in comparative poverty and obscurity in 1875, in his seventy-third year.

CHAPTER XI. BISHOP SHARPE (“THE BOLD SMUGGLER”)—1818–1826.

Bishop Sharpe, once a seaman in His Majesty’s navy, and subsequently known as a “long-shore man” in the neighbourhood of Woolwich, was as tough a specimen of the material of which our “old salts” were made as even Jack Scroggins himself.

Of the early career of Bishop Sharpe we have but little reliable account. He beat two unknowns, named Lester and the “Deptford Carrier,” and in his first recorded battle, on the 24th September, 1818, conquered Bob Hall in forty-five rounds, occupying fifty-five minutes, at Woolwich, after a determined contest. Battles with minor pugilists, in all of which he was successful, spread his fame. These we shall pass with a mere enumeration. On March 24th, 1819, he met, and defeated, on Woolwich Marshes, Dick Prior in twenty-five rounds, thirty-five minutes, for £25. In December, 1819, he beat John Street (an opponent of Josh Hudson), in one hundred rounds, 105 minutes, near Charlton, Kent. In February, 1820, John King surrendered to the Bishop in twenty-five minutes, during which twenty-five sharp rounds were fought, for £25 a-side, at Plumstead.

The contest between the “Bold Smuggler” and the “Slashing Gipsy,” as Jack Cooper was called, took place for £50 a-side, at the Old Maypole, in Epping Forest, on Tuesday, June 17th, 1823. The patricians of the West in the days of the Fourth George, as a general rule, were greatly averse to a ride over the London stones to witness any fight in North Kent or Essex. But the fame of the Gipsy, who had conquered every boxer opposed to him—West Country Dick, O’Leary, Dent, Scroggins, and Cabbage had succumbed—and the character for determination and lasting which had run before the Bishop, had travelled westward, and proved such an attraction that quite an aristocratic surrounding witnessed the merry mill.

The Old Maypole, as we have already said, was the rallying point, and the situation chosen to make the ring was delightfully picturesque. At a few minutes past one Sharpe, in a white wrapper and a yellowman, arm-in-arm with the John Bull Fighter, threw his beaver into the ring, followed by Phil Sampson. The Gipsy shortly afterwards appeared, in a blue coat, with a blue handkerchief round his neck, and repeated the token of defiance. Spring and Richmond were seconds for Cooper, and Hudson and Sampson officiated for Sharpe. Spring and Hudson tied the colours to the stakes, and betting was five to four on the Gipsy. The latter boxer, according to report, had the advantage in weight of eight pounds.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Sharpe, immediately on shaking hands, appeared in a hurry to go to work, and made play with his opponent. The left hand of Sharpe told slightly. The Gipsy retreated. Some blows were exchanged, when, in closing, a severe struggle took place; Sharpe had the best of the throw, and the Gipsy was undermost. (Great shouting for Sharpe.)

2.—The right eye of Cooper was winking from a slight hit. Sharpe was confident, and the Gipsy retreated from him; the latter, at length, made himself up, and with a right-handed lunging hit he made Sharpe stagger, and he also went down on one knee, but jumped up again immediately. (“Well done, Cooper!”)

3.—Both ready—both offering—the Gipsy retreating, and Sharpe following. In closing, the Gipsy got the throw.

4 to 7.—A very small tinge of the claret appeared on the Gipsy’s lips. Sharpe rushed in, bored the Gipsy to the ropes, and threw him.

8 to 13.—Their blows did no execution—at least, they did not appear effective. It was bloodless up to the close of this round.

14.—Cooper showed off a little in his usual style in this round; he nobbed Sharpe, and also gave him a severe cross-buttock. (“It is of no use,” cried Josh. “I have seconded Bishop seven times, and none of the coves could ever make a mark upon him.”)

15 and 16.—Sharpe received a heavy blow under his listener, and went down.

17 to 26.—In the 25th round, Sharpe napped pepper, and the claret trickled down his face. (“I have fetched it at last,” said Cooper to Sharpe, laughing; “and plenty more will soon follow.” “Don’t be too fast,” replied Sharpe, putting in at the same time a severe blow on the Gipsy’s throat. The latter, however, bored Sharpe down.)

27 to 37.—The friends of the Gipsy felt quite at ease that he would win the battle; and the partisans of Sharpe were equally confident, asserting that “he could not lose it.” Yet the Gipsy did not make use of his severe right-handed hit, and kept always retreating from his opponent. The superiority of Sharpe in this round was so decisive, and his conduct so generous and manly, as to receive thunders of applause from every spectator round the ring. Sharpe hit the Gipsy so severely that the latter in retreating got between the ropes. Sharpe disdained to take advantage of this opportunity (what Randall would have termed giving a chance away), and walked back into the middle of the ring, beckoning with his hand for Cooper to follow him. Some exchanges took place, and the Gipsy received a heavy fall.

38 to 44.—Sometimes Sharpe had the best of it; at other times Cooper kept his friends in good humour; but nothing decisive appeared on either side as to victory; and several of the old ring-goers murmured that so little execution had been done, either by the tremendous hitting Gipsy or the heavy punishing Sharpe.

45, 46, 47.—In these rounds certain symptoms appeared that the Gipsy was going off, or, in plain terms, that he had had the worst of it; five to two, by way of chaffing, was offered against Cooper. Martin came up to the Gipsy while sitting on his second’s knee, and told him, if he won it, he should have £50, at the same time offering to back Cooper for £50.

48, 49, 50.—In the last round the Gipsy was bored to the ropes by the hitting of Sharpe, and also thrown heavily. (“It is all your own way, Sharpe; go in and finish him.”)

51.—A severe struggle at the ropes, and Sharpe went down.

52.—The Gipsy was hit down. The Sharpites outrageous in their applause and gestures. (“It is as safe as the day.”)

53.—The hitting of the Gipsy was gone, and his right hand appeared of no use to him. Here Spring whispered to Cooper “to use his right hand, and he must win it.” “I cannot use it,” replied the Gipsy; “I have hurt my shoulder.” The Gipsy fibbed down at the ropes. Another tremendous shout for Sharpe.

54.—The nob of the Gipsy appeared punished severely, and his right eye was cut. Both down.

55.—Sharpe now took great liberties with the head of his opponent, and fell upon him so heavily as nearly to shake the wind out of him.

56, and last.—This was short and sweet to Sharpe; he hit Cooper down, and when time was called victory was declared in favour of Bishop Sharpe. The battle occupied one hour twenty-five minutes.

REMARKS.—The judges called the above mill a bad fight—a long innings, and but little to show for it. The face of Sharpe had scarcely a mark upon it; and the Gipsy said “he was not hurt.” A medical man on the ground examined the shoulder of the Gipsy, and he pronounced “the clavicle to be fractured.” (Of course, this sounded more learned than to say “the collar-bone was broken.”) This fracture prevented the Gipsy from lifting his arm without experiencing a grinding of the bones, producing great pain. If the Gipsy had taken the lead instead of retreating from his adversary, it was thought he must have won it. Cooper missed several blows, and at various times did not follow up his success. This was observable in the tenth round, the ninth being a guinea to a shilling in his favour.

A second match with Jack Cooper was fought by Sharpe at Harpenden Common, on the 5th of August, 1823, with the like result, Sharpe proving conqueror in thirty-nine minutes, during which Cooper fought thirty rushing rounds. The two battles were so similar that a reprint would be mere repetition. At Blackheath Sharpe and Cooper met a third time, on November 14th, in the same year, for £100, and fought a draw, daylight closing in on the undecided contest.

On the 10th of May, 1825, Sharpe, after an absence of some twelve months in his seafaring occupation, got on a match for £25 a-side with an aspirant, one Ben Warwick, whom the Bold Smuggler polished off after a one-sided battle of considerable obstinacy in twenty-five minutes, being, as many said, at the rate of a sov. per minute. As Mr. Warwick, to whose credit some previous conquests of outsiders are placed, never again sported canvas in the P.R., we shall not report the battle.

Sharpe, by his victories over Cooper and his drawn battle with Alec Reid, already noticed, encouraged his friends to seek what was expected to be a decisive match with his scientific adversary the Chelsea Snob, more especially as the latter had in the interval beaten Jack Cooper, Jubb, and Savage. The stakes of £100 were made good, and on the 6th of September, 1826, the men met at the renowned battle-field of No Man’s Land, in Hertfordshire.

The “Bishop” set up his training quarters at the “Castle,” Highgate, while Reid took his breathings on Putney Heath, patronising the “Green Man.” In point of age Reid had the advantage, being twenty-four, while Sharpe numbered thirty summers. In the former fight the odds were quoted at six to four on Reid, but on this occasion five to four were laid on the Smuggler. On the Tuesday morning the lads of “the long village” were astir as early as five o’clock, and a lively succession of vehicles bowled along the great North Road.

When Reid met Sharpe in their first battle he complained, and not without reason, of the neglect of his backers. In the present case he had cause to be grateful for their attention. Every possible care was taken of him during his training, and preparations were made for taking him into the ring in “bang-up style.” His crimson favours were distributed liberally among his friends, and a dashing barouche and four, the post-boys wearing crimson satin jackets, and the horses’ heads decorated with crimson cockades, was prepared to carry him to the ground. Nothing was omitted which could add to his confidence, or give importance to the contest. A favourite candidate for a popular election could not have entered the field under more dashing auspices.

Shortly before one the men arrived on the ground, and soon after appeared within the stakes. Reid took the lead, accompanied by his backers, and Tom Cribb and Ben Burn as his second and bottle-holder. He was soon afterwards followed by Sharpe, who was waited upon by Josh Hudson and Peter Crawley. A trifling shower threw a slight gloom over the assembled multitude, but this soon ceased, and the remainder of the afternoon was favourable.

The men immediately peeled for action. They both seemed well; but it was thought the Bishop might have been better. The confidence of his backers, nevertheless, was unshaken, and in a very short time the odds were decidedly five to four in his favour. These odds were freely taken by some, but not so freely by many of the professed friends of Reid as might have been anticipated.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On taking their positions, the Bishop, as usual, stood with his right leg foremost, presenting rather an awkward appearance. He did not deal long in postures, however, for he lost not a moment in going to work. He let fly right and left at Reid’s head, but was prettily stopped. Both now set to with activity, and a spirited rally followed, in which the Bishop planted his left on Reid’s frontispiece with great success. The Snob was awake, and countered slightly, but Sharpe was too sharp for him, and following up his bustling system, after a few interchanges, put in a tremendous left-handed clink on Reid’s proboscis, drawing first blood. In the close Bishop was hit down, and on being placed on his second’s knee, showed a trifling mark on his left eye. (Shouts from the East Enders.)

2.—Reid came up merry, but he was not allowed much time for reflection; the Bishop again went to work as if he meant mischief. Alec was ready, and successfully stopped his desperate left-handed hits. Another rally followed, in which facers were interchanged, but Reid had the worst of the hitting, and was again thrown, receiving before he went down two severe hits on the nose, from which a fresh flow of claret was extracted, and a trifling wound inflicted on its bridge. The confidence of the Bishop’s friends was increased, and their joy loudly expressed, while the Chelsea lads looked blue.

3.—Reid came up like the gory ghost of Banquo, but he was still jolly. The Bishop renewed his active system, and tried a left-handed lunge at Reid’s body. He was well stopped, and Reid delivered on his mouth and nose. The Bishop rushed to in-fighting, but Reid was awake, and hit him heavily on the body. The Bishop staggered, but instantly returned to his man, and a desperate rally followed, to the advantage of the Bishop, who hit his antagonist right and left, and dropped him heavily. (Six to four on the Bishop.)

