V. NICHOLAS (NICK) WARD
1835-1841.
The claim of Nick Ward to a chapter in a History of the Ring is, though certainly slender, of a twofold character. In the first place, as another and more recently fallen warrior was described as “the nephew of his uncle,” so Nick Ward may be signalised as “the brother of Jem;” the second, and more cogent, reason is the high flight of his ambition, and the consequent eminence of his adversaries, he having beaten Deaf Burke, and, by a fluke, won a fight for the Championship with the modern “Big Ben.” These things premised, we proceed to a brief sketch of his quasi-pugilistic performances.
Nick Ward was born on an ominous day, the 1st of April, in the year 1811, in St. George’s-in-the-East, London; and on February 24th, 1835, having previously acquired a reputation in the sparring-schools of the Metropolis, he stripped at Moulsey Hurst, to face John Lockyer, of Cranbrook, a yokel bruiser of about 12st., whose only scored victory was a win with one Bridger, of Maidstone, in February, 1833. Jack Lockyer (named “Harry,” in Fistiana, under WARD) was a mere chopping-block in the skilful hands of Nick, his longer-reached and more artistic antagonist; and being “satisfied” at the end of 18 rounds, gave no criterion by which to judge of Young Nick’s game or endurance. It was pretty evident, however, that his brother and friends were not much taken with this initiative display of his qualities, for the next match looked out for Master Nick was with a 11st. man, Jem Wharton (afterwards celebrated as “Young Molyneaux,” and “the Morocco Prince”[22]) for £15 a side. The deposits were made good, and the day, May 12th, 1835, fixed Nick Ward’s backer having won the toss for choice of place (within thirty miles of London) named the well-known Moulsey Hurst as the champ clos of combat.
On the appointed Tuesday, the patrons of the fistic art were on the qui vive to witness the tourney between “the brother of the Champion” and the aspiring “Young Molyneaux”――a worthy, albeit a miniature, counterpart of the dusky gladiator of the same name, who, in times gone by, twice fell beneath the all-conquering arm of Cribb, as may be read by those who are curious in the first volume of this work.
Nick went into training at Norwood, putting up at the “Rose and Crown,” our old friend Ned Neale’s hostelrie, and, as we thought, making himself rather more of a public character in the neighbourhood than was either prudent or desirable. Nevertheless, all looked, thus far, promising. Of betting there was little or none; for such was the confidence in favour of Ward, that three to one was offered, but no takers――a circumstance attributable to his superiority in science, length, and weight (for he weighed 12st. 10lb., while the Black was more than a stone under that standard, as well as being much shorter). It was still thought there would be excellent sport afforded, and there were those who, although not disposed to risk their rhino, yet entertained “a shrewd suspicion” that the Black would win. The necessary preparations were made for conveying the men to the scene of action on Tuesday morning; but, unluckily, on the evening before a “stopper” was placed upon Ward, who was apprehended (on the authority of a warrant issued by the magistrates at Union Hall), and taken before Mr. Ellyard, a local magistrate at Norwood, by whom he was held to bail to keep the peace towards all his Majesty’s subjects in general, and the Black Prince in particular. The unpleasant intelligence was soon conveyed to town, and produced no small panic in the minds of those to whose knowledge it came; but a vast number remained in ignorance of the fact till the next day, when too late to save them the expense and trouble of a long trot. The road to Hampton on Tuesday presented the customary bustle, and it was not till the throng congregated in hundreds in view of the Hurst, that the rumours with which they were assailed on the road were confirmed. Great indignation was, of course, expressed, and various speculations were afloat as to the author of the mischief; some attributing the step to Jem Burn or his party, and others to the malice of some secret enemy of the sports of the Ring. There was, however, no help for it, and as it was found that orders were also given to prevent “any breach of the peace” on Moulsey Hurst, it was resolved to seek consolation in a minor mill, which was yet to the good, in a meadow about two miles from Hampton, whither the ropes and stakes were conveyed, followed by a countless succession of go-carts, and vehicles of a more aristocratic description, which joined in the motley cavalcade.
This “little go” we may note in a parenthesis. It was between Evans (nicknamed “the Pumpborer”), and an aspirant who contented himself with the title of “Jack January’s brother.” These “obscurities” having punished each other for seventy minutes, Evans was hailed the victor.
We ought to state that Wharton was driven on to the ground in style, looking bright as “Day and Martin’s Japan,” and jauntily tossed his hat into the ring, his “soul in arms and eager for the fray.” This was, however, a mere matter of form, as “magisterial interference” having placed his antagonist out of harm’s way, no forfeit could be claimed. The mischance, of course, excited much speculation among the disappointed, as to the author of the interruption, some attributing it to the friends of the Black, and others to the partisans of Ward; while a third party laid the blame, and not without fair ground of suspicion, to some dog in the manger, who, disliking the sports of the Ring himself, determined to deprive others of a pleasure in which he did not choose to participate. There was nothing in the character of the match to warrant a belief that the backers of either man had a sufficient motive for declining the contest. The stakes were trifling, and made up by subscription, so that the loss in this way could not have been worth consideration. The expenses of training had already been incurred, handkerchiefs bought, and vehicles to take the men to the ground engaged. Both men were in first-rate condition, and both, notwithstanding the disparity in their size, equally confident, and more especially Wharton, who booked winning, and nothing else; and then, as to the betting, there were no bets made which could have influenced any of the contracting parties to contrive a “draw.” The real cause of the fiasco, which was never clearly made out, may be surmised, when read by the knowledge acquired by subsequent events; and, without much damage to young Nick’s reputation, we may conclude that he had “no stomach for the fight,” and was secretly glad that the affair had a bloodless termination by “magisterial interference,” and his being formally bound over, for a whole twelvemonth, “to keep the peace towards all her Majesty’s subjects.”
From this time (May, 1835), Nick merely exhibited with the gloves, in “brother Jem’s” saloon, or at other “assaults of arms,” for benefits, &c., though his name appears as “challenged by Burke, Hampson, Brassey, Fisher, Bailey, and other “big ’uns.”
On the 24th May, 1836, Bendigo beat Brassey at Sheffield, and three days afterwards, on Friday, the 27th, Jem Ward, Brother Nick, Jem Burn, Bendy, and an aristocratic assemblage of “swells,” were at Tottenham, where, at a private farm, there was some “cocking.” The facetious Sambo Sutton, too, was among the company; and as a sequel to the sports of the pit, at a merry meeting at mine host Harry Milbourne’s, there was some lively chaff about the late “black job;” the said chaff being specially promoted by Jem Burn, who was retorted upon (he being the patron of “Young Molyneaux,” and now of the eccentric “Sambo”) as a dealer in sable specimens of humanity. Some reflections on Nick’s pluck being of a very “pale complexion,” led to an offer to match him against Burn’s latest “new black,” and on Massa Sambo enthusiastically declaring how delighted he would be “jest to hab a roun’ or two,” Nick “screwed his courage to the sticking-place,” and a “purse” being at once subscribed, “a field near Finchley” was offered by a sporting gentleman present, and off the whole party started. At this time Sambo was only known, beyond some sparring capabilities, to be a merry mountebank of the original Ethiopian order, and is described in a contemporary paper as having “a head like a cow-cabbage, a mouth laughing all across his face, and possesing an extraordinary faculty of standing upon his flat head, with his flatter feet flourishing in the air, dancing and singing for an hour together, and varying the fun by drinking miscellaneous liquors in that uncomfortable position.” To these accomplishments, says the writer, “he adds great bodily strength, long arms, and such a gluttonous appetite for ‘towelling’ that nobody can give him enough with the gloves.” The affair was really got up as an experiment to try Nick’s mettle, and such was the consequence drawn from his “blood and breeding,” that two and three to one on him were offered, but no takers.
The fight did not take place until seven in the evening, when the real P.C. ropes and stakes were got down from town, and pitched in an excellent spot, hidden from the North Road, Finchley, by a rising ground. Jack Adams and Fitzmaurice waited on Ward, Byng Stocks and Jack Clarke on Sambo.
For the first ten rounds Nick took the lead in good style, nobbing his man neatly, stopping his attempts at returning, and gaining first blood in the third round. Sambo also made some very clever stops, and now and then got home a sort of swinger on Nick’s ribs; nevertheless, he was down anyhow at the end of each round. Still, he rolled about like an india-rubber tombola, and when he did get in a “little ’un” the “big ’un” seemed to jump away, and fight very shy till he could himself “get on” again. Ward came up, once or twice, “blowing” in a manner that did not indicate first-rate condition. In the eleventh round, Sambo being pretty considerably cut about the head, Adams called on Nick to “go in and finish him;” Nick tried to obey orders. He caught the Nigger a slashing hit on the head, which Sambo took kindly, merely shaking it; and, darting in, he drew Ward’s cork from his smelling-bottle so suddenly that a gush of claret followed; Nick made an involuntary backward step, and Sambo bustled him down. The “clerks of St. Nicholas” looked blank.
Ward came up slowly for round 12, when Sambo went in furiously. Ward met him a hot ’un on the nob; but the darkey would not be denied, and in a wild sort of rally Sambo caught Master Nick such an awful chop on the smeller, as they were both going down, that Ward was under, by his own consent, and the tap again copiously turned on. This was enough. Nick declared he would “have no more of it.” Remonstrance was useless: “he would fight no longer,” and the sponge was thrown up. Sambo, shaking his head like a black and red rag-mop, cut a “break-down” caper, and sang a song of triumph which defied the art of stenography, while Ward hurried off, amidst the laughter and cheering of the assembly, like a “trundle-tailed cur,” declaring, “it was no use, he was not cut out for a fighting man!” an assertion, in the words of the old song, “Which nobody can deny, deny, Which nobody can deny.”