4.—Reid came up nothing abashed, but the Bishop was soon with him, and attempted his favourite left-handed job. Reid stopped him, but he would not be kept off, and hit right and left, while the Snob countered with great severity, and gave him a gash under his right eye. At last the Bishop rushed to a close, and Reid was thrown. (Two to one offered from all parts of the ring on the Bishop.)

5.—On coming to the scratch the Bishop showed the effects of Reid’s last visitation to his phiz. Reid seemed to derive fresh spirit from this proof of his talent, and a desperate and courageous rally followed. The Bishop’s fearful attempts with his left were well stopped, and Reid put in two severe jobbing hits, right and left, which made a cutting impression. The Bishop was astounded, and Reid, seeing his advantage, lost no time in following up his handiwork; he pursued the Bishop, who retreated on the defensive, and repeated his blows; a fierce rally followed, in which there was some sharp counter-hitting, but at last the Bishop was hit down in admirable style. (An instant change took place in the betting, and from the distress exhibited by the Bishop, Reid was loudly cheered, and two to one offered in his favour. Many of the backers of the Bishop, in fact, forthwith commenced hedging.)

6.—Both came up steady, but Reid was the more confident. The Bishop was rather abroad, and his right eye began to close. Reid now took the lead in fighting, but he found the Bishop ready, and after a short rally Reid retreated. This ruse had the desired effect. The Bishop followed him, and as he came in Reid met him severely with the right and left. The Bishop bored him towards the ropes with wildness, while Reid, with great quickness, repeated his primâ facie compliments. In the close both went down, Reid under.

7.—Reid still a decided favourite, and two to one freely offered. He came up with apparent confidence, and planted a left-handed jobber on Sharpe’s nob. Sharpe attempted in return to hit with his left, but was well stopped. A short rally followed, in which the Bishop napped it right and left; but in the close he threw Reid, and fell upon him.

8.—Sharpe came up looking serious, and the worse for wear; Reid was ready and active, and on Sharpe’s rushing to in-fighting, got away, stopping as he retreated; but at last put in a severe left-handed slap on Sharpe’s face. A close followed, and after a short struggle for the fall, both went down, Reid under.

9.—Sharpe came up a little on the piping order, but forthwith went to work. Reid stopped him as he advanced, and in getting away slipped down.

10.—Reid put in a teazer on Sharpe’s body, and jumped away; Sharpe followed him up, but Reid pursued his retreating system, and in the close both went down.

11.—Both came up distressed, but Reid was the fresher, and taking prompt advantage of Sharpe’s situation, he put in five or six tremendous blows on his nob, till at length the Bishop went down weak from want of breath. This was an excellent round as far as Reid was concerned, and showed his marked superiority in science. (Two to one on Reid. Josh thought his man was in Queer Street, and gave the office to an old pal, who offered his two to one in all directions in favour of Reid.)

12.—Sharpe came up groggy, and rushed at Reid for the close. Both went down by the ropes, and as Reid got up he patted Sharpe good-humouredly on the shoulder. (Four to one on Reid, and but few takers.)

13.—Sharpe was brought to the scratch somewhat more steady. He made several attempts to deliver his left on Reid’s body, but Reid got away. Sharpe at last delivered right and left handed facers, and received a poser in return from Reid’s left. He then rushed to a close, and a scrambling scuffle took place at the ropes, when both went down; and Reid again patted Sharpe on the shoulder, as if in compassionate consideration of his approaching defeat.

14.—Reid came up fresh, and on the alert. Sharpe seemed to have become more cautious. Reid fought first, and caught him a jobbing hit with his left on the dexter ogle. Sharpe hit short at Reid’s body with his left. Reid jumped away. Blows interchanged with mutual advantage. Sharpe succeeded in putting in a slight body blow; and on closing both went down, Reid under.

15.—Reid still the fresher man. Sharpe came up with boldness, and commenced by hitting short at Reid’s body; Reid got away; but returning to the assault, caught Sharpe heavily with his left on the nob. Sharpe again tried his body blow, but failed; and on Reid rushing to close fighting, he went down on the safe system. This was looked upon as an indication of cutting it, and the odds were again freely offered on Reid.

16.—Both men came up determined on mischief. Sharpe tried his left and right at Reid’s head, but found him at home; but at last, watching his opportunity, he succeeded in effecting that which he had so often attempted—namely, in catching Reid a tremendous blow in the wind. The effect was alarming; Reid was doubled up in an instant, and fell. Cribb, with great quickness, placed him on Ben Burn’s knee, and pushing his head in his stomach to stop his bellows, succeeded in bringing him to the scratch when time was called. He was, however, very groggy, and his friends began to anticipate that their hopes were at an end, and the betting became even.

17.—Sharpe, seeing the powerful effects of his last blow, instantly prepared to take advantage of his good fortune, while Tom Owen loudly called upon him to repeat the dose in the same place. Reid, however, to the astonishment of the ring, stopped the intended finisher, and countered well with his left. After a short rally Sharpe went down, while Reid had nearly recovered the effects of the previous round.

18.—Sharpe again attempted to throw in his right and left at Reid’s body, but Reid got away cleverly. Reid, who was now “himself again,” pursued Sharpe with an apparent determination to make a decisive impression, when Sharpe went down without a blow, thereby exciting a strong expression of displeasure on the part of Reid’s friends.

19.—Both men came up steady. Reid lost no time in going to work, and after some good counter-hitting Sharpe closed, and threw Reid cleverly. Even betting was the order of the day—Reid for choice.

20.—Sharpe hit short at Reid’s body. Reid attempted to place a left-handed job on Sharpe’s head, when the latter, having crept close, let fly with his left at a well-judged distance, caught him under the ribs, and he dropped as if he had been shot, drawing up his legs apparently in agony. The veteran Tom was again at his elbow, lifted him, as before, on Ben Burn’s knee, but he was not equally successful. Reid continued to writhe, as in great pain, and on “time” being called, being unable to go to the scratch, Sharpe, to the surprise of some, the joy of others, and the mortification of many, was declared the victor. Sharpe was immediately conducted out of the ring, and Reid was conveyed to his carriage, where he soon after recovered, and was subsequently enabled to walk about the heath but little the worse for his defeat; his punishment, in fact, was not so great as that of Sharpe. The fight lasted twenty-four minutes.

REMARKS.—By this fight it may be supposed that the comparative merits of Reid and Sharpe have been fairly decided, but this is by no means a general opinion, for it was openly stated, and boldly asserted by Reid himself, that but for the accidental blow which prevented his coming to time, he would certainly have won the battle; and when the game which he displayed in his late fight with Gaynor is considered it is only a matter of surprise that he should have been so soon and suddenly brought to a stand-still. He declared that for some time the effects of the blow rendered him utterly incapable of exertion. Having thus experienced the nature of the Bishop’s tactics, however, he says he feels satisfied that he could in future guard against them, and render victory certain. In the present instance, it is the opinion of the best judges that Reid has shown himself the better fighter; but he is blamed for not taking more advantage of the opportunities which Sharpe afforded him, by leaving his head unguarded while aiming at his body. Indeed, it is thought that if he had been awake to this, and met him as he came in, there could have been no doubt of the issue of the contest. It is pretty clear that Sharpe, in all his battles, never met with such an adversary before, and that he had the worst of it is obvious from his own friends’ betting two to one against him. It is said, however, that it is difficult to tell when he is beaten, and that at all times he is a dangerous customer. This character he has maintained on the present occasion, and he has also shown that his reputation for courage is well founded. The backers of Reid immediately declared their readiness to match him again against Sharpe, if the Smuggler should be disposed for another shy, a proof of their implicit belief in his honesty.

This victory placed Sharpe in the foremost rank among the middle-weight boxers of the day, and as Tom Gaynor had recently engaged with and beaten the same man, the Chelsea Snob, with great difficulty, while the Bishop had polished him off (so said his friends) with much more ease, a line was taken by which the Bishop’s superiority over Gaynor was assumed. Not so thought the admirers of the Bath Carpenter. They considered the match “a good thing” for Tom, so they closed at once with the proposal, and posted their half-hundred readily, fixing the day for the 5th of December, 1826, and the trysting-place at No Man’s Land, Herts. There, however, a move was necessary, owing to a magisterial interference, and a move was accordingly made into Bedfordshire. At Shere Mere, on the ground where Sampson and Jem Burn settled their difference, at two o’clock, the men met in battle array. Sharpe was attended by Josh Hudson and the veteran Tom Owen, while Gaynor had the services of Harry Holt and Tom Oliver. The colours being tied to the stakes, the men shook hands smilingly, the seconds retired to their corners, and the combatants held up their daddles for

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On standing up the contrast in condition was evident, and alarmed the layers of the odds of five to four on Gaynor, so that they went round to six to four on the Bishop, who looked hard, ruddy, and confident, while Gaynor was sallow, and bore the traces of a recent indisposition. After a few seconds spent in sparring, Sharpe let fly his left at Gaynor’s ribs, but missed, and swung round. Gaynor immediately closed, and threw him on his back, missing a good chance of punishing his man.

2.—Sharpe short with the right, Gaynor shifting quickly. Gaynor missed his counter-hit, and got it on the cheek. Sharpe closed, and there was a struggle for the fall; Gaynor was thrown. (Shouting for the Bishop.)

3.—Gaynor put in a slight nobber with his left; Sharpe, all alive, let go his favourite body hit, catching Gaynor a sounder on the mark; Gaynor returned on the chin, but could not keep his man out, who gave him another heavy bodier and closed, but failed in getting the fall; Sharpe undermost.

4.—A scrambling round; wild hitting on both sides; Sharpe under.

5.—Sharpe, quick and ready, got in right and left on Gaynor’s head, but with little visible effect; both down in the close.

6.—Sharpe bustled in: Gaynor shifted; Sharpe put in a left-hander, which Gaynor countered with the right on the Bishop’s mouth. Sharpe bored in, and sent a pile-driver on Gaynor’s ribs with such effect as to floor him instantly. (First knock-down for Sharpe.)

7.—The Bishop, brisk as a bee, forced the fighting, then closed, and had Tom down in a scramble.

8.—The Bishop fought rather wildly; Gaynor twice stopped his left, when Sharpe closed, and threw him, falling himself through the ropes.

9.—The marks of the body blows received by Gaynor were very visible, and his countenance showed they troubled him much in the freedom of his action. Still he was cheerful and ready. Sharpe missed a left-hander at the body, and Gaynor retorted with a sharp cutting hit over the Bishop’s right eye, which brought forth the claret instantly. (Cheers, and “first blood” for Gaynor.)

10.—Gaynor in the exchanges got in two more hits on the cheek, drawing more of the crimson; a short rally; both down.

11.—Both men slipped from the moist state of the ground. The Bishop rushed to a close, and threw Gaynor cleverly.

12.—Sharpe a little piping, but gay, lost no time in getting to work; after an exchange he got his man firmly, and threw him a heavy back fall.

13.—Gaynor came up laughing, delivered a slight facer, closed, and threw the Bishop cleverly. (“Bravo!” from Tom’s friends.)

14.—The Bishop tried twice for Gaynor’s body, and after some sparring, sent in a straight one at the mark. The blow told with terrific effect, doubling up Gaynor, who fell.

15.—Gaynor came up pale and serious, but game and steady. The Bishop, stopped twice, rushed in, closed, and threw his man.