After this public manifestation that whatever “devil” there may be in “Old Nick” his young namesake was endowed with none of that fiery quality, “the Champion’s brother” confined himself to “attitude,” the horse-hair pads, and, in the words of pugilistic M.C.’s., to “walking round and showing his muscle.” Meantime the “cow-cabbage hero” kept continually challenging him to another bout “in the reg’lar ring,” while starring it on sparring tours at Cambridge, Oxford, and elsewhere――for Sambo was an immense favourite among the “’Varsity men.” At last the smoke kindled into a flame, and out came Nick, with a declaration that he would “no longer stand this black buffoon’s bounce.” Articles were accordingly signed, a match made for £50 a side, and the stakes deposited in the hands of old Tom Cribb. Tuesday, the 27th March, 1838, was named as the day, half-way between Birmingham and London as the place of battle; for though the deposits were made in town it was not a metropolitan match. Nick Ward’s money was found by brother Jem and certain Liverpool supporters; while the funds for Sambo were readily raised, principally by some Oxford friends. Ward went into training at Crosby, near Liverpool, under the immediate eye of his brother and Peter Taylor. Sambo did his breathings and gymnastics at a village near Oxford city. Both men were reported to be in tip-top condition, and eager for the fray――Nick to refurbish his tarnished reputation, and rub off the stain of pusillanimity, and Sambo, as he said, “’cos him like to hab anoder slap at Massa Ward, him so clebber at get away――but p’raps not dis time;” and he shook his woolly nob like a black Burleigh. It was the desire of the London division that, under the shadow of the untoward result of the encounter between Owen Swift and Brighton Bill (March 13th, 1838), a postponement of the meeting should take place; but time would not permit, in those days of slow communication, to have a conference on the subject, so matters took their course. Ward, having won the toss, named Bicester, in Oxfordshire (the recent scene of the defeat of Byng Stocks, of Westminster, by Hammer Lane, of Birmingham), a town distinguished for the jovial character and sporting propensities of its inhabitants. Thither were the ropes and stakes sent. The Commissary being laid up with the gout, and unable to accompany them, Jack Clarke was deputed to officiate, he being on the spot, and acting as trainer to Massa Sambo. As we feel best satisfied when we write from personal observation, we may note that on Monday afternoon we found ourselves comfortably seated in a room at the “King’s Arms,” Bicester, a house distinguished for solid customers, and them boasting a host of high sporting quality. There was no bustle in the town, which at that time was quiet as a Quakers’ meeting; none of the “old familiar faces” were visible. The London Fancy――and we think they were right――had determined that all matches should be postponed for a certain period. Hence, not a single familiar phiz graced the scene. It is true the town was enlivened by the presence of Sir Henry Peyton, with his spicy four-in-hand, and there, too, was Lord Chetwynd, on his cover-hack; but we could not help thinking, as his lordship gave us a sly nod of recognition, that there was a curious expression in his jolly face, as he made us aware that there had been “magisterial business” at the Town Hall, as a sort of reason why we saw him there. This was soon confirmed by a sporting friend, whom we fearlessly set down as that lusus naturæ, “an honest lawyer.” He told us, with regret, that “the Philistines were abroad,” and that the Home Office, urged on by the twaddle of “My Grandmother” (the Morning Herald), and the goody-goody papers, with the awful denunciations of the supineness or complicity of the magistracy of Cambridgeshire and Herts in the melancholy affair of Swift and Phelps, had sent down warnings and counsels for extra vigilance to the police and magistracy of Oxford and Bucks. That “all this was sooth” we had afterwards reason to find. Sambo, we learned, had been at Lainton, about two miles from the town, but, as a measure of precaution, he was moved from a public to a private house, and in the domicile of an honest yeoman met with that kindly hospitality by which this class of our countrymen was characterised. Here he was thought perfectly safe, and all that was now wanting was the arrival of Jem Ward, or some emissary from him, to agree upon some less dangerous point of meeting. It was understood that Ward had been advised to stop short of Bicester, but it was fully expected that he would appear at head-quarters to settle upon preliminaries. Every avenue was watched, yet up to nine o’clock no tidings of him were heard, and although the country was scoured over a circuit of three-and-twenty miles, after nine o’clock, in search of him, and every village visited, his presence could not be discovered, for the best of all reasons, that he had stopped short at Banbury, and did not come forward till the morning, nor send any person forward to announce his proximity. This was more than mortifying, for it was soon seen that the magistrates of Buckinghamshire became more active, and a constable was despatched by the venerable and amatory Sir John Chetwood, with a warrant for the apprehension of Sambo, which was backed by an Oxfordshire magistrate. The constable thus entrusted was more than usually active in his vocation, and endeavoured, by every means in his power, to ferret out his sable prey: an activity, no doubt, very praiseworthy, but which led him into an adventure far from agreeable, and certainly likely to remain impressed on his memory. While grunting about, like a boar looking for a pig-nut, he met with a wag who informed him, on a solemn promise of secresy, that Sambo was stowed away in a badger-box, which he knew to be placed in an enclosed paddock behind the house of the honest lawyer to whom we have already alluded, and whose zoological collection was known, far and near, as being of an extensive and curious description. “A nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse,” so Mister Constable, cock-sure of having marked down his game, silently stole into the paddock, where stood the long badger-box, of which he determined, from that instant, never to lose sight until its occupant should disclose himself. Night was fast approaching, but it was clear and fine, so, after duly reconnoitring, the “copper” cautiously approached the box, and, tapping on the lid, in soothing terms invited Mister Sutton to come out and surrender, as he was “wanted,” or else, badger or no badger, he must be “drawn.” As Sambo was about two miles off he made no answer, so the invitation was repeated in more peremptory tones, but with no more success. “Bobby” became irate at what he considered nigger obstinacy, so he turned the button and thrust his hand into the sacking, and so into the round hole at the top, with the view of lifting the lid. Rash experiment! the lawful tenant――a badger, not of African, but of British breed――was “at home,” but not to Home Office visitors. Without growl, bark, or other warning, the sharp-toothed “varmint” revenged the violation of his sanctum by seizing the digits of the assailant of his castle, and nearly severing the top joints of at least three of his fingers. The luckless constable raised so loud an exclamation that forth rushed a favourite old retriever hight “Nelson,” who gave tongue so loudly that, though “his bark was worse than his bite,” it was lucky he was on the chain, or, perchance, the seat of the rural’s inexpressibles might have been absent without leave before he succeeded in clearing the low wall into the high road, whence he lost no time in making his way to the village surgery, and thence, his dexter fin, as the police-reporters say, “enveloped in surgical bandages,” he hastened to “report” himself and his adventure to his superior officers. The mischievous author of the hoax did not fail to spread the story of the success of his severe practical joke, and for some time it was dangerous, but not uncommon, for labourers and impertinent boys to address the query to the Buckinghamshire constables of “Who drew the badger?” without receiving a civil or satisfactory answer.
On Tuesday morning Sambo was still at the house of his friend, few knowing his whereabouts; when it transpired that every route from Bicester into Northamptonshire was closely watched to prevent the escape of Sambo, or the approach of Ward. It was therefore determined to cover his retreat by a “ruse,” which was thus arranged. A countryman was engaged by a bribe to allow his face to be blacked with cart-grease and soot, his neck encircled by Sambo’s colours (white with a blue border), wrapped in a white box-cloth driving coat, and sent off towards Oxford at as good a pace as a pair of posters could carry him. But alas! great conceptions often meet with untoward interruptions. One of the Buckinghamshire “badger-drawers” discovered from a chawbacon lout the exact hiding place of the sable-fox, and carried the intelligence to Sir John Chetwood; then returning, with the baronet close at his heels, he boldly knocked at the door of the house, which was opened by a servantgirl. Demanding to see her master, and the wench stoutly refusing him admittance, he gallantly pulled out a pistol, and presenting it, marched on in triumph. Walking into the back-parlour, “from information he had received,” he at once recognised the real Sambo, and, producing his warrant, made a quiet capture of his prisoner. At this moment Lord Chetwynd, with attendants, rode up and joined Sir John Chetwood, so that “the majesty of the law” was fully represented at the capture of his Sable Highness. On reaching the front of the house, however, Sambo made a cunning and bold attempt at an escape from his “buckra” enemies. In vain; he was quickly overtaken and secured, and forthwith conveyed to Buckingham. Our friend the “honest lawyer” was not far off. He went back to Bicester, took a postchaise and pair, enlisted a friend and “householder,” and without hesitation followed the captive “Black Prince,” put in the required sureties, and restored him to freedom. Meantime the first news was received of Ward, that he and his friends were at Middleton, a village three miles off, and were awaiting Sambo’s arrival. It was now too late. A Mercury was despatched to Nick and Co., advising him to make himself scarce, as he too might be “wanted;” a hint which was in season, for, in an hour after, Lord Chetwynd and company were on the road to Middleton, where they arrived in time to find that the bird had flown. Ward, his brother, and friends, of course returned to Liverpool, and Sambo, though “bound over,” was at liberty to dance, sing, tumble, spar, and “jump Jem Crow,” a free man in all things but a “free fight.”
Another twelvemonth of rustication ended in a match with Jem Bailey, a 12 stone Irishman (not “Bailey of Bristol”), and the fight was fixed for January 14th, 1839, the stake £25 a side. This went off in a forfeit by Bailey, as did another match made by Ward himself. In October, however, after some clever and vicious “gloving,” and a very strong expression of opinion by Bailey of Nick’s mode of “cutting” it when “tackled,” two spirited gents, in the habit of frequenting Alec Reid’s sparring-room, Frith Street, Soho, expressed a willingness to back Bailey for £25 against Ward, who immediately found backers to that amount among some amateurs in the art of self-defence, at Owen Swift’s, in Tichborne Street. As the match was only made about a week before the day fixed――October 18th, 1839――there was not much time allowed for training. Ward went to Acton for two or three days, but Bailey, we are informed, did not employ his leisure hours quite so profitably as many considered he ought to have done under the circumstances.
On the Thursday the whole of the stakes were deposited in the hands of Owen Swift, at the “Coach and Horses,” Frith Street, Soho, in the presence of a numerous assemblage of the Fancy, when a long discussion ensued respecting the place where the fight should come off. On the part of Ward it was contended that “down the river,” would be preferable to any other place, inasmuch as they were the less likely to be interfered with in that quarter than if they went out of town per railroad, as the partisans of Bailey wished. It was, however, decided that Ditton Marsh should be visited, and the majority of those who were in the secret repaired to the Southampton terminus at Nine Elms, by nine o’clock on the following morning (Friday), while some who possessed fast “tits” preferred the road. The Fancy having comfortably seated themselves in the train, in the full expectation of not meeting with any annoyance by the presence of a “beak,” were not a little flabbergasted by observing Mr. Hedger and several other magistrates of Surrey enter one of the first-class carriages.
“What could they do there at that early hour?” was the very natural inquiry, which query was not satisfactorily solved till the gentlemen in Her Majesty’s commission took their departure at Kingston, where it appears their presence was necessary at the Sessions. Never did the lovers of boxing part company with their travelling companions with a greater degree of satisfaction than they did with their worships. Ditton Station having been announced by the attendants of the railway, the train was nearly cleared of its passengers, and the veteran Commissary and his coadjutor, Little Jack, were not long in fixing the stakes and ropes at the further end of the common, on the left of the station. Some delay, however, ensued in consequence of the articles not stating that the men were to fight in accordance with the new rules of the P.R., and the circumstance of several parties refusing to take office under the old regulations. Alec Reid, who wished the fight to proceed in accordance with the articles, at length gave way, and it was agreed the new, and certainly more manly and humane laws, should be adopted. All the necessary preliminaries were then adjusted, and the men entered the ring.
Previous to the commencement of hostilities a good deal of betting took place at 6 to 4 on Ward, and Bailey accepted those odds with an eagerness which showed he had great confidence in himself.
Bailey, a native of the Emerald Isle, in height 5 feet 11 inches, weighing 12 st. 2 lb., aged 28, was well known in the neighbourhood of Norwich, where they thought him good enough to match him against the renowned Brassey, of Bradford, on two occasions, on both of which he was, of course, thrashed.