16.—Sharpe put in a light body blow, but napped it sharply on the canister; Gaynor caught the Bishop twice in the head, but his blows did not seem to tell; he also got Sharpe down in the close.

17.—A wrestling round; both down from the slippery state of the ground.

18.—Gaynor, busy, put in two or three toppers on the Bishop’s nob, who at last got in a straight one on Gaynor’s throat, flooring him instantly. (Shouts for the Bishop.)

19.—A good rally and exchanges. Sharpe twice on Gaynor’s jaw and neck; Tom on the Bishop’s eyes and mouth, which were considerably painted. Both down.

20.—Sharpe still trying for the body, Tom feeling for the head; in the rally Sharpe gave Gaynor a severe hit in the mouth, and Tom went backward through the ropes.

21–38.—In all these rounds a similar style of fighting was pursued, each man gallantly coming to the scratch, the hitting being nearly equal, and most of the rounds ending by Sharpe gaining the throw.

39.—A busy round of rather longer duration. Gaynor tried his best for a turn. He fought with both hands at the head, disregarding the Bishop’s lunges, and finally threw him heavily. (Tom’s friends cheered, but it was clear that the Bishop was the fresher man.)

40.—Gaynor came up shaky. A wrestling round. Both down, Gaynor undermost.

41–53.—Gaynor, though contesting every round, did not seem to hit effectively, while Sharpe’s frequent misses and short blows at the body were equally indecisive. Each round ended in a scramble but the slippery mud, for such it was, foiled their efforts. In the 53rd round Sharpe, by the advice of old Tom Owen, changed his tactics, and commenced fighting at Gaynor’s upper works with his left. He soon after succeeded in putting in a chattering hit on Tom’s ivories, closed, and threw him out of the ropes.

54.—Gaynor came slowly from his second’s knee at the call of “time.” In a rally the Bishop hit him down. (A pigeon was here let off for town, announcing the winning of the fight by Sharpe, in 54 rounds. To the general surprise, Gaynor jumped up briskly at the call of “time.”)

55.—Gaynor rallied all his energies. He let go his left, catching Sharpe lightly on the nose; a good rally followed; Sharpe slipped in delivering a blow, and fell. (Cries of “Gaynor’s not beaten yet!”)

56.—Another good fighting round on the part of Gaynor; some good exchanges; Gaynor got Sharpe down and fell on him.

57.—Gaynor made several lunges at Sharpe’s nob, but missed; in the close Sharpe’s superior strength was shown in the style in which he lifted and threw Gaynor.

58–72.—Gaynor, willing but weak, came up in all these rounds with less and less chance of pulling through. In the 68th round Sharpe again hit Gaynor down by a blow on the throat. (In the 72nd round a quarrel took place between Harry Holt and Tom Owen, in consequence of some over-zeal of Harry towards his principal. Owen pushed Harry, who in return sportively knocked off Owen’s stupendous Jolliffe hat. This indignity to the “Sage of the East” was “most intolerable, and not to be endured,” so he administered a backhander to the irreverent Orator, whereupon a merry skirmish followed. Josh Hudson, however, interposed, stopped the bye-battle, and the belligerents went back to their men, who had fought out the round during this supplementary set-to.)

73–78.—In all these rounds poor Gaynor received the larger share of the punishment, but would not say “no,” though advised to give in by his seconds. In the 78th round Sharpe caught Gaynor a flush hit in the mouth, and he dropped. This was the finisher, and poor Tom was alike deaf to the call of “time” and the cheering of the victorious Bishop’s partisans. Sharpe walked firmly across the ring and possessed himself of the colours, placing them round his neck with evident satisfaction. Gaynor remained for a short time in a sort of stupor, but soon recovered himself, and returned to town the same night.

REMARKS.—That the fighting was fast, may be told from the fact that seventy-eight rounds were got through in one hour and ten minutes. They were, however, in almost every instance terminated by a close. Indeed, there was as much wrestling as fighting. The men were both undoubtedly game and unflinching; but Gaynor did not seem to take advantage of his opportunities, and threw away his superior length by allowing his shorter-reached and sturdier adversary to get in on his body, and then accepting the struggle, in which, as the battle went on, he got the worst. It is true Sharpe’s peculiar method of setting-to with his right foot foremost puzzled Gaynor a little, but this does not account for Tom’s bad tactics throughout. As to Bishop Sharpe, he deserved every praise. His daring mode of going in, and chancing consequences, combined with his powers of hitting, made him exceedingly dangerous to any but a first-rate boxer of the Spring, Ward, or Young Dutch Sam school. Gaynor could not defend his body against his rushes, nor keep him at a distance for out-fighting, and hence the Bold Smuggler’s yard-arm to yard-arm tactics were triumphant.

Both men showed at Gaynor’s benefit at the Tennis Court on the Thursday. Sharpe displayed few marks of heavy punishment, and Gaynor’s chief injuries were from body blows and the failure of his left hand. The battle-money was paid over to Sharpe at Josh Hudson’s on the Friday.

Early in 1827, after a failure in making a renewed match with his old opponent Alec Reid, at a sporting dinner which took place at jolly Josh’s, “Half Moon,” Leadenhall Market, on the 1st of August, 1827, a proposal was made for a meeting for a cool hundred between Young Dutch Sam, then rising into fame, and Bishop Sharpe. Ten pounds were deposited, and the day named the 2nd of October, to meet in the same ring as Ned Neale and Jem Burn. The matter, however, ended in a withdrawal of stakes and a forfeit by Sam. A month afterwards a new match was made for £100 a-side, and the 25th of October appointed. As the successive deposits were made good, the odds in betting on the Bishop rose from five to six to four; but at the final deposit at the “Sol’s Arms,” Wych Street, Sam, who showed up in excellent condition, despite sinister rumours as to his health, brought the betting down to even. Of the farce which followed on the Tuesday, and Sam’s mysterious arrest, we have already written. Tom Belcher, who held the stakes, after some indignant comments, resolved to give them up to Sharpe, leaving “Sam’s backers, who had served him with legal notice, to take such steps as they might think proper for their recovery.” Sharpe was complimented for his prompt and ready appearance in the ring, and pocketed the hundred pounds amidst the congratulations of his friends. Sam’s match with our hero having thus fallen through, Tom Gaynor again offered himself to the Bishop’s notice, for £100 a-side, money ready at Harry Holt’s. This, however, came to nothing, owing to Gaynor’s match with Gybletts. (See Life of GAYNOR, ante.)

Sharpe’s old antagonist Alec Reid, having set up a sparring-booth at Epsom Downs, as was the custom of those days, and a difference of opinion having occurred on a bout with the mufflers, the Bishop proposed a match, in which he said he could get backers for £50, and would “bet a hundred.” To this the bold Alec replied by doubting the latter, but offering to meet the Smuggler in the roped lists for “a hundred, if he could get the money.” The parties met on the following Monday at Josh Hudson’s, and there and then signed articles for a mill on the 15th of July next ensuing. How the Bishop fell before the arm of the conquering Alec, after ninety-one rounds of “the most game and determined fighting we ever witnessed” (we quote Bell’s Life, of July 20th, 1827), may be read in the memoir of the victor.

From this time the Bishop, after an unsuccessful attempt to get backed once more for £100 against Reid, who declined to fight for a less sum, fell into obscurity, his name only appearing in sparring benefits, or as a second in minor battles. Bishop Sharpe died in 1861, aged sixty-two years.

CHAPTER XII. TOM BROWN (“BIG BROWN”) OF BRIDGNORTH—1825–1831.

Big Brown of Bridgnorth, as he was appropriately styled, for a short period attracted the attention of the pugilistic world by his bold claim to the title of “Champion of England,” pretentiously put forward by his friends upon the resignation of that honourable distinction by Tom Spring. Indeed, it would appear that Big Brown, who had for some time held a local supremacy in wrestling and boxing on the banks of the Severn, was first fired with the ambition of earning a name and fame in the P.R. by a visit, in the year 1824, of the ex-Champion, “with all his blushing honours thick upon him,” to that part of Salop in which Bridgnorth Castle “frowns proudly down o’er sedgy Severn’s flood.” Brown was at this time thirty-one years of age, being born in 1793—certainly too late in the day to reverse and make an exception to the axiom of antiquity, “Ars longa, vita brevis,” so far as the art pugilistic is concerned. Nevertheless, his introduction to Spring so favourably impressed the Herefordshire hero that he declared Brown “fit to fight anything that ever trod upon shoe-leather.” On this dictum Brown left his friends in Shropshire and repaired to the “mart for all talent,” the great Metropolis.

Brown’s trial match, for £100 a-side, with old Tom Shelton (see ante, CHAPTER VIII., PERIOD V.), was made in a very quiet manner, without any parade of newspaper letter-writing, or the sporting-crib “chaff” too prevalent in those days. Articles were entered into at the “Ship,” in Great Turnstile, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and the day fixed for July 12th, 1825. Now, as the “Ship” was not a “sporting-crib,” and Mr. Pierce Egan was not duly advertised of the proceedings—indeed, was told nothing about what was going on—Tom Brown’s battle ran a very good chance of not being reported at all—so far as Pierce Egan was concerned. Had this occurred, poor Brown, like “the brave men who lived before Agamemnon,” might have gone down to oblivion; “Carent quia vates sacro.” But there was another reason. Pierce Egan and all the amateurs were “full” of the fight for the following Tuesday (the 19th July, 1825), between Jem Ward and Tom Cannon; which accounts for “the historian” nodding, like another Homer, and leaving to a rival paper the only report that week of the battle, which took place at Plumbe Park, six miles from Stony Stratford, and about sixty miles from London, on the 12th of July, 1825.

The attendance was not numerous, nor was it desired by Brown’s backers; but the Londoners who were there backed Shelton, as against “a countryman,” five to four, on the ground of the old ’un’s tried game and capabilities. Brown, beyond his Shropshire and Worcestershire conquests over stalwart yokels, was unknown to public fame. True, he had been heard of in a forfeit of £20 to Phil Sampson, of Birmingham. Brown, however, had a high character from those who knew him for activity as a jumper and runner, unusual with men of his weight and inches; and above all Tom Spring, the native of an adjoining county, had reported his quality to the swells in the terse and graphic style already cited.

Shelton, who trained anywhere and anyhow, had arrived at Stony Stratford on the previous day, putting up at the “Cock.” Late on Monday night Spring and Brown arrived, and took quarters at the same well-known hostelrie. The men here met each other, and in true English style exchanged greetings and shook hands. Peter Crawley and Josh Hudson also arrived from London as the appointed seconds of Shelton.

Brown, a good-looking, gentleman-farmer sort of man, was a general object of interest as he walked about the town in the early morning; his stature, six feet one inch, and his weight, a solid fifteen stone of bone and muscle, seemed big enough and heavy enough for anything. The friends of the countryman became yet more confident when they saw Shelton, who certainly was not above twelve stone, and whose height wanted quite four inches of that of his opponent. Among the rurals Brown was now at the odds of five and six to four. At twelve o’clock the men and their seconds and friends started in four post-chaises for Plumbe Park, the general public making their way in the best style they could. Brown, attended by Tom Cribb and Tom Spring, was first to throw his hat within the ropes; Josh and Peter followed quickly. “Come, Spring, get ready,” cried Josh; “my man is dressed and waiting in the chaise.” Shelton now made his appearance, but threw his hat so far that it went over on the farther side of the ring, where it was picked up by Young Gas (Jonathan Bissell), who dropped it within the ropes. “That’s a bad omen,” said a bystander. The colours were now tied to the stakes—blue for Shelton, by Hudson, and crimson and white for the Bridgnorth giant, by Tom Spring. “Never mind how you tie them, Josh,” said Shelton, “I shall want you to take them down for me.” “Of course,” replied the John Bull Fighter, “so I have fastened them with a reef-knot.” The men now stood up for

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On getting rid of their togs Brown looked like Hercules without his club. Shelton had trained off; his face was thin—his neck did not appear to possess that strength which characterises a fighting man; his frame was not so robust as heretofore; and his calves, in the phrase of the Ring, had “gone to grass.” Nevertheless, Tom’s heart was in the right place; and like a good “ould one,” he thought of nothing but winning, in spite of the ravages which Master Time had made. “A countryman lick me, indeed!” exclaimed Tom, early in the morning; “I’ll be carried out of the ring first—I will never live to see that day!” On preparing for the attack, Brown stood over Shelton, and the latter, aware that he had a good deal of work to perform, set about it with pluck. Tom’s right hand was stopped by the novice; and in return Brown put a “little one in” on Shelton’s mug, which dropped him. (The milling coves looked blue, while the Chawbacons were outrageous in their manifestations of joy at the success of the countryman. Spring said, “First blood!” but Josh said, “No!” Six to four on Brown; but no fanciers of the odds.)

2.—In this early stage of the fight, the sporting men were satisfied that Shelton had his master before him. Tom measured his opponent, and tried all he knew to plant a heavy topper; but the countryman was too cautious, and parried steadily. Shelton, not dismayed, again went to work; but Brown was up to his manœuvres, and put in a severe blow on his head. A rally occurred, which was brisk for a short time, but Tom had the worst of it, and got away. Brown took the lead in a determined manner, planting two blows on Shelton’s head. Shelton, with the courage of a lion, boldly stood up to his man, till a body blow sent him down. (The friends of Brown shouted for joy, offered two to one, and declared it was “as safe as the Bank.”)

3.—The position of Shelton was awkward—his legs were too wide apart; but his anxiety to punish his adversary was visible, and he left no manœuvre untried to obtain an opening. “Be ready,” said Josh, “he’s coming!” Brown smiled, and with the utmost ease not only stopped Shelton, but in return, gave him a hit on his canister weighty enough to put his upper works in confusion. Tom countered his adversary on his sensitive plant so sharply that the claret was plentiful. (“Well done, Tom,” said Josh; “you have made the young one a member of the Vintners’ Company; go and draw his cork again.”) The countryman felt a little warm—rushed in to his work—caught Shelton in his arms like a baby, and spite of the struggling of poor Tom, he went down. (“The countryman for £100!” all round the ring.)

4.—Tom was piping a little, and it was evident he was overmatched. Shelton hit his adversary on the cheek; but he could not stop the overwhelming power of Brown, who went in and caught Shelton at the ropes. After a little toppering on both sides, the strength of the countryman enabled him to hold up his adversary, as he was dangling on the ropes, but, in the most generous and humane manner, he let Tom down, and walked away. (“Bravo! handsome! Englishman-like!” were the expressions all over the ring.)

5.—Short. It was now clear that the countryman was nothing like a novice, and also that he had been under good tuition. He stopped Shelton with ease, and aimed a terrific right-handed blow at Tom’s head, which, had it told, might have proved Shelton’s quietus. Tom, in bobbing his nob aside, slipped down.

6.—This was a fighting round; but Shelton could not reduce Brown’s pluck or strength, although he made several good hits. “His right hand is gone,” said Josh. “It is, by gosh!” echoed Oliver, whose face was full of anxiety for the fate of poor Shelton, and who had also backed the Ould One at five to four previous to the battle. Shelton planted a body blow; but Brown returned the favour on the head of his adversary. Tom retreated, and endeavoured to mill; but Brown followed him, and sent him completely out of the ropes. (“A countryman, do you call him? He stands a good chance to be Champion!” said Spring.)

7.—Brown’s ivory box received a rattler, but the countryman shook it off with a smile. A little pricked, he followed Shelton, with a quick step, who turned round to avoid a flush hit. Tom slipped down in getting away. Shelton made play, and Brown missed in return.

8.—After some heavy exchanges at the ropes, Shelton put in a back-handed hit so sharply that Brown napped it on his mouth, and went down. (This event put the fighting men and backers of Shelton into spirits—it was a ray of hope. “The Ould One will win it! He has changed it a little!” and “Master Brown does not like it!” with lots of chaffing, till “time” was called.)

9.—This was a round within a round, or two fights for the same stake. The age of Shelton told against him; and it was clear that he could not win. Tom came to the scratch much distressed, but nevertheless commenced milling. Brown followed him resolutely over the ring, when Shelton retreated to the ropes; but the nob of Tom got entangled, and the fibbing system was adopted by both combatants. It was rather against Shelton, when the John Bull Fighter tried to remove the rope from his man’s nob, which Spring said was not fair, and shoved Josh off. Hudson persisted, and shoved Spring roughly; Spring then struck him. “I will not take a blow from any one,” said Josh, and let fly at the late Champion’s head, catching him under the left eye. A scramble ensued; Spring and Josh were both down, and only Cribb waiting upon his man. Brown in the interim had floored Shelton by a heavy body blow. The time-keepers had also a trifling dispute; and Tom Oliver and Young Gas placed themselves in fighting attitudes. At length the row subsided, order was restored, and when time was called for round.

10.—both men appeared at the scratch. Shelton exerted himself to do mischief, but he was stopped, received several hits, and was sent down by a ribber that was heard all over the ring. Shouting by the friends of Brown.

11.—Shelton with considerable dexterity put in a sharp facer; the men afterwards had a severe rally. Brown endeavoured (but we think unintentionally) to lay hold of Shelton’s thigh, in order to obtain the throw; but on “foul” being vociferated, he let go his hold. Shelton went down by a heavy body blow.

12.—Tom did everything in his power to win; but his blows were nothing like finishing ones, and Brown had the best of it. Shelton received an ugly visitation to his victualling office, and went down exhausted. Any odds, but no takers.

13.—The fight was drawing to a close, Brown taking the lead in every round. Shelton put in a nobber, but Brown seemed to say, “If you cannot hit me harder, it is no go.” Tom received such a tremendous one in his mouth that he went down as if shot. Five to one; in fact, it was a hundred to one that Brown must now win off-hand.

14.—The old story, so often told, but so little heeded by fighting men, was evident. Shelton was full of pluck, as to mind and heart, but his legs trembled, and he staggered like a drunken man; he made play with his right, planted a facer, and got away. The danger was out of Shelton, and Brown, in order to put an end to the battle, went to work. Tom opposed him like a trump, till he napped a shutter-up-shop on his throat, which floored him. The head of Shelton reached the ground so violently that it bounded like a ball. (“It’s all over,” was the cry; the brandy was administered, but it was of no use.)

15, and last.—Shelton answered the call of “time.” On toeing the mark, Brown let fly on the side of Tom’s head, and he measured his length on the ground. Shelton was “hit out of time,” and Josh gave in for him. Tom, on recovering himself a little, said, “No, I will fight!” He, however, was so weak and exhausted that nature would not second his efforts. Time, fifteen minutes.

REMARKS.—Shelton, on coming to himself, said “he was ashamed of having been licked in so short a time”—fifteen minutes. Shelton was not disgraced by the defeat. He showed himself a brave man, and never flinched from his opponent; but overmatched by strength and youth, he found it out too late. Brown fought better than was expected. His confidence increased. Spring offered to back him against any one for £500 a-side. Brown, for a big one, was extremely active on his legs, stopped well, hit hard, and did not want for courage or science.

Brown lost no time in claiming the belt, as may be seen by the subjoined:—

“BROWN’S CHALLENGE AND CLAIM TO THE CHAMPIONSHIP.

“To the Editor of the ‘WEEKLY DISPATCH.’

“SIR,—Permit me to announce, through the medium of your paper, that my benefit will take place on Tuesday, the 28th of March, when I shall be prepared to make a match with any man in England for from three to five hundred pounds a-side, or as much more as may be desired. Jem Ward, or his friends, will probably avail themselves of this opportunity to prove their sincerity when they did me the favour of soliciting my attendance in London; but should their courage have been cooled I shall be glad to make a match with Peter Crawley or Tom Cannon. Should the London Ring decline the challenge, I beg leave to say that I shall lay claim to the title of Champion, which has so long remained in doubt.

“I am, Sir, yours respectfully, “THOS. BROWN.

“Bridgnorth, March 1st, 1826.”

On Tuesday, March 28th, 1826, the Tennis Court overflowed, as at the period when Jem Belcher was the pride of the Ring, and Tom Cribb the hero of the tale. The produce of the Court, after deducting expenses, amounted to £127 10s. One thousand persons were present.

After the first set-to between Raines and Wallace, Sampson appeared on the stage, and said that he had been matched against Brown five years since, and had received a forfeit of £20. A second match had been proposed, but Brown had not come forward. He would now fight him for £100, and put down a deposit. If that did not suit Mr. Brown he would set to with him there and then for a “bellyful.” (Laughter and applause.)

Jem Ward showed, and came to the point at once. “I am ready,” said Jem, “to fight Brown for £300, and no chaffing. I will put down a deposit immediately.” “Well done, Jem!”

Tom Spring mounted the stage, and was flatteringly received. He said Brown was under his protection, and it was not worth his while to fight for £100. He was in business, and would require at least a month’s training under his (Spring’s) care, and then if he won the battle the expenses would be greater than the gain. As to putting on the gloves with Sampson it was quite out of the question; Brown was under his management, and he would not let him do wrong to his friends and backers. Sampson had come forward in an angry manner to challenge. Here the oratory of the ex-Champion was lost in a roar of applause and disapprobation, and calls for “Sampson and Brown.”

Sampson said, “The thing spoke for itself—it was too plain; Spring did not like to let the cat out of the bag.” He would not let Brown set to with him because it would tell tales. It would show Brown’s talents, and Spring was determined to keep Brown all to himself. He (Sampson) thought that the company present ought to witness the set-to between him and Brown, as in that case the Fancy would form a judgment as to the laying out their money. (Great applause; and “He ought to set to,” from some; while others, “Spring is not such a flat as to show off Brown; it would betray a want of judgment, and not the caution of a sporting man.”)

Jem Ward rushed on the stage, and flashing a £50 note stated “he would post it immediately towards making a match for £300 with any man in England.” (“Go it, Jem! You can beat any chawbacon, let him be as big as Goliah!”)

Spring, in reply, said he would make a match that night, at Cribb’s, for Brown to fight Ward the first week in August. (Applause.)

Sampson also observed for £100 a-side he would fight any man in England, and would make the match immediately.

As a wind-up to the sports Brown and Spring appeared on the stage, followed by Sampson, who stripped himself, seized hold of a pair of gloves, and appeared determined to set to with Brown. To describe the row which ensued would be impossible. Spring would not let Brown spar with Sampson. The latter asked Brown personally, but he declined, as he said he must be guided by his friends. Sampson then left the stage, observing “it was of no use.” Here another uproar occurred, and Spring and Brown left the stage. After some time had passed in glorious confusion Spring again made his appearance on the stage, and solicited a hearing. Silence being procured Spring observed, that Brown had been placed under his protection, and he was determined that he should receive no foul play. In the bills of the day it had been expressed that he and Brown would put on the gloves together, but he would not let Brown set to with Sampson. “Yet do not mistake me, gentlemen,” said he, “not from any fear respecting Sampson, but it would be wrong, as Brown was about being matched, and more especially on account of the anger displayed by Sampson.” A mixture of applause and hisses, and cries for Sampson. “Brown, gentlemen, is here, ready to set to if you wish it.” “Bravo!” Brown ascended the stage, but the mixed reception must have proved unpleasant to his feelings. “Hats off!” was the cry, and Brown and Spring were opposed to each other.