King Dick and Harry Holt, the “Cicero” of the Fancy, attended on Ward; the Essex Youth and a gallant son of Mars waited on Bailey. All being in readiness, the men peeled, and at twenty minutes past ten commenced
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.――Neither, from the circumstances above stated, looked quite up to the mark as regards condition, but a smile of confidence played on the features of both. Ward’s attitude was easier and more scientific than Bailey’s, who stood in a straggling and ungainly manner. They kept at a respectful distance from each other for some time, when Ward let fly with his left, and caught his man on the top of the head; an exchange of blows ensued, when they broke away from each other. Bailey, however, soon made play, and in the close Ward went down.
2.――No damage done. Bailey came up smiling to the scratch. He tried it on with his right, but the hit was too round to take much effect on Ward’s side; the latter then went to work, but neither in their exchanges did any mischief. In the close Bailey tried for the cross-buttock, but he slipped and fell.
3.――Both quickly resumed business, and as quickly closed, when some fibbing ensued, which Bailey had the best of, and both went down together. [Loud shouts for Bailey, from whose mouth, however, a little claret appeared.]
4.――The smile on Bailey’s mug soon disappeared on Ward popping in his left on the nob sharply, and another on the sinister ogle. In the close Bailey was under.
5.――Bailey made play, but received a clean counter-hit just above his right peeper, which evidently severed one of the small veins, for the crimson stream spurted forth in profusion; Bailey then closed on his opponent, who went down.
6.――The left hand of Ward was evidently damaged from coming in contact with the knowledge box of Bailey, who made play with his right, but was admirably stopped; a close, Bailey bored to the ropes, when Ward tried the upper-cut, but missed his man, who dropped down at the corner.
7.――Bailey came up smiling, and a good fighting round took place in favour of Ward, who again went down at the close to avoid any punishment he might receive at infighting.
8.――After some sparring Ward shot out his left bang on the mug of Bailey, and kept countering him till they closed, when Nick cut work for a time by going down. [Much dissatisfaction was expressed at Ward’s conduct in dropping.]
9.――The frontispiece of Bailey exhibited marks of severe punishment, and in addition to other hits, his left cheek-bone had received a nasty one, still he came up to his man courageously, and in trying it on with his right received a counter-hit, which however, missed the intended spot, and fell on the shoulder; a close, when Nick released himself in the usual way by going down.
10.――Ward again at work with his left, which slightly fell on the nob; a close, and before Bailey could get a good hit at him, Nick dropped.
11.――Bailey made play, but missed his antagonist, and in a scramble Ward fell.
12.――The expressions of disapprobation at Ward’s continually going down were now so general that Ward smilingly exclaimed on coming up to the scratch “Bailey, don’t find fault; why should you?” Ward tried his left, but was stopped; he then put in his right, which slightly took effect on the nob; a rally, when Ward dropped on his knees, and Bailey was very near hitting him in that position.
13.――Ward put in a chin-chopper; a rally to the ropes, and both down together, if anything, Ward under.
14.――The left hand of Ward quickly visited the headpiece of Bailey, who rushed in, but it was “no go,” for his man went down as formerly.
15.――Ward led off, but missed the intended visitation, when Bailey went in, and for once succeeded in giving Nick the upper cut, which made a slight incision over the eyebrow.
16.――Bailey again felt Ward’s left on the canister, and the latter got away without a return, and was quickly down.
At this point, twenty-five minutes having elapsed, a policeman well mounted was seen in the distance, and the combatants had the office to “cut,” which they quickly did. The man in blue on arriving at the ring pulled out his “toasting fork,” and requested an old farmer, named Weston (who was also mounted, and had previously appeared to take extreme interest in the battle), to point out the fighting men. The jesuitical veteran, with evident pleasure, was about doing so, but both men escaped unperceived to a barn opposite. As the policeman expressed his determination to follow the parties, and prevent hostilities, a council of war was held, and it was decided that the train should be again had recourse to, and Woking Common the place of rendezvous. The Woking station was reached a little after one, and in less than half an hour the stakes were fixed in a retired spot at the end of the lane across the Common.
Here seventeen more rounds were fought in about thirty minutes, when the same style of fighting ensued as that above described, Ward, however, not going down quite so frequently as heretofore. Bailey received additional pepper on his mug, while Ward scarcely exhibited any marks of punishment. Many of the rounds were remarkable for their non-effect on either side, and their scrambling struggles were more like those of two big boys at school than men in the P.R. In the 12th round Bailey had the best of it, but “bad was the best.”
A dispute arose in the 15th round, Bailey having slipped down without a blow, but the fight was ordered to be proceeded with. In the next bout, after a short rally, Ward dropped to avoid in-fighting, when Bailey certainly struck Nick on the ribs while he was on his knees. The referee, however, gave a contrary opinion, and the men came to the scratch for the 17th time at this place, and the 33rd in the whole. They soon went to work, and immediately after closing Ward went down, when Bailey, it was said, again struck him foul.
The referee was once more appealed to, who decided that Bailey, although evidently accidentally, had hit his man when down. Ward immediately proceeded to the corner to untie the colours, which was resisted by Bailey, who “pitched into him,” and bored him with his neck against the ropes. They were soon separated, and Ward left the ring with his friends, Bailey reluctantly following.
The fight, Bell’s Life remarks, did not in any way come up to the expectations of those who had travelled so far to witness it. Bailey is as game a man as ever entered the ring, but he has very little knowledge of the art, and as for countering, it appears such an idea never entered his head. His position is also bad, being too wide and straggling. Ward is a scientific boxer, but he wants determination and the heart to go in and punish his opponent when an opportunity presents itself, many of which Bailey gave him, but they were not taken advantage of. We heard him declare that he had received orders to fight cautiously, but his frequent “dropping” at close quarters cannot, notwithstanding his instructions, be considered commendable. Had the fight been continued, we have no doubt Bailey must have been defeated, although his courage might have protracted the battle for a much longer time, for in each succeeding round he was receiving punishment without returning it with any visible effect. Ward’s left hand was puffed, which, with the exception of the slight cut over the eye, was all the injury he appeared to have met with, while the frontispiece of his opponent was very much disfigured by the continual jobs from Ward’s left hand.
The majority of the spectators left Woking by the three o’clock train, and were conveyed to town, a distance of 33 miles, in about two minutes over the hour.
This affair was followed by another match, and a deposit of £10; but at the second deposit at Peter Crawley’s, on the 14th January, 1840, Ward was announced as “too unwell to fight,” and the stakes down were handed over to Bailey, at Mrs. Owen’s, Belgrave Mews, on the succeeding Tuesday; Bailey on the occasion proposing a match with Deaf Burke, which “ended in smoke.”
In May, Nick Ward was matched for £50 with Brassey, of Bradford, but this also went off in a refusal on the part of Brassey’s friends to allow their man to fight for less than £100.
At length, in July, the long-talked-of tourney between Nick and the Deaf’un took shape and substance, and £50 were down, to be made £100, for the men to meet on the 22nd of September, 1840, over 50 and under 100 miles from London. To that day we shall, therefore, come, without further preface.
“Thayre you air agin,” as Paddy said to the pig in his potato-trench――and sure enough “thayre we were, body and bones,” on Tuesday, September 22nd, in the self-same field, on the borders of Oxfordshire, in which Isaac Dobell (lately defunct) whacked his friend Bailey the butcher, on the 7th of April, 1828; and we can only regret that in modern times we have not had more frequent opportunities of witnessing those manly demonstrations of “fair play” which the sports of the Ring are so admirably calculated to afford. But how did you get there? Why, to tell the truth, as far as we were personally concerned, with tolerable ease――although not without incurring divers dangers by “flood and field”――bekase the Commissary had kindly engaged us a postchaise; and we regret that many of our friends were not equally fortunate. To be plain――the fight was fixed to come off within sixty, and above fifty miles from London, on the Liverpool line, and hence the Deaf’un, who won the toss for choice of ground, named Wolverton, the first “grubbing bazaar” on the Birmingham railway (about fifty-one miles from the Euston Square station), as the point of rendezvous. Thither, on the day before, the Commissary and his deputy (Tom Oliver and Jack Clarke) repaired with their materiel, and it was ascertained that “the Deaf’un and Co.” had taken up their quarters at the “Bull,” at Stony Stratford, while “Nick Ward and Co.” were domiciled in a village not far distant.
The morning broke most inauspiciously, and heavy showers damped the ardour of many a boxing patron, who, instead of advancing to Buckinghamshire, quietly sojourned in Bedfordshire. Still, there was a fair “turn out” of spicy dare-devils, who were not to be scared by trifles from their favourite pastime, hence the morning trains took down a moderate sprinkling of “the right sort.” On reaching Wolverton, however, great was their dismay at finding that there were but two postchaises at that station――both of which had been pre-engaged――and that of other vehicles there was a similar scarcity. Scouts were sent to Stony Stratford, but in vain; for the few that were there had already been secured by the early birds, and thus “a pilgrimage through the Slough of Despond” stared them in the face. Poor Stony Stratford is, alas! not what it was before railroads were in fashion. It is reduced to a mere sleepy, out-of-the-way village, instead of being as, in our time, a centre of bustle and prosperity: indeed, in recent memory it was the high and popular road to Birmingham, distinguished by the number of mails and stage-coaches which “changed” there, and the continuous demand for post-horses. Alas! “The Cock,” the sign of its principal inn, has ceased to “crow,” and the host, like Dennis Bulgruddery, often calls in vain upon his ostler Dan, to know “if he sees a customer coming that way?” Happily, Tuesday’s call enabled Dan to respond――not that there was a customer coming, but many, and thus the ordinary gloom of every-day melancholy was roused into cheerfulness and hope. All the nags were soon engaged, and “the Cock” without and “the cocks” within chuckled with satisfaction. The “Bull,” at which the Burkites were assembled, also became rampant, and “sich a gittin up stairs” had not been witnessed for months.
As the day advanced the bells of the parish church rang a merry peal, “set a-going,” as the facetious Jem Burn said, “in honour of the occasion;” but, as we afterwards learnt, with the double intent of announcing a couple of village weddings. By a singular combination, the face of the clock of the said parish church, in gilt letters, forewarned the travellers of the fact that it was either the handiwork of “T. Oliver and J. Clarke” or had been erected or repaired during the official service of churchwardens bearing those popular names; a fact which produced on the “dials” of the venerable Commissary and his deputy, as they waited for orders, a grin of scarcely repressible self-sufficiency. The “office” was duly given as to “the where,” and away went the Commissary and his pioneers to Deanshanger, about four miles distant, in the county of Bucks, followed by a goodly multitude, horse and foot, embracing a large proportion of British yeomen, to whom the dripping weather gave a timely relief from the labours of the field. On reaching Deanshanger, however, the fact of a couple of mounted “rural blues” being abroad rendered it prudent to move on, and hence the arena was finally formed at Lillingstone Level, on the estate of Colonel Delappe, on the borders of Oxfordshire; the journey to which locality, “through the woods and through the woods,” was trying alike to man and horse. In truth, a more heathenish road never was travelled since the times of the Druids; nor ever did the modern invention of springs undergo a more severe ordeal, while the be-bogged pedestrian railed with bitter inveteracy against the railroads which had subjected them to such unforeseen difficulties, by causing a dearth of the ordinary modes of “civilised conveyance.” However, “barring all pother,” we at length reached our final destination, and there found the lists in fitting preparation.