It was curious to hear the different opinions respecting the abilities of Brown. “He is of no use,” said a retired boxer, one of the first heroes in the P.R. of his day. “He can beat any one in the list,” observed another milling cove. “What an impostor!” “The £500 would be a gift to Ward!” “He would be nothing in the hands of Peter Crawley!” “He is a rare punisher with his right hand, one of his blows would floor an ox”—&c., &c. The set-to did not give satisfaction, and the public verdict was that Brown, after all, was nothing else but a strong countryman, yet a hard hitter with his right hand. Brown returned thanks, and challenged any man in England for £500 a-side, but would accommodate Mr. Sampson for £300 a-side.

Sampson informed the audience that he was to have a benefit on Monday next; and if he, who had been long known to the Ring, met with such patronage as Brown had done, he would not only fight Brown for £100 a-side, but the whole of the money taken at the doors in addition.

At nine o’clock in the evening, after a sporting dinner at which Brown and his friends were the guests, Jem Ward and Sampson arrived at Tom Cribb’s, in Panton Street, and the latter proposed to accede to Brown’s challenge on the part of Ward, and to make a match for £500 a-side. Sampson then said that Ward had not been able to see his friends, and had only £10 to put down; but he should be prepared to make that sum £50 at his (Sampson’s) benefit on Monday next. Some surprise was expressed at the smallness of the deposit for so important a match. Brown at once said that he would throw no impediment in Ward’s way, but would meet him in any reasonable manner he might suggest.

A gentleman present then proceeded to draw up the articles, in which it was proposed and agreed to by Sampson, on the part of Ward, that the fight should take place on a stage similar to that on which Ward and Cannon fought at Warwick; that the place of fighting should be named by Spring, upon the condition that he gave Ward one hundred guineas for that privilege; and that it should not exceed one hundred and fifty miles from London. On coming to the discussion of the distance, however, a difficulty arose. Ward said his friends would not consent to his fighting beyond a hundred miles from London, and therefore if he fought at all it must be within that distance. To this Brown objected. During considerable argument, in which Sampson, still labouring under feelings of irritation against Brown, gave way to a spirit of hostility altogether misplaced, he repeatedly offered to fight Brown for a hundred himself within a month, which Brown declined. At last Sampson said he would fight him for £10 in a room that night. To such a ridiculous offer Spring would not suffer Brown to accede; but at last Brown, in order to prove that he had no personal fears for Sampson, said he would fight him next morning for love. This proffer was hailed with cheers by his friends, but was not agreeable to Sampson, who reverted to his old proposition to fight for a hundred in a month, and this not being accepted he retired.

As an impartial historian we must state that about this period the nuisance of newspaper challenges, correspondence, defiance, chaff, scurrility, and braggadocio had reached an unendurable height. Three rival sporting papers opened their columns, or rather their reporters and editors lent their pens, to indite all sorts of epistles from pugilists, each striving to make itself the special channel by which the hero of the hour proclaimed in “Ezcles’ vein” and braggart buncombe his fearful intentions and outraged feelings, and scattered furious cartels among his foes or rivals. Columns of letters purporting to be from Ward, Phil Sampson, Brown, and a host of minor celebrities—most of them in unmistakable Eganian slang—adorned the columns of the journals throughout 1826 and 1827. Ward’s affair went off in smoke; but early in 1828 the newspaper controversy with Phil Sampson culminated in a match with Brown, for £500. This was decided on the 8th of April, 1828, near Wolverhampton, and resulted in the defeat of our hero in forty-two minutes and forty-nine rounds. The preliminaries to this defeat and the battle itself will be found in our Life of PHIL SAMPSON, in the next Chapter.

Brown’s defeat, though manifestly owing to the serious accident to his shoulder in the fourth round, had the effect of “an occultation of a star of the first magnitude” in the fistic firmament. But there was another big Boanerges, of fifteen stone, who kept the “Black Bull,” in Smithfield; who, having doffed his white apron on the provocation of Stephen Bailey, and twice beaten the blue-aproned butcher, fancied that he could win further laurels by a tourney with the defeated, but not daunted, Champion of Bridgnorth. The public were accordingly edified by a challenge from Isaac Dobell, which was promptly answered by Brown’s retort of the “Black Bull’s” defiance.

The stakes agreed on were £300 on the part of Shropshire to £250 on behalf of Smithfield, in consideration of the battle coming off within five miles of “the cloud-capped towers” of Bridgnorth. Tuesday, the 24th of March, 1829, was the day appointed, and on the Saturday morning previous Dobell, who had trained at Hendon, Middlesex, under the care of Harry Lancaster, set out by the “Wonder” coach for Towcester, where he sojourned on the Saturday night. Here he excited the wonder of the yokels by his wonderful bulk, and the wonderful amount of the stakes which he declared his confidence of winning. On Sunday he reached Birmingham, and took up his quarters at the “Crown,” awakening the curiosity of the natives of the “hardware village” by promenading through the streets. On Monday he arrived in Bridgnorth, and there patronised the “Royal Oak.”

Brown had trained at Shipley, and had named Bridgnorth for two reasons—first, to oblige his fellow-townsmen and backers, and secondly, to exhibit to them how he would wipe out the defeat he had sustained at the hands of the “Birmingham Youth,” which he maintained was solely owing to the accident hereafter mentioned. On Monday evening he returned to Bridgnorth, and put up at his brother’s house, the “King’s Head,” where he was joined by Tom Spring, Tom Cribb, Ned Neale, and Harry Holt, with several other celebrated men of the London P.R. A rumour of a warrant, however, induced him to make a retreat from the town in a post-chaise, together with his seconds, and sojourn in a neighbouring village for the night. Deux Hill Farm being named as the rendezvous, thither the Commissary repaired with the ropes and stakes of the F.P.C. (Fair Play Club), and there in due time an excellent ring, with an outer circle of wagons and carriages, was formed. Some bets of seven to four and six to four were taken by the friends of Dobell, who, however, was reported to be feverish and unwell from a cold caught on his long journey. An attempt to arrest Brown was cleverly frustrated by Spring, who drove over the Severn Bridge in a post-chaise, accompanied by a portly friend well wrapped up. An order to halt was given at the tollgate; the door of the chaise was opened, but Brown was not there, having meantime crossed the river in a boat some distance higher up. At half-past twelve, after Dobell and friends had waited more than half an hour, Brown and his party appeared, and were heartily cheered. The £50 to be paid to Dobell for choice of place were duly handed over, and the colours—crimson and white for Brown and a blue bird’s-eye for Dobell—tied to the stakes. The men shook hands heartily at meeting, and the ceremony of peeling forthwith began; Lancaster and Jem Burn attending on Dobell, Spring and Neale waiting on Brown.

On stripping, Brown looked thinner than when he fought Sampson, and had altogether an aged and worn appearance, but his eye was bright and his look confident. His arms were longer and his height superior to that of Dobell. Mine host of the “Black Bull” displayed a pair of brawny arms and most substantial understandings, which, with his round and portly body, gave him anything but the look of an active boxer. At three minutes to one all was in readiness. The men toed the mark and began

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Brown covered his front well, and throwing his arms across his face, looked smiling through them at his antagonist. Dobell seemed serious. He made first play with his left, but was out of distance, and was stopped. He tried the same hand again, but was again too far off to make an impression. Brown, seeing that nothing was to be done by acting on the defensive, made up his mind to begin. After a feint with his left, he popped in his right slightly on Dobell’s mouth; he then drew back, but again advancing, quickly delivered his left on Dobell’s eye, and his right on his cheek. The former blow filled Dobell’s eye with water. Both now made quick play, and slight hits were followed by a tremendous smack on Dobell’s nose, which drew claret, and dropped him like a sack of malt. (First blood and fast knock-down blow announced for Brown, amidst the shouts of his friends, who offered ten to one in his favour. Neale, too, was in high glee, as it made him the winner of two fives, which he had bet on these events.)

2.—Dobell came up serious, but ready for the affray; and Brown smiled good-humouredly, as if it were all his own. After a short spar Dobell tried his right, but Brown jumped actively away. Brown returned again to his man, and with great quickness planted his left and right on his phiz, and broke away. Dobell, somewhat annoyed, rushed in and delivered his right on Brown’s cheek, and his left on the body, but did not seem to make much impression. Both now got to a rally, in which some heavy blows were exchanged. Brown then drew back, and Dobell, rushing after him, received two flush hits in the face, right and left. Dobell would not be denied, but rattled in, while Brown retreated, stopping and hitting with severity. Dobell was not idle, but his blows fell short, and at last Brown caught him a terrific hit over the right eye with his left, making a deep incision. Dobell stood it like bricks, and rushed to a close, when Brown slipped down rather questionably.

3.—Brown came up playfully, while Dobell’s dexter ogle had an ugly appearance. Both stood quiet for a time; but at length Brown, seeing his man inclined for reflection, rushed in with great rapidity, and catching poor Dobell a heavy slap on the left jaw with his right, dropped him again, amidst shouts and encouraging exclamations from Sampson. Few, in fact, seemed to think that the poor Londoner deserved any quarter. (Any odds on Brown.)

4.—Dobell found there was no use in out-fighting, and therefore determined to rush to business. Brown, however, who was active on his legs, jumped back, and again caught the “Bull’s Head” on the grinders, and downed him again. (“Bravo, Brown—it’s all your own! take him away!”)

5.—Dobell, no way daunted or discouraged by the shouts of victory, rushed to work. Brown missed his right and left as he came in, and Dobell planted his right on his throat. (“Well done, Dobell!”) This he followed with a slap from his right on Brown’s scent-box, and drew blood for the first time from the Pride of Bridgnorth. This seemed to give Dobell new life, and in rushing in Brown went down.

6.—Brown ready—showed the superiority of length, and again jobbed heavily right and left, and broke away. This he repeated, when Dobell charged him courageously; on grappling him, with intent to fib, Brown wouldn’t have it, and went down—Dobell on him.

7.—Brown planted his left on the canister and his right on the body of the publican. Dobell took it bravely, without flinching; he then rushed to in-fighting, but missed several of his blows, and after mutual but ineffectual attempts to fib, Brown got down. (This show of caution did not suit Dobell’s friends, and they cried out, “Fight fair!” Brown’s friends, however, replied, “All right,” “Nothing wrong.” Indeed, Brown did not seem to keep his legs with certainty.)

8.—Dobell on the defensive, but not sufficiently quick to stop his antagonist, who jobbed him twice on the head. This long shooting did not suit Dobell, and he had recourse to his rush, and planted his right on Brown’s jaw, and in the scramble which followed Brown went down.

9.—Dobell popped in his left unexpectedly, but made but little impression. Brown was not long in returning the compliment right and left. This he repeated, when Dobell bored in desperately, as the only chance. Brown retreated, fighting and meeting him as he followed. At last Dobell caught him round the neck, and fibbed slightly; in the tussle which followed Brown fell; and Dobell, in hitting, as Brown was on his knees, caught him with his right on the back. (Brown called “foul,” and it was foul, but was not noticed by the umpires; indeed, the blow was accidental.)