It was now nearly one o’clock, and all was completed; but, as might have been said to the mob who surrounded Tyburn tree, awaiting the arrival of Jack Sheppard, “there’s no fun till the principals arrive,” so here there was no fun till Ward presented his agreeable mug. It is true that the Deaf’un shied his castor into the ring before one, and claimed forfeit in consequence of the absence of “Young” not “Old Nick;” but as the appointed ground had been changed, and Ward and his friends had to scramble through the bogs with the assistance only of a one-horse cart, sufficient excuse was afforded for his absence, and the claim was premature.
At last the signal of approach was given, and hailed with satisfaction. At a quarter past one Ward was on the ground, and the Deaf’un, who had retired to his drag, was handed forth amidst loud cheers.
Now came “the tug of war.” The belligerents entered the ring in high spirits, the Deaf’un attended by Harry Preston and Sutton, the pedestrian; Nick Ward by Dick Curtis and Levi Eckersley. They shook hands with mutual good will, and having tied their fogles to the stake (blue and white spot for Nick, and fancy white and green for Burke), they tossed for choice of corners, which was won by the Deaf’un. Each immediately proceeded to his toilette, and, “in the wringing off of a door-knocker,” was prepared for action. This was at twenty-five minutes to two, and as the rain had ceased, a “comfortable mill” was anticipated by a vast multitude, horse and foot, which surrounded the magic circle, and which was every moment swelling from fresh arrivals through cross-country paths.
On presenting themselves at the scratch the fronts of the heroes were duly scanned and criticised. Burke, for an old ’un, who had contended in seventeen prize battles, of which he had won fifteen and lost but two, looked remarkably well. His condition was quite up to the mark, and easy confidence sat proudly on his veteran phiz. His ample muscle was finely developed, and his weight was close upon 12st. 4lb. His nether extremities were clothed in a pair of drawers, composed of green and white, the combined remnants of bygone uniforms in which he had figured as the victor. Nick Ward was also in beautiful condition, and, in appearance, was all his friends could desire. His weight was about 12st. 10lb., and he had the advantage in height and length, as well as youth and freshness, over his opponent. Burke was born in December, 1809, and Ward in April, 1813, so that there was nearly four years’ difference between them. Previous to setting-to the current odds were 6 and 7 to 4 on Ward; but 2 to 1 had been laid, and his friends booked success as certain.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.――The Deaf’un came up smiling, and Ward quiet, but serious. After a good deal of dodging, in which neither seemed inclined to commence, Nick tried his left, but was neatly stopped. Burke had evidently made up his mind to the “waiting game,” foreseeing that if he “led off,” the long left-handed prop of Nick, which was always ready, would be inconvenient to his frontispiece. Ward seemed as little inclined to go to close quarters, but again tried his left, which was again stopped. In the third attempt he touched the Deaf’un slightly on the cheek. Again did the Deaf’un stop the left, and Ward, putting his hands down, looked as if he would if he could, while the Deaf’un, following his example, grinned and exclaimed “It won’t do, Nick.” Into position again, but Nick extremely cautious, and evidently not desirous of close quarters. Burke beckoned him to come, but the hint was more civil than welcome. Nick let fly with his left, but the Deaf’un caught it on his elbow. More hitting and stopping, when Nick crept in and let fly with his left, but was admirably countered. Nick’s knuckles, however, reached home first, and a slight tinge of blood was visible on the Deaf’un’s left cheek (first blood for Ward). The mark of the counter-hit of Burke also became apparent on Nick’s left cheek, and this was “trick and tie.” Again did they counter-hit with the left, and the Deaf’un showed blood from his mouth. Ward put his hands down again, and they looked at each other with patience. Burke clearly determined not to play Nick’s game, but to wait for his onslaught. Nick recommenced his manœuvring, but found the Deaf’un so well covered that he dared not try it, and he dodged about as before, trying the patience of the spectators, who repeatedly cried, “Go in and fight” Out went his left, but Burke stopped it neatly. Nick drew back, and the Deaf’un amused the folks with a few of his “hankey pankey” antics, and shaking his head, exclaimed, “’Twon’t do dis time, Nicks.” Long sparring; Nick hit short, and the Deaf’un popped his thumb to his nose. Curtis called on Nick to shoot with his left, but it was no go, and the Deaf’un, who can hear when he likes, cried out, “You knows all about it betters as we can tell you.” The Deaf’un stole a march and popped in his left on Nick’s cheek (cries of “Bravo, Deaf’un!” from his friends). Long pauses and mutual stopping. (Twenty-three minutes had expired, but no mischief done; Jem Burn called for a pillow, and Tommy Roundhead told the Deaf’un he had ordered a leg of mutton to be ready by eleven at night.) Nick at last nailed the Deaf’un on the jaw with his left and got away (cheers for Nick). A jackdaw, which flew close over the ring several times, now relieved the monotony of the sport, but on seeing his big brother, Molyneux, he cut it. Mutual stopping and waiting, but no business done. The Deaf’un put in his right on the body, and at last they got to a rally; heavy hits were exchanged, and the Deaf’un closed for in-fighting; but Nick fell, the Deaf’un on him. (This round lasted thirty-seven minutes, and excited general displeasure, from its want of animation.)
2.――Both men showed marks of pepper from the close contact in the last round. Burke bled from the mouth, and Ward a little from the ear; but there was no real mischief done. Again did Burke wait and Ward stand off, still disinclined for close quarters. “Why don’t you go and fight?” resounded from all sides. “I’m ready,” cried the Deaf’un; “why don’t he come?” Fifty minutes had elapsed. The men approached and retreated several times, till at length heavy counters with the left were exchanged, and away; more dodging. The Deaf’un crept in and caught Ward under the left arm with his right; had it been over the shoulder and reached the ear, it would have told tales. Jem Ward exclaimed, “The day’s long enough, take your time, Nick.” “Ay,” cried the Deaf’un, “it will be long enough for me to lick him, and you afterwards.” Nick now got closer, counter-hits were tried, but stopped; each brought up his right at the jaw and closed, and the Deaf’un was disposed to continue his work, but Ward fell on his knees. The round lasted twenty minutes, and fifty-seven minutes had passed away.
3.――Again was the long and tedious system of waiting adopted. Each dropped his hands, and Nick scratched his head, and rubbed his breast, but did anything but go in to fight, although Dick Curtis assured him the Deaf’un would “stand it” The Deaf’un laughed and shook his head, tried his right, but was short; in a second attempt he was more successful, and caught Ward on the jaw, just under the old cheek hit. Ward looked serious. At last Ward rushed in left and right; blows were exchanged, but the round was closed by Ward getting down. He was clearly playing the safe game of caution, and had no desire to throw a chance away. One hour and forty-three minutes had elapsed.
4.――Cries to Ward of “Go in,” but he was deaf to the incitement, and “bided his time;” finally he stole upon the Deaf’un, hit left and right, and for a moment there was some tidy in-fighting, and a few exchanges; in the close the Deaf’un was down. Nick, we thought, hit open-handed. On the Deaf’un rising his “bellows heaved,” and it was clear this long sparring delay was searching his wind, while his damaged right leg seemed to get weak from long standing.
5.――The Deaf’un let fly with his right and caught Ward on the shoulder――well meant, but too low. Counter-hits with the left, when Ward planted three left-handed hits in succession on Burke’s nob. Burke slightly countered, but was getting slow, and bled from the mouth and nose. Ward improved his advantage and again popped in his left three or four times. The Deaf’un went wildly to work, but was short with his right, and his counter-hits with the left did not get well home. In a scrambling close Ward was down, and Burke was evidently distressed and not firm on his pins (4 to 1 offered on Ward).
6.――Ward, seeing the condition of his man, determined to improve his advantage――popped in a left-hander on the Deaf’un’s eyebrow, which he cut; a rally followed, and good hits were exchanged; in the close Ward down. A blow from Ward’s right, below Burke’s waistband, excited some discontent, but it was not objected to by the umpire.
7.――Burke stopped Nick’s left, and planted his right counter-hits with the left, and a smart rally. Nick hit with his hand open, but the returns were rapid, and in the close Ward went down.
8.――Both showed punishment, but the Deaf’un had the balance against him and his left eye was swollen. A spirited rally, although wild; the Deaf’un was slow and short with his right. In the close Ward fell on his hands and knees. He still continued to play the careful game.
9.――Burke steadied himself, stopped Nick’s left with great precision, popping in his right heavily on Ward’s body. Nick popped in his left and got to a close; the Deaf’un fibbed, but Ward soon got down, the Deaf’un falling by his side.
10.――The Deaf’un hit short with his right, but Nick planted his left, when the Deaf’un bored in and fell on his knees――Ward withholding an intended blow in time.
11.――(Two hours had now elapsed.) Nick hit short with his left, and the Deaf’un nodded. Counter-hits on the masticators. The Deaf’un planted his right on Nick’s nose, and drew claret. Nick made play with his left, and the Deaf’un fell on his knees. The visit to Nick’s smelling organ seemed anything but acceptable.
12.――Ward’s proboscis bleeding; but he seemed not to have lost his spirits, and let fly his left, which Burke stopped. Heavy counter-hits with the left, and the Deaf’un delivered a good body-blow with his right; Nick in with his left, and went down. It was now thought to be anybody’s fight, and the odds were reduced to 6 to 4 on Ward; but still it was apparent that the Deaf’un was distressed, while Ward was fresh, and careful of his corpus.
13.――Nick led off with his left, and followed the Deaf’un to his corner. The Deaf’un stood on the defensive, but received two or three heavy hits right and left. In the close he fell under the ropes, and Nick also went down.
14.――Nick saw his man was abroad, and the moment he was up set to work left and right. The Deaf’un fought boldly, but was slow, and had the worst of the punishment; still he made some good round hits, and Ward was down.
15.――Nick went to work left and right; the Deaf’un became groggy, and fought wildly, missing several blows. Both down, Ward under.
16.――Nick now saw it was all in his favour: he hit as he pleased left and right; the Deaf’un, all abroad, hit wildly. In the close Ward down, and the Deaf’un on him, weak.
17.――The Deaf’un came up quite groggy, when Ward went to work left and right, having it all his own way; he drove Burke against the ropes, upon which he threw him on his back, and, while in that position, hit him heavily with his right till he fell over; cries of “foul!” here burst from the Deaf’un’s friends, in which others joined, and a general rush was made to the ring, overturning all those who sat close to it, including ourselves. The umpires disagreed, of course, but not being close to the referee, had to go round to him: pending this, Nick Ward stood up in the ring, while the Deaf’un was picked up and seated on Sutton’s knee. At last the referee was reached, and on being appealed to, pronounced, as he was justified in doing, “fair.” It was said “time” was then called, although, from our position, involved in a crush, we did not hear it. The hat was immediately thrown up, and the battle was claimed for Ward. (We ought to state that during the last four or five rounds there was a tremendous fall of hail and rain.)