10.—Dobell again rushed in, hitting right and left, but Brown retreated, stopping and jobbing in turn. In the end he was bored down on his knees. (More chaffing from Sampson, and from Brown’s friends.)

11.—Good stopping on both sides, but Brown succeeded in making two jobbing hits. Dobell again had recourse to his desperate rush, and a close followed, when both tried vigorously for the fall, but neither could get the lock, and in the end Dobell dragged Brown down, showing that his strength was still unimpaired.

12.—On getting to their seconds’ knees, both piped a little, but Dobell most. Dobell came up as game as a pebble, and tried his left at Brown’s body, but was out of distance. He then hit with his right, but was stopped. He found that nothing but close contact would do, and pursued the rushing system. Brown retreated round the ring before him, and actually turned round to avoid, but in again meeting his man he caught him with a flush hit with his left, and Dobell fell on his face. (Chaffing now commenced on the part of Stockman for Dobell. He swore that Brown’s shoulder was out, and that all Dobell had to do was to go in and win it.) Brown had certainly hurt the thumb of his right hand, but no material mischief was done.

13.—Both now showed distress, but Dobell was most winded. Brown smiled, and, after a short pause, let fly right and left, planting both blows heavily, and repeating the dose till he hit his man down. Brown fell himself on his knees, showing weakness in the pins.

14.—Dobell now showed additional symptoms of weakness, and was slower than ever. After a short pause Brown rushed in, planted his left and right, and dropped him heavily.

15.—Dobell vindicated his courage by again rushing in; but Brown met him with two terrific jobbing hits right and left, and again floored him all abroad, amidst the triumphant shouts of the Shropshire lads.

16.—Dobell evidently felt that his chance of winning was vanishing; still, summoning all his remaining energies, he rushed to in-fighting. He missed his right-handed hit, and was met with a terrific left-handed job in the muzzle. He would not be denied, however, and fought away gallantly, making some wild hits. Brown was active, and had him at all points, till he fell almost exhausted. (Dobell’s brother now endeavoured to persuade him to give in, but he resolved to have another shy.)

17, and last.—Dobell once more rushed in, but Brown, retreating, met him as he came forward with a flush hit in the mouth, and dropped him for the last time. On again getting up he consented, though reluctantly, to say “enough,” and the hat was thrown up amidst shouts of victory for Brown, who had thus regained the confidence of his Shropshire friends.

The fight lasted twenty-two minutes, and Dobell was taken from the ground much punished about the head. Brown showed but a slight scar under one of his eyes, and was so fresh that he seized a whip with intent to administer it to Stockman for his chaffing, but was prevented by Tom Spring. The chaffing on both sides was bad, and particularly towards Dobell, who, as a stranger in that part of the country, ought to have been protected. It is but just to state, however, that the old ring-goers were most to blame. Dobell was able to help himself to brandy after the battle was over.

REMARKS.—During this fight Brown had it all his own way, and showed the superiority of length and science over mere weight and muscular strength. Dobell, although the first to attack, almost invariably hit short, and was unable to plant his blows well home. At in-fighting neither was clever, and there was not a good throw throughout the contest. Brown, in getting away from Dobell’s rushes, was deemed by some to be over-cautious; but the fact is, he was weak in the legs, and, under Spring’s direction, would not wrestle, lest he might endanger his shoulder, which it may be recollected was put out in his fight with Sampson. With respect to Dobell, if not a good fighter, he has proved himself a game man; and with this praise he must be content, for he can scarcely hope for improvement in the fistic art. It was clear throughout that Brown was not in the best condition; but had he been less fresh, we think he understood his business too well, and was too good an out-fighter to give Dobell much chance. Brown remained at Bridgnorth, showing but slight marks of punishment; and Dobell arrived at his house in St. John Street on Thursday morning. He had a levee of condolence in the evening, at which it was proposed to match him once more against Brown, for £200 a-side; but nothing definite was done. It seems that the knuckle-bone of Brown’s right-hand thumb was broken; and, on reaching home, the hand was dreadfully puffed; the injury was done in the second or third round.

The friends of Dobell attributed his defeat to a severe cold and want of condition, and as mine host himself shared this opinion a second trial was agreed on, this time for £200 a-side. Dobell went at once into training, but for some reason twice forfeited £5 deposit. At length the stakes were made good, and the day named was November 24th, 1829, the place of meeting being near Uckfield, Sussex, on the Crowborough Road. Dobell trained finally at East Grinstead, where he got off much superfluous flesh, but still drew little short of fifteen stone. Brown trained actively among the hills of his native county, and appeared in the ring in far better form than on the previous occasion.

On Monday Brown, accompanied by his brother and some Bridgnorth friends, Tom Spring, and Ned Neale, set out from Streatham for the “Shelley Arms,” at Nutley, close to the residence of Sir John Shelley. On their way they passed through East Grinstead, where Spring had an interview with Dobell, who was surrounded by his friends, and attended by his chosen seconds, Tom Shelton and Peter Crawley. All was good humour, and each man seemed confident of the result of the approaching combat, no doubt booking himself as the victor.

The Commissary, Tom Oliver, and his coadjutor Frosty-faced Fogo, were among the throng at Nutley; and at an early hour in the morning they commenced forming a ring on a piece of the forest close at hand, but before they had commenced their labours orders arrived from Dobell to move to Crowborough, to which place they proceeded, across the country, by a most villanous road, and at the risk of being scattered like chaff before the wind, which blew a perfect hurricane.

In the interim Dobell, with his cortège—embracing two carriages and four and sundry chaises and pairs, gigs, horsemen, &c.—started from East Grinstead, and passed the “Shelley Arms” at a rapid pace, being obliged to take a circuitous route through Maresfield and Uckfield to get into the Crowborough Road. Brown’s party were soon in their rear, their carriages being all prepared for the start, and in point of respectability of “turn-out” being upon an equality. The Dobellites, however, having the start by some minutes, reached the scene of action first, and it being then close upon one o’clock proceeded to the ring, which was not yet complete. Brown not having arrived, and one o’clock having passed, Dobell’s party were at once for claiming forfeit, and “to this intent” spoke; but at five minutes after that time Brown and Spring were within the still incomplete arena. The storm at this time raged with unabated fury, and the stakes having been pitched on a hill, for the advantage of a good gate, the crowd and the combatants were exposed to its utmost severity. The consequence was that hats and umbrellas were seen driving across the heath in all directions—their owners in full chase—while those who were preserved from these casualties were only secured by the aid of cords, straps, and handkerchiefs, which were so applied as to resist the furious blasts.

The usual preliminaries of choosing umpires and referees were now arranged, and the men peeled for action, Brown attended by Spring and Tom Oliver, and Dobell by Peter Crawley and Tom Shelton. In point of condition they were, as we have said, much better than at their last meeting, Dobell looking much lighter in weight and firmer in flesh, but still too much of the Bacchus to suit our notions of the necessary activity for a milling hero. His arms were too short, and from the fleshiness at his shoulders he seemed to want that spring which is essential to effective hitting. Brown was thin as a greyhound, and had an obvious advantage in length, while his general appearance showed freshness and vigour. At this interesting moment a few of the friends of Dobell readily accepted some bets at seven to four and two to one.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The men came up cautiously, both covering their points with judgment, and Brown evidently waiting for the attack. Dobell did not keep him long in suspense, but let fly with his right at the head, which was prettily stopped. He then tried with his left at the body, but was again stopped, and Brown jumped away active on his pins. A long pause ensued, neither making play, but both receiving strong pepper from Æolus, which imparted a bluish tint to their mazzards. Dobell once more tried his left at Brown’s body, but was out of distance. Sparring and position changed, when Dobell made a rush and attempted to catch Brown’s right hand with his left, while he drew back his right to hit, but Brown jumped back, and the effort was fruitless as well as injudicious. Another long sparring bout, of which Dobell evidently got tired, for he dropped his hands and looked mortified; but Brown seemed determined to give him the lead, and wait for his assault. Dobell now put in a slight body hit with his left, while Brown made an over-handed chop with his right, but missed. Dobell became impatient, and making up his mind to mischief, tried his one two; but both were stopped, and Brown jumped back. Brown now, in turn, made a dart, and put in his left slightly on Dobell’s collar-bone. Dobell tried to plant his left and right several times, but was stopped; at length he caught Brown slightly with his right on the mark; but the distance was ill-judged, and Brown smiled. Long sparring. Dobell stopped a well-intentioned visit from Brown’s left to his nob. Again did Dobell drop his arms as if fatigued at holding them up so long, for fifteen minutes had now expired. “Go in, and get to work,” cried Dobell’s friends, and after a pause he followed their advice; he rushed to a rally, and delivered a slight tap on Brown’s cheek with his right. This produced a quick return from Brown, who slashed away right and left with great force and quickness on Dobell’s frontispiece, setting his eyes on the twinkle, and ultimately flooring him on his capacious base. (Loud shouts from Brown’s friends, and five to two offered in all directions.) The round lasted seventeen minutes.

2.—Dobell came up considerably flushed in his upper works, but steady. “In to him!” cried Shelton; and obedient to the word of command, he instantly commenced operations; but he found the game not so safe. Brown was ready, and hit away right and left, meeting his man as he came in with stinging severity. Dobell felt the force of these visitations, and turned his back for a moment. Brown saw the advantage, and quick as lightning jumped in, and as Dobell came to the rightabout met him with a flush hit with the right on his mouth, and his left on his nose; this he repeated, and after a very slight return from Dobell, he was floored, the purple stream distilling from his mouth and proboscis. (Four to one on Brown, and no takers.)

3.—Brown now changed his tactics; and seeing that he had it all his own way, he made the beginning with right and left handed chops, but both were stopped; Dobell, however, was too much confused to play the saving game long, and in another second he found Brown’s right and left slap in his physog. The hits were terrific. Dobell made some returns, and caught Brown under the right eye, but the rapidity and force of Brown’s attack were irresistible; he again jobbed well right and left, and at last down went Dobell of his own accord; he found he was at the ropes, and sought refuge by dropping beneath them. (Shouts from Brown’s friends in all directions, while Peter Crawley ran to the umpires and exclaimed “that it was made all right for Brown, and that Dobell wouldn’t fight.”) While he was thus raving, however, his man again got up.

The 4th and last round was fought. Dobell made a short but desperate effort; he tried one or two wild hits with his left, but in return napped it heavily on his canister, and was once more grassed. It was now clear that all was over, and, in fact, Dobell plainly indicated that he would not prolong what he felt was a useless struggle. On “time” being called Brown was proclaimed the conqueror in exactly twenty-one minutes. He was as fresh as when he commenced, and immediately shook hands with his antagonist, and dressed in the ring.

Attention was now paid to Dobell, who complained of considerable pain in his right forearm, which was much swollen and contused. He had evidently lost the use of it, and on being examined by two surgeons on the spot the small bone was pronounced to be fractured, and he was carried out of the ring to receive proper professional attention. Independently of the accident, however, which, it is believed, occurred in the third round, from his arm coming in contact with the point of Brown’s elbow, he had not a chance of winning, nor had he himself a doubt on the subject from the first round, when, from the difficulty he felt at getting at Brown, he said to Crawley he was sure it was of no use—a declaration which naturally excited Crawley’s suspicions, and led to the observations which he had made, and which, from Dobell’s state, he subsequently regretted. He said he thought it was odd that Dobell should want to cut it so soon, and this it was which provoked him to say what he did.

REMARKS.—Considering the distance and the vicissitudes of weather encountered this was one of the most unsatisfactory mills that had been witnessed for some time. There were not above four minutes’ actual fighting, and this all one way—for Dobell never had a chance—a result which all good judges anticipated; and the only surprise was that he could have been so imprudent as to make a match so obviously to his disadvantage. He seems to have been flattered, however, with the idea that had he been in better condition when he fought at Bridgnorth he could have given a better account of himself; and forgetting that Brown at that time was equally out of sorts, and capable of improvement, he resolved upon another trial, the issue of which must have satisfied him that his forte is not prize-fighting, and especially with men superior in length, activity, strength, and science. With a commoner like Bailey, who is an old man, and who possesses little science, his slaughtering powers might tell, but when opposed by science these qualities lose their value, and, as in the present instance, if met by corresponding powers of punishment, are altogether set aside. The very first round, as he confessed to Crawley, evidently satisfied the host of the “Black Bull;” and finding he could do nothing when at his best, he naturally concluded the chances which followed were scarcely worth seeking. Upon the whole, we believe there was very little money won or lost on the match. Brown had greatly improved, both on his legs and in his style of setting-to, and by out-generalling poor Isaac, and fatiguing him in the first round, rendered victory more secure.

Brown and his party returned to the “Castle Tavern,” Holborn, the same night, while Dobell returned to East Grinstead, and was put to bed. His arm was set by Mr. Jones, of East Grinstead, assisted by the two surgeons who attended him on the ground. He arrived at the “Black Bull” on Wednesday night, which, instead of sparkling with illumination, looked as black as an undertaker’s shop.

Brown, although he now announced his retirement from all claim to championship honours, was still from time to time made the subject of attacks and taunts in the newspaper outpourings of the boastful Phil Sampson. At length preliminaries, after nine months of chaffering, were settled, and at Doncaster, on the 19th of September, 1831, they met for the second time in battle array.

A number of disgraceful quibbles were made by the Birmingham party, and there seemed no probability of a fight, unless £50 was conceded to Sampson, and a promise that he should name the place within a certain distance of Birmingham. Finally, on the authority delegated to Mr. Beardsworth, the stakeholder, Doncaster was named as the rendezvous. The Town Moor was talked of, but the authorities intimated their intention of interfering, and Pegbourn Leys, four miles distant, was named as the spot; the fight to commence at the early hour of nine, so as not to interfere with the day’s racing.

On the Monday morning the roads to the appointed spot bore much resemblance to the road to Epsom in the olden time. Thimble-riggers and “prick-in-the-garter” men, gipsies, and all the motley toddlers of a race-meeting were gathered. There was, however, a very poor sprinkling of the upper-crust patrons of the Ring and of racing men.

At half-past eight Tom Oliver and Fogo had pitched their stakes and rove their ropes, and Brown threw in his castor, followed by Tom Oliver and Yorkshire Robinson as his seconds. Sampson, attended by Jem Ward and Harry Holt, followed. Brown was received quietly, with a slight murmur of applause, but the shouts when Sampson showed himself indicated to the observant the mob of partisans he had on the ground. Indeed, continual ruffianly threats towards Brown were uttered by many of these roughs. Brown, on Sampson’s appearance, advanced in a frank manner towards him, holding out his hand, but Sampson, eyeing him with a savage and defiant look, withheld his, shook his head, and walked towards his seconds. The colours, crimson with a white border for Brown, and a deep crimson for Sampson, were tied to the stakes, and the men stood up. Brown’s weight was stated at 14st. 1lb., Sampson’s at 12st. 4lbs. Brown’s age (forty) was a counterpoise, Sampson numbering but thirty summers. At twenty minutes past nine the men were left face to face at the mark, and began

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The attitude of Sampson was graceful—indeed, elegant—that of Brown constrained and stiff. Brown moved his arms about as if intending to strike, Sampson watching him keenly, and never shifting his guard. Brown hit short, and was stopped, Sampson returning with the left, and being stopped in turn. More sparring, when Brown got in his left, but not heavily, on Sampson’s collar-bone. He again hit over with his right, but Sampson shifting, he caught him on the back of the head. Sampson again tried his left, but was stopped neatly. Again he feinted, and then let go, successfully planting a sharp hit on Brown’s head. Brown rushed to a close, and mutual fibbing ensued. Brown succeeded in throwing Sampson, falling on him, and leaving a large red mark on his breast-bone. This round lasted ten minutes.

2.—Brown all anxious to begin; Sampson waiting on the defensive. Sampson’s left stopped, when Brown again hit over with the right, catching Sampson high on the side of the head, no mischief done. Sampson, who had been watching for an opening, got it, and sent in his left a smasher on Brown’s left eye, which instantly swelled in sign of the force of the blow. First blood was claimed for Sampson, who again went in and visited Brown’s left ear heavily. Brown caught Sampson on the side of the head with his right, and in the close threw him. (The Sampsonites were now uproarious, and backing two to one—any odds—on Sampson.)

3.—Brown went in resolutely; Sampson hit up and tried to fib him, but got down quickly in the close.

4.—Sampson on the defensive, and retreating; Brown forcing the fighting. After one or two short exchanges Brown sent a fair hit with the right straight on Sampson’s left ear, and floored him. (Shouts for Brown, but the Sampson party drowned them by cries of “Two to one,” &c.) First knock-down to Brown.

5.—Sampson got in lightly on Brown’s jaw. Brown caught him on the head with the right, and with the left on the breast. A sharp rally followed, in which hits were exchanged. Sampson fell on one knee, but although open to receive a blow, Brown withheld his arm and walked away, in his anxiety to avoid any appearance of unfair advantage.

6.—Sampson, after some sparring, caught Brown a tremendous smack in the right eye, balancing the favour to the left. Brown bored in, a desperate rally followed, and a close. Sampson hit up well, and put in a sharp hit as they were going down together.

7.—Brown’s eyes were both in mourning, but he was strong and active. Seeing he had the worst of out-fighting he worked his way in, nobbing Sampson with some severity. In the close Brown tried to screw up Sampson for the throw, but he slipped through his arms, hitting up, and got down cleverly.

8.—Sampson exhibited signs of distress. He breathed heavily, while Brown, though most punished, was strong and firm on his legs. Sampson popped in his left, but Brown sent in a heavy one on his nob in return. Counter-hits—Brown on Sampson’s throat, Sampson on Brown’s damaged right eye. Brown closed, and threw Sampson a heavy cross-buttock, falling over him.

9.—Brown still forcing the fighting; Sampson on the defensive. Brown reached Sampson’s head with each hand, but got it in return. In the close at the ropes Sampson got down. (Sampson’s friends were ominously silent as he was taken to his corner.)

10.—Sampson’s forehead exhibited a large bump, the effects of the nobber in the last round. In the exchanges which followed, Sampson was active, and several times planted on Brown. In a ding-dong rally Brown caught Sampson such a back-handed slap as he was going down that a spectator said, “A Shelton hit, by Jupiter!” alluding to the finishing touch in the fight of Brown and Shelton.

11.—Brown pursued Sampson vigorously, who hit up, catching him in the eye; Brown persevered, and finally Sampson went down in the hitting.

12.—Sampson popped in a facer, but it did not show. Brown took to weaving; a close. As Sampson was going down, Holt rolled himself down on the grass, so that his man partially fell on him, and was saved direct contact with the ground. (This was a common trick of seconds in old times, but is unfair. The seconds have no right to quit their corners until the end of the round.)

13.—Brown rushed in, and hit Sampson on the crown of his head. Sampson fell, weak.

14.—Brown’s left eye was almost dark, and his right was damaged. A rally, in which Sampson hit straightest, and Brown was down from a slip.

15.—Brown, full of fight, worked away at his man—hit him with his left in the neck, and threw him.

16.—Brown pursued the boring game, giving Sampson no time for sparring. After a short bustle at the ropes, he got Sampson round the neck with the left and threw him a cross-buttock. Sampson, on being lifted, looked queer and stiff. (The outer ring was now broken in, and the inner-ring spectators forced into and on to the ropes; it was, however, beaten out, and the fight proceeded.)

17.—Brown rushed in, hit over with his right, and fell from the overreach. Sampson stood up. (Cheers from the Brums.)

18.—Brown, still taking the initiative, hit Sampson on the head, who gave him, in return, a severe upper-cut with the left, drawing the claret from his mouth and nose. Brown closed, but Sampson got down easy.

19.—Brown hit away right and left; Sampson retreating, exchange of hits; Sampson weak. Brown tried for the fall, but Sampson got down.

20.—Sampson came to the scratch bleeding freely from the olfactory organ. Brown again at work, Sampson popping in an occasional prop, but getting down to avoid a struggle. (Here the ring was again broken in, and great uproar ensued. Several robberies were effected, and the cries and denunciations of Brown were furious.)

21.—The interior of the ring was cleared. On coming to the scratch Sampson showed weakness. Brown lost not a moment in going to work; he hit away without hesitation. Sampson retreated to the ropes. Brown nailed him with the right on the ear; he fell across the ropes, where Brown hit him four or five blows, and he fell stupefied. (The uproar now became tremendous.) A leader of Sampson’s party pressed into the ring with a bottle in his hand; Brown was struck, and three minutes given to Sampson to recover. The referee was appealed to, but he escaped from the crowd and hurried to Doncaster, where he pronounced Brown to be the winner. Sampson’s party bringing up their man, Brown’s seconds allowed him to renew the fight, and the men met for round.

22.—Brown fought Sampson down.

23.—General confusion. Sampson down in a scrambling rally.

24.—No time kept. Sampson brought up to face his man, who immediately fought him down. (The ring was here entirely broken in, and Brown struck more than once. He was kicked in the eye, and received a blow on the head from a stake.)

REMARKS.—Mr. Marshall, Clerk of the Course of Wolverhampton, seeing Brown’s life in danger, withdrew him forcibly from the ring, whereon (after an interval) Sampson was brought to the mark, and proclaimed winner, amidst the shouts of his partisans. The stakeholder, Mr. Beardsworth, was loud in his condemnation of the violence used towards Brown. Yet when he returned to Doncaster he declared that Brown having left the ring, he “had given the money to Sampson. His friends had hunted him up, and there was an end on’t.”

Mr. Beardsworth, however, found that Brown was not so easily disposed of. At the Stafford Assizes in March of the following year was tried the action of Brown versus Beardsworth, in which the plaintiff sought to recover £200 (his own stake) paid into the hands of Mr. Beardsworth, of the Repository, Birmingham, on certain conditions set forth in the declaration. Mr. Campbell (afterwards Chief Justice and Chancellor) was for the plaintiff, Mr. Jarvis (afterwards Judge) for the defendant. Mr. Jarvis’s defence (after an assertion that his client had paid over the money to Sampson) was a tirade against the Ring, gamblers, &c., and an appeal to “scout the case out of Court.” Nevertheless the jury, by direction of Mr. Justice Littledale, were left to consider the “weight of testimony,” and gave a verdict for £200 in favour of the plaintiff.

Brown now betook himself to his vocation as a Boniface in his native town, where he earned the respect of his neighbours and customers, justifying by his good conduct the axiom that “a man’s profession never disgraces him unless his conduct disgraces the profession.”

CHAPTER XIII. PHIL SAMPSON (“THE BIRMINGHAM YOUTH”)—1819–1831.

Phil Sampson, who was to the full as ready at chaffing and writing as at fighting, occupied at one period an undue share of newspaper space and of the public time. His milling career, though chequered, was not without brilliant gleams of success.