Subsequent to the termination of the 17th round, and previous to the referee giving his judgment, it was stated that while Deaf Burke was seated on his second’s knee Nick Ward went up to him and struck him twice or thrice in the face, and also struck Preston, and subsequently there was a battle raging between him and Preston, and then between Preston and Jem Ward, close to the referee. We have been further informed that if “time” was called, Burke refused to prolong the fight, alleging that Ward had struck him “foul” while on his second’s knee, and before the decision on the previous question had been given. With respect to all this, we confess we are unable to give an opinion; because we saw no part of it, being glad to escape from the overwhelming mass by which we were overborne. Our impression at the time was that the decision of the referee was conclusive, and that Burke was unable to come again, although, from the time occupied in the discussion, it is not improbable he might have recovered his wind and have once more met his man; still, in our opinion, with very little chance of turning the scale in his favour; but there is no calculating on the chapter of accidents. Ward walked from the ring in full vigour, and was seen walking about little the worse for wear, beyond the closure of his left eye, and we believe he would have seconded Corbett in the next fight had it been permitted. The Deaf’un was conducted to his carriage, and, like Ward, on recovering his wind was not materially damaged. He contended he was entitled to the stakes from Ward’s alleged foul conduct. Ward was so elated that he boldly challenged the winner of the coming great fight between Caunt and Brassey for £100――a challenge in which his brother Jem heartily joined.
REMARKS.――We must say that in this battle Burke exceeded our expectations――his condition was far superior to that in which he fought Bendigo, and his style of fighting was excellent. He no longer gave his head as heretofore, but got it well out of mischief, and stopped beautifully, until exhausted by the protracted character of Ward’s tactics, and the failure of his knee, on which he could not be persuaded to wear a cap, when he became slow, and was fatally exposed to Ward’s rapid and severe deliveries with his left. He fought manfully, and with no more than proper caution, and had Ward been disposed, would have joined issue in the first round. Ward, however, evidently fought to orders; both he and his friends knew that while Burke’s vigour was undiminished close contact was dangerous; and Ward has a very strong antipathy to punishment which can be avoided. This he showed, not only from his so long stopping out, but by his getting down at the end of the early rounds. The moment he saw he had got the Deaf’un safe, he threw off all reserve, and his youth, quickness, and vigour enabled him to gain an easy victory, which the increasing slowness and wildness of the Deaf’un rendered more certain. Of his courage, however, we cannot say much――he wants “that within which passeth show,” and will never make “a kill-devil.”
The very next day the following notice was served upon the stakeholder:――
“I do hereby give you notice not to deliver up the stakes to the opposite party in the fight between me and Nick Ward, as I hereby claim the same from having received foul blows from my opponent, Nick Ward, while on my second’s knee, and before ‘Time’ was called. One of the umpires bears evidence that the last statement is correct, as a friend of the other umpire (Nick Ward’s) had taken away the only watch used for time-keeping, while he and my second, Harry Preston, were appealing to the referee with respect to a prior foul blow. My reason for entering the protest is in order that a meeting may be obtained with the referee and an appointed number of friends of each party, so that a proper and just arbitration may be obtained. I shall be prepared at that meeting to produce affidavits in confirmation of what I assert. My backers hold you liable for the amount of the stakes.
“24th September, 1849. “(Signed) JAMES BURKE.”
To this is added the following certificate from Burke’s umpire:――
“NICK WARD AND BURKE.――I hereby declare that no ‘Time’ was called after the appeal to the referee.”
Thus it would seem that this affair came to a wrangle, one of the misfortunes which arise from the headstrong folly with which the surrounding spectators rush to the ring the moment a dispute arises. Had they kept their places, nothing could have been more simple than the issue. The umpires disagreeing, the referee would at once have said “fair” or “foul;” and in the former, as decidedly must have been the case in this instance, “time” would have been called, and the men would have fought on, or he who refused to walk to the scratch would have lost the battle. But now comes a new position, all owing to the irregularity described, and of which we are persuaded neither the umpires nor referee had any knowledge whatever, except from hearsay. The obtrusion of any person within the ring, or close to the ring, until the fight shall have been fairly decided, is obviously wrong, and its mischief is here clearly demonstrated. The matter was now hedged round with difficulty, the decision of which could only be given by the appointed referee, and as he could not see the act complained of, his judgment was founded on the evidence submitted to him.
This decision quickly came, and was in favour of Ward, to whom the stakes were duly paid over.
Ward was now at the top of the tree, and confidence in his powers seemed to have come with victory. After sundry cartels and haggling about preliminaries, Caunt having defeated Brassey in October, Nick challenged Caunt for the honour of the title of “Champion.” Ben responded, nothing loth, and the subjoined articles were formulated by “the high contracting plenipotentaries”:――
“Articles of Agreement entered into this 8th day of December, 1840, between Benjamin Caunt and Nicholas Ward――The said Ben Caunt agrees to fight the said Nick Ward, a fair stand-up fight, in a four-and-twenty foot roped ring, half minute time, within sixty miles of London, on Tuesday, the 2nd of February, 1841, for £100 a side, according to the provisions of the new rules. In pursuance of this agreement, £20 a side are now deposited; a second deposit of £10 a side to be made on Thursday, the 17th of December, at Young Dutch Sam’s; a third deposit of £10 a side on Monday, the 21st of December, at Peter Crawley’s; a fourth deposit of £10 a side, on Thursday, the 31st of December, at Jem Ward’s, Liverpool; a fifth deposit of £10 a side, on Friday, the 8th of January, 1841, at Owen Swift’s; a sixth deposit of £10 a side, on Thursday, the 14th of January, at Young Dutch Sam’s; a seventh deposit of £10 a side, on Monday, the 18th of January, at Peter Crawley’s; and the eighth and last deposit of £10 a side, on Thursday, the 28th of January, at the same house: the said deposits to be made between the hours of eight and ten in the evening, or the party failing to forfeit the money down. The choice of place to be decided at the last deposit by toss. The men to be in the ring between the hours of twelve and one o’clock, or the party absent to forfeit the battle-money, unless an earlier hour shall be mutually agreed upon at the last deposit, to which hour the same forfeiture shall be applicable. Two umpires and a referee to be chosen on the ground; in case of dispute the decision of the latter to be conclusive. Should magisterial interference take place, the stakeholder to name the next time and place of meeting, if possible on the same day. The use of resin or other powder to the hands during the battle to be considered foul, and the money not to be given up till fairly won or lost by a fight.
“Signed――for Caunt――PETER CRAWLEY. “Do., for Ward――SAMUEL EVANS.”
On the 23rd of February, then, this anxiously anticipated meeting took place, but resulted in a manner anything but satisfactory to the admirers of manly pugilism.
On the match being made, the men were quickly in training, Caunt under the wing of Peter Crawley, at Hatfield, near Barnet, and Nick Ward under the able supervision of Peter Taylor, near Liverpool. In point of condition there was no fault to be found; both were perfectly up to the mark, and in all respects judiciously prepared for their coming struggle.
According to the articles it was provided that the combat should take place within 60 miles of London. The choice of place was to be decided by toss, and this was won by the backer of Caunt, who named the vicinity of the Andover Road Station, on the Southampton Railway, as the place of meeting; thus imposing upon Nick Ward and his friends the necessity of coming a distance of upwards of 270 miles, after the Saturday morning, on which day only they could receive notice of the fixture. This circumstance produced a good deal of sore feeling among the Ward-ites, and on the morning of battle led to some angry expressions. We certainly think that the laws of “give and take” should have been observed in this instance, and that it was anything but considerate to have imposed so long a journey upon an honourable opponent. We believe that the selection rather arose from a desire to give “a turn” to the folks of Hampshire, than from any wish to take an unfair advantage of Ward. How this love of the “Hampshire hogs” was returned the vicissitudes hereafter described will show.
On the Sunday, Caunt and Hammer Lane, who were to exhibit in the same ring, arrived at the “Vine,” at Stockbridge, about ten miles from the Winchester Station, where they were joined by a select circle of their backers and friends, and on the day following Nick Ward and Sullivan (the opponent of Hammer Lane) reached the Andover Road Station, accompanied by Jem Ward, Peter Taylor, and other friends and admirers, to the great comfort of the railway officials, who obtained on that and the succeeding day a profitable accession of passengers. The owners of the houses of entertainment in the neighbourhood were not less delighted, but many, from the want of accommodation, proceeded to Winchester, where their patronage was equally acceptable. On Monday evening it was ascertained beyond a doubt that the “Hampshire hogs” were as stubborn as some of their namesakes in other counties, and the hostility of the beaks to the manly demonstrations of fair play in the Prize Ring was grunted forth by sundry official leaders of the rural police, by whom, however, it is due to say, every courtesy consistent with their situation was displayed. This fact created additional unpopularity towards the original author of the disappointment, who was not less mortified than his grumbling opponents. There was no help for it, however, and in the evening it was agreed that both parties should meet the next morning at the village of Sutton, about four miles from the station, there to determine on the line of march. The Caunt-ites having ascertained that the affair might come off without interruption in the county of Wilts, proposed an adjournment in that direction; but as this step would have carried the Ward-ites some 14 or 15 miles beyond the stipulated distance of 60 miles from London, they peremptorily refused to budge an inch across the limit laid down in the articles, and the road back towards London was the only direction in which they would consent to proceed. This was the state of things on Monday evening, and on Tuesday morning, at half-past ten, the village of Sutton displayed a dense congregation of all classes, from the high-titled nob to the wooden-soled chawbacon. Carriages of all sorts, from Winchester, Andover, Stockbridge, Odiham, and all the surrounding post-towns, as well as from London and elsewhere, were huddled together in tangled confusion, anxiously waiting to receive the authorised “office” as to the road they should take. Among these the Commissary, in a light chaise cart, with the indispensable materiel of his calling, occupied a prominent position, while the belligerents in their respective drags patiently waited the order for advance. Amidst the turmoil, the superintendent and the inspectors of the rural police, attended by a number of constables, some on horseback and some in chaise carts, were preparing to do their duty, and to see the expectant multitude fairly out of their jurisdiction.
A council of war having been held at the head inn, Crookham Common, on the borders of Berkshire, and within three and a half miles of Newbury, was finally agreed upon as the scene of action, a distance of upwards of sixteen miles, through a country not very agreeably distinguished by a succession of steep hills, the ascent and descent of which tended not a little to retard the speed of the travellers, and still more to try the mettle of the nags upon whom this additional labour was imposed, while hundreds of the ten-toed amateurs were altogether thrown out of the sport. At Whitchurch the inhabitants were rather astonished at the sudden incursion of the cavalcade. Here there was a general halt for refreshment for man and beast, and, most ominously, the carriage in which Hammer Lane was placed broke down; an unfortunate fracture which was imitated by many other vehicles, which, for this particular occasion, had been drawn from a retirement that previous wear and tear had led their owners to consider perpetual. After a short time “forward” was again the order of the day, and King’s Clere was reached in due course. Here was another halt, indispensable to men and cattle, and many of the jaded horses were for a time placed in stables, while the bonifaces received ample proofs of the beneficial effects resulting to the human appetite when whetted against the rough edge of a hard frost and a bracing atmosphere. It was now ascertained that the “land of promise” was within three miles of the village, and the Commissary was sent forward to make the necessary preparations for action, while the horses of the police, sharing the fate of their companions, were so knocked up that their masters determined to perform the rest of their journey to the verge of the county on foot, heartily sick of the ungracious office assigned them. In half an hour the general body made their final move, and, crossing the river Enborne, at last made their exit from the inhospitable county of Hants, and luckily sustained no further impediment. They reached the battle-field on Crookham Common about half-past three, quickly forming a spacious circle round the ring, which had been admirably prepared by the commissariat department. The ground was thinly covered with snow, and was as hard as adamant from the intensity of the frost, while a cutting breeze from the east, sweeping over the elevation on which the common is placed, left little ground of regret among those whose customary visits to their barbers had been neglected from the rapidity of their morning movements, as they were shaved free of cost. The assemblage, if not as numerous as might have been anticipated had not the move taken place, was in the honest sense of the word respectable, and many persons of bonâ fide distinction, both as to rank and station in society, studded the lively circle.
The umpires having been chosen, the difficulty of selecting a referee was presented in the same unpleasant aspect as in the then recent fight between Hannan and Broome,[23] but was at length got over, after a considerable argumentation, in the selection of a gentleman who, if not professionally engaged in the business of the Ring, was fully competent to decide any dispute which might arise, and who certainly discharged the duties of his unpleasant office with becoming firmness and determination, and, we must add, with perfect impartiality.
All being now prepared for combat, the men entered the ring, greeted by the cheers of their friends. Caunt came forward, attended by Tass Parker and Johnny Broome, all sporting their “yellow men,” while Nick Ward made his bow under the friendly introduction of Dick Curtis and Harry Holt, each of whom displayed a fogle of blue and white spots. The men instantly advanced, and shook hands with apparent good-humour, Ward looked rather serious, while Caunt exhibited a nonchalance and gaiety which proved that he regarded the coming engagement with anything but personal apprehension. The betting round the ring at this moment was 5 to 4 on Caunt, with ready takers; and the preliminaries having been fully adjusted, the joust commenced.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.――On getting into position, the scientific manner in which Ward presented himself, with his arms well up, prepared to stop with his right and shoot with his left, gave evident tokens of his being an accomplished member of the scientific school. Caunt also held his arms well up, but with a degree of awkwardness anything but calculated to lead the spectators to assume that he had taken his degree as a “Master of Arts.” He had evidently made up his mind to lose no time in commencing operations; he advanced upon his man, while Ward stepped back; Caunt, after a flourish or two of his mawleys, let fly with his left, but was stopped; Ward in return popped in his left and right slightly, and after a wild rally, in which neither hit with precision, and in which some slight returns were made, Ward’s left creating a blushing tinge on the big’un’s cheek, they closed, when Ward dropped, evidently disinclined to luxuriate in the embrace of his opponent.
2.――Again the big ’un came up ripe for mischief, and made play left and right, but was neatly stopped; Ward then popped in his left, catching his antagonist on the nose; both then fought merrily left and right, but there a want of precision in Ward’s deliveries, his left passing the head of Caunt like “the idle wind,” and from the slippery state of the ground it was obvious that neither could obtain firm footing. Nick, however, contrived to plant two or three left-handed pops, and the round concluded by both slipping down. (Loud and encouraging shouts for Ward, whose friends seemed to deem it necessary to cheer him on to hopes of victory.)
3.――Ward came up steady, prepared for the stop or the shoot. He waited for the attack, which was soon commenced by Caunt with vigorous but wild determination. He stopped left and right, but in his returns was short, his visitations not reaching their intended point of contact. Both in fact missed their blows, and no real mischief was done. Caunt rushed to a close, but Ward, still resolved to foil the grappling propensity of his opponent, slipped down.
4.――Caunt came up resolved to do, but wild and awkward in his mode of attack. Nick waited for him, his left ready to pop. Caunt hit out with his left, but missed, and Nick in the return was out of distance. Counter-hitting with the left. Both stopped intended visitations. Heavy exchanges left and right, in which Caunt caught a stinger on the forehead and the nose, from the former of which blood was drawn, and declared for Ward amidst deafening shouts and exclamations of “It’s all your own!” A wild rally followed, in which Caunt caught Ward a crack on the nob with his right. In the close Caunt caught Ward in his arms, but he again went down.
5.――Caunt tried a feint to draw his man, but Nick was too leary. He preserved his own position, evidently determined to nail his man with the left on coming in. Caunt, impatient, hit out wildly left and right, Nick broke ground and got away. On again getting to work Nick planted his left on Caunt’s eye, slight exchanges followed, but no serious impression was made, and Ward’s left passed over Caunt’s shoulder. In Caunt’s deliveries there was neither force nor accuracy. Ward getting nearer his man succeeded in planting a rap on his proboscis. Caunt instantly seized him in his arms and was about to fib, when Ward endeavoured to get down, but the big ’un held him too firmly, and fell heavily upon him.
6.――On coming up Caunt exhibited symptoms of visitations to his nose and eye, as well as to his forehead, but still no material damage had been effected. Ward led off with his left, but the hit was short, and was attended with little effect. Caunt again closed, determined to give his man the benefit of a Nottinghamshire hug, but Ward frustrated his intention by dropping on his knees. At the moment Caunt, determined to give him a compliment as he fell, let fly his right, which did not reach its destination (Ward’s lug) till Ward’s knees had actually reached the ground. (There was an immediate cry of “foul!” and the partisans of Ward, as well as his second, rushed to the referee to claim the battle. This was decidedly in opposition to the new rules, which prescribe that all such appeals shall be made to the umpires, and by them to the referee, and that no other person whatever shall presume to interfere. Amidst the turmoil and confusion of intimidation the referee remained silent until the umpires declared they disagreed, and when the question was then put to him deliberately pronounced “fair,” believing, as he said he did, that the blow was unintentional, and had commenced its flight before Ward was actually on the ground. All cavil was now at an end, and the fight proceeded; the friends of Caunt earnestly entreating that he would be cautious of what he was about, and be particularly careful in avoiding the repetition of the blow, which the falling system of Ward might unintentionally lead him to administer.)
7.――Caunt came up as fresh as a sucking bull, and pregnant with deeds of mischief. Ward waited for him steadily, and let fly his left, catching Caunt slightly on the mug. Caunt hit wildly left and right, but missed; he then closed, again catching Ward in his forceps. Ward, however, renewed his dropping system, and slipped from between his arms on his knees, his hands up. While in this position, evidently down, Caunt instantaneously drew back his right hand, and hit him twice on the side of the head. The shout of “Foul!” was immediately renewed with redoubled ardour, and a simultaneous appeal was again made to the referee by some dozen persons who crowded round him, all vociferously demanding confirmation of their own impressions. This indecorous and disgraceful dictation was again manfully resisted by the referee, who, waiting with firmness till calmness was restored, listened to the appeal from the proper authorities, and pronounced the last blows to be “foul;” observing that Ward was clearly down upon both knees when the blows were delivered. Shouts of congratulation forthwith hailed Ward as the conqueror; a result which filled him with delight: and he quitted the ring with joyous satisfaction, scarcely exhibiting a mark of the conflict in which he had been engaged. Indeed of punishment he did not afford a specimen worth mentioning. The fight lasted but twelve minutes, and terminated at three minutes after four o’clock.
The backer of Caunt was naturally irritated at this disappointment of his hopes, and, sustained by the authority of an old ring-goer, contended that the decision of the referee, however honourably given, was in opposition to the rules of the Ring, for that by those rules it was provided, that it was necessary a man should have his hand on the ground, as well as both knees, before a blow given could be pronounced foul; and in this persuasion he said he should give notice to the stakeholder not to part with the stakes or the bets till the point was deliberately settled. The referee said he had given his decision with perfect impartiality, and he believed with perfect justice. In confirmation of which he turned to a copy of Fistiana, which he had in his possession, and quoted from thence (page 29) the 7th at Broughton’s Rules, which provides, “That no person is to hit his adversary when he is down, or seize him by the ham, the breeches, or any part below the waist; a man on his knees to be reckoned down.” He then quoted the 14th of the New Rules of the Ring (page 65), which provides, in the same spirit, “That a blow struck when a man is thrown, or down, shall be deemed foul. That a man with one hand and one knee on the ground, or with both knees on the ground, shall be deemed down; and a blow given in either of these positions shall be considered foul; providing always, that when in such position, the man so down shall not strike, or attempt to strike.” The articles having been framed according to the New Rules, this reference must be conclusive. It was contended, that in the battle between Tom Belcher and Dutch Sam, the Pugilistic Club had decided that a blow given when a man was on his knees, with both hands up, was not foul; but, as there was no written record of this decision, and as it is opposed both to Broughton’s Rules and the New Rules, the argument can have no weight, and the stakes, however easily and unsatisfactorily won, were of right given to Ward.
REMARKS.――Ward, in purchasing this almost bloodless victory, did not add much to his reputation. That he was entitled to the reward of conquest cannot be denied; but the opportunities of testing his improved qualities and courage were so limited, that it would be worse than hypocrisy to say he offered any peculiar claims to high praise. That he is more scientific than his opponent cannot be doubted; but it must be admitted that on comparing his tactics with the steady and cutting precision of his brother Jem, he has yet much to learn. Many of his blows were short, while others, well-intentioned, missed their aim――a circumstance probably to be ascribed to the slippery state of the ground, and the unsteady manœuvres of his opponent. Whether, if the fight had been prolonged, he would have improved upon acquaintance, we cannot foresee. Regarding his courage, no particular exception can be taken, for although going down or trying to go down in every round is unsightly in the eyes of the spectators, and has the semblance of being opposed to the commonplace notions of a fair stand-up fight, yet, according to the 12th of the New Rules, it will be seen that such an expedient is allowable; that rule provides “that it shall be a fair stand-up fight; and if either man shall wilfully throw himself down without receiving a blow, he shall be deemed to have lost the battle: but this rule shall not apply to a man who in a close slips down from the grasp of his opponent to avoid punishment.” Here blows had been exchanged, and Ward obviously slipped down to avoid the punishment which Caunt had determined to administer. Moreover, it was to avoid the hugging end being borne on to the ropes which Ward evaded by slipping from the intended embrace. With regard to Caunt, we attribute the loss of the battle to his uncontrollable impetuosity. That he would have been defeated in fair fight by his accomplished antagonist is by no means a settled point, for although he showed marks of tapping, he was quite as fresh and vigorous as when he commenced, and was quite as likely to win in the last as he was in the first round. He has still, however, much to learn; he wants steadiness and precision, and the wildness with which he hits defeats his own object. In the use of his left, as well as in stopping, he has certainly improved, and we think, as his experience increases, he may become a greater adept in the art. He must learn to curb his impetuosity, and preserve that presence of mind the absence of which so speedily led to the downfall of his hopes in this case. So persuaded was he that he could have won, that immediately after judgment had been given against him, he declared he would make a fresh match, and post the whole hundred of his own money. It is singular that in his fights with Bendigo and Brassey he seldom lost a due command over his temper, although both these men pursued the same course of getting down as Ward. With regard to Brassey, his gift of punishment is far more severe than that of Ward, as the evidence of Caunt’s carved frontispiece on the former occasion sufficiently testified.