Sampson was born on the 27th of September, 1800, at Snaith, in Yorkshire; but when he was no more than a few months old his parents migrated to Birmingham and settled in the “hardware village,” then rapidly rising in manufacturing prosperity as the metropolis of gun-making, cheap jewellery, and hardware. Pierce Egan tells us that Phil was “intended for a parson,” but that “he preferred thumping nobs to a cushion.” If so, and we remember him well, his acquirements in the literæ humaniores did not say much for his “college.” Indeed, we have seen specimens of Philip’s caligraphy which forbid belief in such a tradition. What we know, however, is that young Phil was a button-maker in a Brummagem factory at fifteen. We shall pass also young Phil’s apocryphal contests, in which he (and almost every other boxer in “Boxiana”) fought and “polished off” men of all sorts, weights, and sizes, and come to his introduction to the Ring.

Gregson being at Birmingham on one of his sparring tours, the proficiency of Sampson, who put on the gloves with several countrymen, attracted the attention of that clumsy practitioner, who observed to him, “I think thee hadst better coom and try thy fortin in Lunnon, lad, ’moongst some o’ t’ loight woights.” Sampson at that time had considerable scruples in his mind about fighting for a prize, although he was very fond of boxing, and declined the offer of Gregson. But, on his trade (button-making) failing badly from change of fashion, he determined to come to London to see his friend Bob. He found a hearty welcome from the latter at the “Mare and Magpie,” St. Catherine’s, but, before Gregson could bring his protégé into the Ring, he left London for Dublin. Sampson was now quite adrift, but owing to the good services of Mr. Baxter (brother to Ned Turner) he found a friend who enabled him to take a turn among the fistic heroes of the Metropolis.

Sampson’s first appearance in the London Prize Ring might be termed little more than a turn-up. He had been witnessing the battle, at Moulsey Hurst, on Tuesday, August 24th, 1819, between Cy. Davis and Boshell, and also Scroggins and Josh Hudson, and had crossed the water, on the point of returning to town, when he was unexpectedly brought into action owing to the following circumstance. In the conversation which took place during dinner at Lawrence’s, the “Red Lion,” Hampton, it was mentioned by Ned Painter that a youth from Birmingham, about eleven stone and a half, had been on the Hurst to offer himself as a candidate, but none of the middle weights, much less the light ones, had fancied him, at which he was much disappointed. An eminent brewer and a gallant captain immediately offered ten pounds if Dolly Smith, who was at hand, and who had fought Tom Cannon and Bill Abbot, would try what the new “piece of hardware” was worth. Phil was sent for, and cheerfully accepted the task.

The combatants were informed that if anything like collusion or division of the stakes occurred not one penny would be paid over, and that the best man must win. A select party thereon returned to the Hurst, and at six o’clock in the evening Smith stripped, seconded by Rolph and Ned Weston, Sampson being waited upon by Josh Hudson and Baxter. The reporters having gone off to town, we are merely told that in fifteen minutes poor Dolly (who was decidedly out of condition) was defeated, being nobbed all over the ring and thrown like a sack by the newcomer. The activity and slashing blows of Sampson astonished the amateurs, some of his right-hand deliveries appearing to completely stupefy Dolly, who behaved gamely and well, but had not even a chance turn throughout.

Phil, being an active, chatty, and certainly fast and bounceable young fellow, was at once in high favour with the “upper crust.”

Accordingly, on Tuesday, October 26th, 1819, he was at Wallingham Common, when, Turner having defeated Martin, ten guineas was announced as a purse, in addition to ten guineas from the Pugilistic Club, for the best of two men of eleven stone and upwards. Josh Hudson, ever ready, offered himself; and Phil Sampson, as the event proved rashly, challenged the prize from the John Bull Fighter. It was a tremendous fight for a short time, but at the end of forty minutes Sampson was defeated. (See Life of HUDSON, ante, Chapter IV.)

Sampson, after a short interval, was matched against Abraham Belasco, the scientific Jew, for fifty guineas a-side. This battle took place at Potter’s Street, in Essex, twenty-one miles from London, on Tuesday, February 22nd, 1819. The badness of the day did not deter the Fancy from quitting the Metropolis at an early hour, and the combatants entered the ring, which was well covered with sawdust owing to the wetness of the ground, at one o’clock. Belasco appeared a few minutes before his opponent, attended by Oliver and Josh Hudson; the Birmingham Youth was waited upon by Painter and Shelton. Belasco was the favourite at six to four.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Sparring; Belasco let fly, but was stopped. Sampson put in a sharp hit under the Jew’s arm. Both went in. Exchanges. In struggling Belasco down. (“Go along, my little youth.”)

2.—Counter-hits; a pause; the Birmingham Youth rushed in, and got to the ropes. In the struggle to fib the Jew, he slipped down. (Two to one on Belasco.)

3.—The Birmingham Youth drew first blood, and, in a struggle, the Jew went down from a slip. (Great shouting in favour of the Birmingham Youth.)

4.—Belasco stopped and hit well; a good rally; Sampson received a heavy body blow and went down.

5.—The Jew went to work, bled his opponent, and sent him down on his rump, rather weak. The Jew also went down.

6.—Sparring, and the Birmingham Youth piping. The Jew put in two good hits. Sampson returned, till he was got to the ropes, where he got it sharply, and in the struggle went down, Belasco uppermost.

7.—Belasco slipped down, cunning, and the Youth stood looking at him. (Hissing.)

8.—This was a well-fought round, and Belasco hit Sampson away; but the latter, in game style, returned to the charge, and fought like a hero till both were down, the Jew uppermost.

9.—Sampson commenced this round in gallant style; but Belasco changed it by good fighting, and had Sampson down at the ropes.

10.—After a few exchanges at the ropes, Sampson went down, but a good round altogether. (“Well done, Belasco!”)

11.—After a hit or two, the Jew got Sampson at the ropes, and was fibbing him in good style, till he dropped on one knee. The strength and skill of Belasco enabled him to hold up his opponent, and weave on, till he got Sampson down on both his knees.

In the last two rounds Sampson was getting weak, and, to escape from severe fibbing in the eleventh, he fell to one knee, but Belasco kept holding him up and punishing till he was down on both of his knees. “Foul” and “fair” were instantly cried out, when Painter and Shelton took Sampson out of the ring, put him into a post-chaise, and drove off without appealing to the umpires on the subject. This was certainly wrong; and, owing to this circumstance, a fierce dispute arose. No man should be taken out of the ring till the umpires have decided upon the propriety of such a step. Both sides may dispute, but it is only the umpires that can set it right. The superior science of the Jew prevented the hitherto slashing hitting of Sampson, which was so heavily experienced by Josh Hudson. Belasco stopped many blows in good style, and gave the movements of Sampson the appearance of being slow. It was by no means a decisive fight, such as the “Ould Fanciers” are fond of witnessing; although two to one was betted on Belasco, and even a point further, on the round previous to Sampson’s being taken out of the ring. It was generally asserted that the Birmingham Youth was the best man, owing to his youth, but as to knowledge of milling, Belasco had the advantage.

The decision of the umpires being appealed to, the dispute was finally argued and determined before Mr. Jackson, in presence of several persons of experience. The judgment given was simply as follows—“That as no objection had been made to the umpires on their being appointed to their situations; and also both of them uniting in one opinion that Belasco’s conduct was fair; and, further, no interference of the referee having been called for, their decision must be considered final.” This decided the paying of bets; and as the battle-money was given up to the Jew, it was insisted upon, in sporting phrase, that bets follow the battle-money.

Sampson was not pleased with the termination of the fight, and accidentally meeting the Jew at a house in Bond Street, where some friends were arguing the subject, the men got suddenly in collision; but after fighting a few minutes, during which nothing was the matter, the friends of the Jew took him away, saying “it was no fun to fight for nothing.”

At Richmond’s benefit at the Royal Tennis Court, Windmill Street, Haymarket, on Tuesday, February 29th, 1820, on the announcement of “Belasco and the Birmingham Youth,” curiosity was on the stretch. It was a regular glove-fight for nine rounds, and Sampson appeared so determined to get the better of the Jew that he disdained allowing any time between the rounds, till he not only exhausted himself, but distressed his opponent to a stand-still. The Jew seemed now satisfied, and, while in the act of bowing to the audience and pulling off the gloves, Sampson said he should not leave off, and hit Belasco on the side of his head. The latter immediately returned the compliment, but had the worst of the round, and was thrown. It was considered necessary to part them, and Cribb took Sampson away. It was in fact a discreditable display of bad temper on the part of the Birmingham Youth.

In consequence of a purse of £50 given by the Pugilistic Club, and a private stake of £25 a-side, Sampson entered the lists with Jack Martin, at North Walsham, on the 17th of July, 1820. After a sharp battle Sampson was defeated. (See Life of MARTIN, ante.)

Sampson was now certainly “under a cloud.” Chance, however, brought him again into notice. A man of the name of Tom Dye, known as “Di the Table-lifter,” a public exhibitor of feats of strength, who could carry a mahogany dining-table seven or eight feet long with his teeth, tie a pair of tongs round a man’s neck by way of cravat, and break a poker across his arm like a rotten stick, was chaffed about the strength of Sampson. He expressed his opinion that he could dispose of the modern wearer of the name in very summary fashion, to which “the Youth” demurred, and a purse of five sovs. was offered if “Di” would make the experiment. It turned out an easy job for Sampson. In eight minutes, during which six rounds were fought, “Di” was completely hors de combat when time was called. On coming to, the “strong man” declared he was not fairly beaten, on which “the Youth” told him to “take his own time,” and “Di” again put up his hands. He soon repented, for Sampson milled him down so suddenly that poor “Di” forgot for a while all about tables and pokers. Sampson had not a mark, and presented the crestfallen table-lifter with half-a-sovereign “to wash his teeth with.”

The ill feeling of Sampson towards Belasco again broke out, and the latter, it would seem, declared his intention of thrashing his late opponent wherever he met him. In consequence Belasco, at Tom Oliver’s benefit at the Tennis Court, on Monday, December 21st, 1820, mounted the stage, and said that being thus continually threatened he would accommodate Sampson for £100 or £50 a-side. Hereupon Sampson rushed on the stage intemperately and declared his intention to fight “if any gentleman, who is a gentleman, will hold the money. That is necessary,” he added, “as I have been robbed of the last fight. I am also ready to set to with Belasco immediately.” Belasco coolly replied by putting on the mufflers, and at it they went for

A GLOVE-FIGHT.

Round 1.—Both cautious, and eyeing each other. Sampson plunged in, and some exchanges took place, when Belasco slipped down, and Sampson was also on the floor.

2.—Very short work; Sampson’s temper got the mastery of his skill. Belasco caught him as he came in, got his head in the corner of the stage, and fibbed him down. (Hissing from some parts of the court. “Nothing unfair,” was the cry from the other. “Never mind,” said Sampson, “it’s all right, Belasco, come along.”)

3.—Milling without ceremony, till Sampson put in a most tremendous nobber on the Jew’s temple that completely stunned him for the instant, accompanying it with “Where are you now?” If it had been in the ring, it must have proved a winning hit. Belasco caught hold of the rails to prevent going down, and said, “Never mind, I’ll soon be ready for you.” The Birmingham Youth waited till the Jew was ready to commence another round.

4.—Very severe; both down.

5.—The Jew displayed science, but the rush of the Youth was sharp in the extreme, and pepper was the result, till they separated.

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