Here, once again, we will ask the reader to take our arm and stroll away from plain prose into the pleasant path of poetry, by presenting him with a Chant of the Ring about――
NICK WARD AND CAUNT.
Hurrah for the Ring and the bunch of fives! Like a giant refreshed the Ring revives, It awakens again to vigorous life To scare the assassin and crush the knife; Then welcome to earth as the flowers in spring Be the glory renew’d of the Boxing Ring, And over each British boxer brave, Long may the banner of fair play wave.
Let Puritans sour in accents shrill Rave against Fistiana still, And owl-faced beaks shake the nob and vow To their fiat stern the Ring shall bow; Let lobsters raw with their truncheons roar “Disperse” to the pugilistic corps―― The pinks of the Prize Ring, in freedom nurs’d Shall tell them undaunted to do their worst――
Shall proclaim to the traps ’tis weak and vain To seek the brave boxer to restrain; And better ’twould be by far to grab Those who settle disputes by a mortal stab: By Heaven, ’tis sufficient to make us blush For those who are seeking fair play to crush, To extinguish courage, and skill, and game, And in letters of blood stamp England’s shame.
Keen is the morning, the glittering snow Mantles the hills and the vales below, The landscape around is bleak and bare, Chill’d by the nipping and frosty air; The north-east cold over land and sea Is whistling a sharp, shrill melody; But the sun is up, and the morning bright, So hasten, brave boys, to the field of fight.
This day will decide whether Caunt or Nick In the shape of conquest shall do the trick―― This day shall to Fancy lads declare Which hero the Champion’s belt shall wear―― Whether Ben, the athletic, of giant limb, Shall yield to young Ward, or Nick to him, And after contention fierce and tough Which combatant first shall sing “enough.”
From slumber rouse, let no time be lost, Forward for Stockbridge through snow and frost, Near which, when with creature comfort warmed, Shall the stakes be pitch’d and the ring be form’d. Strong was the muster upon that day Of plebeians low and Corinthians gay, But the beaks for Hants had in anger vow’d No mill in their county should be allow’d.
Looks of despair the Fancy put on, And determin’d to make a move to Sutton, And thither hasten’d the fistic ranks, With policemen hanging upon their flanks; Then Captain Robbins, with gaze intense, Cried, “Gentlemen, meaning no offence, You mustn’t attempt, or I’m a liar, To settle your matters in this here shire.”
Now suppose the Fancy, each peril pass’d, As Crookham Common arriv’d at last, Prepar’d for superior milling works Without meddling traps in the shire of Berks: Suppose the men in position plac’d. With arms well up and with muscle brac’d, Each champion seeming resolved to win, For the love of glory, as well as tin!
But, ah! it is useless to recite The details of this brief and no-go fight, What pepper Nick dealt on the giant’s mug, And how Caunt return’d with a Russian hug; How Nick, though on serious mischief bent, Dropp’d down to steer clear of punishment; And how big Caunt, though in tip-top plight, Hit his foe on his knees and lost the fight.
Yet hurrah for the Ring and the bunch of fives! Like a giant refresh’d the Ring revives, It awakens again to vigorous life To scare the assassin and crush the knife: Then welcome to earth as the flowers in spring Be the glory renew’d of the Fighting Ring, And over each British boxer brave Long may the banner of fair play wave.
On the Thursday evening of the ensuing week, on the occasion of the giving up of the stakes, which took place at Young Dutch Sam’s, in Vinegar Yard, Drury Lane, Big Ben and his friends were “all there,” and a “motion for a new trial” was made and agreed to on both sides. The articles, which were settled in the following week, will be found in a former page of this volume, in the Memoir of CAUNT, who “reversed the former verdict” on the 11th of May, 1841, at Long Marsden, in thirty-five rounds, occupying forty-seven minutes.
This was Nick’s “Waterloo,” and his last appearance on any field. He became a publican, first in Liverpool, and then in London, and on the 17th of February, 1850, departed this life, at the “King’s Head,” Compton Street, Soho, the victim of a pulmonary attack.
[22] A detailed biography of this remarkable boxer will be found in the Author’s “RECOLLECTIONS OF THE RING,” vol. i. “Pencilling,” III.
[23] See Recollections of the Ring and Pencillings of Pugilists. No. IX. JOHNNY BROOME.
VI. NATHANIEL LANGHAM
1843-1857.
“Take him for all in all,” the subject of this chapter, as a middle-weight, was “a man” of whom might be safely said “we shall not look upon his like again.” He was of the weight so often described by the “old school” as the “unlucky 11 stone; too heavy for the light, and too light for the heavy ones.” Yet at that weight it is indisputable that the finest specimens of skill, strength, and activity have been developed, where courage and endurance have been duly combined, “to give the world assurance of a man.”
Nathaniel Langham was born in May, 1820, at Hinckley in Leicestershire; his height 5 feet 10 inches, and weight, as already stated, 11 stone. Nat’s earlier years were passed as a country labourer’s are usually. In his boyish days he worked in the fields, and as soon as he was fitted, made his way into Leicester, where he was engaged by a tradesman, as he himself has told us, to “deliver goods with a horse and cart.” While in this town he attained, in the years 1841-1843, an insight into the more scientific manœuvres of the art pugilistic, for which he had a natural taste and instinctive aptitude, being much praised by Dick Cain, who often encouraged him to “put on the mittens” with rural roughs who might fancy their fistic abilities, and who gave Nat the best of tactical advice and instruction. Notwithstanding this episode of town life, it is certain that in February, 1843, Langham was again at his native village of Hinckley, for in Bell’s Life of February 12th we find the following paragraph, recording the first Ring fight of our hero:――
“A fight came off on Thursday last, near Hinckley, Leicestershire, between Nathaniel Langham, of Hinckley, and William Ellis, of Sabcote (an adjacent village), for £5 a side. The men were of pretty equal proportions, each standing a little under six feet, but, if anything, Ellis is the larger man; he is an old fighter, and was considered by his backers (though they must now be convinced to the contrary) invincible. Langham, too, has appeared in the Ring before, and distinguished himself as a man of no small talent as regards his milling capabilities. The fight took place about eleven o’clock, when both men went to work hard and fast, Langham hitting well at his man, and getting his blows home. Ellis was unable to hit his antagonist with effect, and at the expiration of the eighth round showed his sense by giving in, having his peepers most effectually darkened, his lips cut, and other very visible marks of heavy and frequent visitations from Langham’s skilfully directed ‘fives.’”
Nat after this took his way to the great mart for all rising talent, the Metropolis, landing at Ben Caunt’s early in 1844. On the 7th of May in that year Langham found himself one of a pugilistic party, headed by Ben Caunt, on board of the “Nymph” steamer, outward bound in search of a convenient battle-field for the settlement of the “difference of opinion” between Joe Bostock (a former opponent of Johnny Broome) and Turner, the “Wychwood Forester.” This affair disposed of, by Bostock winning in thirty-four minutes, a purse was collected for “an afterpiece.” Thereupon Tom Lowe, a stalwart coal-whipper of some repute as conqueror in various bye-battles, and who afterwards beat Hurley at 12 stone, presented himself. Nat proposed to answer the challenger, and “Big Ben” gave his approval of the experiment. D’Orsay Turner, and Mike Driscoll seconded Langham, Jack Cullen and Ned Adams picking up Lowe. The battle was a curious, scrambling affair, according to the meagre paragraph which is afforded to it in Bell’s Life. In fact, it is within our knowledge that the reporter on this occasion had left the ring and gone aboard the steamer before it was known that a second fight was arranged. In the 43rd round, when Lowe was said to have “the best of the battle” (?) we are told, “On getting up from his corner Lowe, much to the surprise of most parties, went up to his adversary, and shaking hands with him, declined fighting any more; Langham was of course proclaimed the victor, after fighting 50 minutes.” We suspect the verbal amateur reporter of this affair did not know so much about Nat Langham’s capabilities as Mr. Lowe had found out during the 50 minutes he had faced him. At any rate, Caunt was so satisfied with his “novice’s” display that he offered to back him for £25 against any man of his weight. Langham also put forth a challenge to fight Joe Bostock, the conqueror in this day’s battle, “for £25, to meet within six weeks of signing articles;” but Johnny Broome, who was behind Bostock, and than whom in his day there was no better judge, having availed himself of an opportunity of trying Nat with the gloves, would not have the engagement at any price, and so the affair came to nought. A clear twelvemonth now elapsed before Nat could meet with a customer, although we find him offering himself as a candidate for pugilistic honours at 11 stone, and give 7lb., for £25; money ready at “The Lion,” at Hinckley, or the “Coach and Horses,” St. Martin’s Lane.
In the month of June, 1845, Langham being then under the wing of Ben Caunt, an outsider presented himself at the Champion’s hostelrie, and in the course of conversation announced himself as “Doctor” Campbell; he was soon recognised as the successful opponent of Ben Hart, in a punishing fight of seventy-one rounds, which took place on the 3rd of November, 1842, in the Kentish marshes. A bout with the gloves with “brother Bob” (certainly no great “trial-horse”) was followed by the “Doctor,” who weighed close on 12 stone, declaring himself to be “in want of a job,” whereon Nat suggested to his patron Ben that he thought he could accommodate the “Doctor” by giving him a few pounds’ weight and a beating. Ben, who was ever close-fisted, offered to put down a “fiver” for Nat; and, as the “Doctor’s” friends were not flush of money, that modest sum remained without increase until the 12th of June, when Big Ben, as M.C., taking advantage of the hiring of a steamer for a more important “excursion,” shipped his man Nat, and conveyed him to the battle-field at Rainham Ferry, at which place “Doctor” Campbell and friends were in waiting. No contemporary report of the rounds is extant, but we know from eye-witnesses that Nat, though with small preparation, in the short space of thirty-five minutes so used his left “pickaxe”――as it was afterwards expressively termed by no less a master of arts than Tom Sayers himself――that the “Doctor” was completely “physicked.” In the 27th round he “retired from professional practice,” entirely disabled, and declined further contest, and never again showed within the ropes of the P.R.
Dan Hagerty, who had beaten Bill Amos, Jack Johnston, and subsequently the hard-hitting Aby Durell, was challenged by Nat for £25 a side; but Dan’s backers, after some conference, thought it best to leave the Leicester man alone, and a sov. down was forfeited.
Nat now retired into country quarters, and we next hear of him as matched with a boxer of great local renown, hight George Gutteridge, of Bourne, in Lincolnshire. Gutteridge, who was born in 1823, stood 5 feet 9 inches, and weighed 11 stone 7 lbs., began his rising career in April, 1845, by beating, in 23 sharp rounds, George Graham (known as the “Potter”); this he followed in June, 1846, by defeating Macdonald, of Derby (the conqueror of Jem Bailey and several others), in a slashing fight of thirty-five minutes, in which 31 rattling rounds were contested. About this time we saw Gutteridge in London, at Caunt’s, and a more likely young fellow for wear and tear, his pluck being undoubted, we have seldom seen. His skill as a fighter, like all rural champions, was, of course, ridiculously overrated; and when Ben pointed him out to us as “that’s the chap that’s matched against Langham, what do you think of him?” there was a sort of hesitancy in the Champion’s tone, that expressed anxious doubt for the safety of the “quarter of a hundred,” besides “training ex’s,” which he had invested on the “wager of battle.” Caunt having received £7 from Gutteridge’s friends, for the right of naming the place of meeting, Mr. Banton’s, New Inn, at Bourne, South Lincolnshire, was named as the rendezvous, and thither on the overnight of the battle, Tuesday, June 9th, 1846, Caunt, with Langham and friends, repaired. At 8 a.m. the men went to scale, Langham drawing 11 stone, Gutteridge 11 stone 8 lbs. Langham looked thin but hard, as if somewhat overtrained. Gutteridge showed wonderfully strong, though a trifle fleshy. An excellent ring was formed at South Farm Pastures, about three miles from Bourne, and around it was grouped a large attendance of the gentry, yeomen, farmers, and labourers, with a sprinkling of sporting men from Leicestershire and the Midlands. The order, good-temper, and we might say decorum of the assembly, and the conduct of the spectators throughout the fight, were an example to such gatherings which we despair in these days to see imitated, either down rail or river. Langham had for his seconds Dan Bufton and John Gill; Gutteridge was excited on by Homer Howden and his former antagonist “Potter George” (Graham). The colours, a canary yellow for Langham, and a blue and white spot for Gutteridge, being tied to the stakes, the men shook hands cheerfully, and the battle began, the current odds being 6 and 7 to 4 on Gutteridge.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.――The attitude of Nat was by far the more artistic, though that of the Lincolnshire man was by no means awkward or constrained; yet he held his arms too close and across to deliver at a well-judged distance; accordingly, after a little sparring just to feel his way, Nat popped in a couple of such sharp facers, jumping back from the return, that the question of “first blood” was settled almost in the first hit, the crimson fluid trickling from Gutteridge’s left optic. The Lincoln man, who was evidently no flincher, went in ding-dong, Langham retreating perforce from his determined rush, but delivering two or three cutting left-handers on his assailant’s frontispiece before he went down at the ropes on the saving suit.
2.――Nat came up cool as a cucumber, with no visible marks of hitting save a red bump on his left cheek-bone, and a slight flush of colour which rather improved his complexion. Gutteridge, on the contrary, had a gaping cut over the right eye, a prominent blue mouse under the left optic, and his teeth were tinged from his cut lip. He rattled in undismayed, but got little by the motion, the balance of the exchanges being all in favour of Leicester. In a close, however, he gripped Master Nat, and embracing him, showed his superior strength by forcing him down and falling on him heavily. (Cheering for Gutteridge.)
3.――Nat dodging in, and then retreating, to get his man to follow. Gutteridge, by advice of his seconds, refusing to do so, Nat woke him up by twice visiting his left eye clean over his guard, whereupon Gutteridge, stung by these long shots, rushed to close quarters, and after taking a prop or two fought Nat down in his own corner. (The Lincoln man’s friends in high glee.)
4 to 10.――Langham seemed steady and cool, and none the worse for Mr. Gutteridge’s lunges, and the rapid rallies which followed at close quarters. Not so Gutteridge, whose portrait was gradually painted in crimson by a master-hand. Though there was active fighting on both sides, there was a somewhat tedious similarity in the rounds, Langham improving his lead in every bout, and Gutteridge failing in most cases, in clenching his adversary for the throw.
From the 11th to the 50th round Gutteridge showed himself dangerous, and with unflinching game every now and then raised the hopes of his partisans by remaining on his legs after severe exchanges of blows, then walking to his corner to seat himself on his second’s knee, while Nat, husbanding his strength, was tenderly carried, often sedan fashion, by his careful attendants to his appointed resting-place.
In the 51st round, to the surprise of all, Langham seemed to recover second wind; perceiving the shaky state of his brave opponent, he assumed the offensive, and delivered half a dozen hits left and right at arm’s length, the last of which sent down Gutteridge in his corner all of a heap; the first fair knock down. From this point the rounds became short, poor Gutteridge gradually losing almost every glimpse of daylight, coming up round after round until the 93rd, when, perceiving the last chance of his man had vanished, Hodgkiss threw up the sponge in Gutteridge’s corner in token of defeat, and Nat was hailed the victor of the day, after a severe contest of one hour and twenty-five minutes of active and actual fighting; Langham’s superiority as a boxer being evident from first to last.
At the giving up of the stakes at Caunt’s on the following Thursday, Angelo, of Windsor, was backed against Langham for £50 a side, but the match went off, Gutteridge’s backer posting a small deposit for a second encounter, which was covered on the part of Langham, who afterwards received forfeit, the Lincolnshire friends of the former considering the first judgment of the referee not likely to be reversed on a new trial.
William Sparkes, a hardy Australian, having fought his way to fame at the Antipodes, and made the voyage to the Old Country, in further search of “the bubble reputation,” was introduced in the early part of 1847 to the London Ring, under the patronage of Johnny Broome, and that ’cute observer at once commended him to his Corinthian visitors, as “just the sort of man to polish off Master Nat,” who, in the estimate of Johnny, “was dangerously clever, but had no constitution.” Sparkes, at this time, was certainly a fine, hardy specimen of a “corn-stalk” as could be seen in a summer’s day. Twenty-six years of age, firmly put together, round-limbed, muscular, and active, and not only bringing with him a belt as a pugilist, but also a trophy won by his fleetness of foot as a pedestrian “champion,” he was certainly a “representative man,” so far as Australian prowess was in question. With him, then, Langham was matched, as champion of the honour of the Old Country, for £50 a side, and Tuesday, May 4th, 1847, was fixed for the final settlement of the question.
On that day, at an early hour, the “Nymph” being chartered for the voyage, the party embarked from the now-abolished Hungerford Market Pier, and thence dropped down to Blackwall, where, on the Brunswick Pier, a goodly muster of the Fancy had assembled, and where, also, a coal-tug or two, laden with “Cheapside” customers, were in waiting to follow in the wake of the Fancy “flag-ship.” From some petty jealousy, into the cause of which we do not care to inquire, Tom Spring, Peter Crawley, and a group of Corinthians here shipped themselves on board the regular Gravesend passenger-boat, instead of taking tickets by the chartered “Fancy” craft. Johnny Broome, who was in command, suppressed any mortification he might have felt, but did not the less determine to balance accounts with the Separatists, as the sequel will show. The “Nymph” cast off from the Blackwall Pier, and led the way towards Charlton, where Langham was taken on board, having been trained by Robinson (“Caunt’s Pet”), near Dartford; the Australian had already been shipped at Hungerford. While we lay-to off Charlton Pier, the Gravesend boat, with the two crowded tugs in attendance, pursued their downward course. Soon after, as the “Nymph,” at half-speed, was nearing Erith, Johnny Broome called “a council of war,” wherein he announced his resolution to disappoint those who had shown such a want of that unanimity which we had so often publicly advocated on these occasions. He proposed that we should “about ship,” and make a return voyage, leaving the “secessionists,” including the “tuggites” and the Gravesend passengers, to the enjoyment of their excursion, without the prospect of seeing the day’s mill, from the appointed and legitimate mode of being present at which they had thus wilfully disentitled themselves. His arguments were unanswerable. The bow of the “Nymph” was quickly put up stream, the tide was flowing, and back we went; indeed, almost before the downward voyagers were aware of our change of course, we were steaming through the Pool, and thence pursued our way, never stopping until Nine Elms Pier was reached. There the men and their friends disembarked, and, availing themselves of a train by the South Western Railway, proceeded to Woking Common. On arriving, the Commissary and assistants quickly prepared a ring, on the ground where Barnash and Martin fought a fortnight previous; and in half an hour, the party having refreshed themselves meantime at a neighbouring hostelrie, a select party of about one hundred spectators surrounded the roped enclosure, heartily laughing at “the sell” practised upon the “Secesh,” who had cut themselves off by their own want of esprit du corps from witnessing the fight. Among the disappointed were some “knowing ones,” who, in those days of “pigeon expresses,” had carried down their feathered messengers, with the view of conveying to their London confederates the first news of the battle and its result.
At half-past two o’clock the combatants entered the lists; Langham esquired by D’Orsay Turner and Barnash, Sparkes seconded by Sam Simmonds (of Birmingham) and Joe Rowe. The “sestette” shook hands in a friendly manner, and the men proceeded to their toilettes, while umpires and a referee were chosen. All preliminaries being adjusted, and the colours (white with a scarlet border for Sparkes, and a blue birdseye for Langham) knotted to the stake, the men toed the scratch for
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.――On throwing themselves into position, the advantage on the part of Langham as to height and length was obvious to all, while the brawny frame of the Australian showed him to be the more powerful of the two. He stood with his left arm straight out from the shoulder, with his right hand well up, his body being inclined backwards in an extraordinary manner. Langham threw his arms about quickly, as if to put the Australian off his guard, but in vain. At length Langham led off with his right, which was twice cleverly stopped. Sparkes made play, catching Langham slightly on the side of the jaw with his left. Langham again tried his left, but was again stopped. In another attempt he was more successful, and caught the Australian on the nose slightly. Sparkes closed, delivered two good body blows, and both were down. (The opinion round the ring was that the Australian was far from being the “novice” that he was anticipated to be.)
2.――Langham led off at the nose with his left, and got on smartly. Sparkes returned heavily with his right on the body and side of the head with his left, knocking Langham off his legs. (First knock-down for Sparkes, amidst some astonishment.)
3.――Langham immediately led off, getting slightly home on the body. Sparkes dashed in, hit up on the forehead, then fibbed his man in the ribs with the right, and Langham got down.
4.――Langham made play and worked in at his man, who got cleverly away. Sparkes then went to him, delivered his favourite body blow, Langham staggered back against the ropes, and got down.
5.――No hesitation on either side; Sparkes stopped two well-intended compliments from his adversary’s left. Counter-hits exchanged, Sparkes getting it on the nose twice, but without impression. Langham slipped down.
6.――Sparkes tried his left and right, but was short in both attempts. Langham jobbed him in the left cheek heavily, and got down in the half-arm hitting, evidently not anxious to test the strength of his adversary in a close.
7.――Langham led off with his left, but Sparkes met him with a heavy hit on the body, and Langham went down.
8.――Langham again tried to lead off, but the Australian was as quick as himself, countered him in the forehead, Langham getting in sharply, at a well-judged distance, on his adversary’s nose, from which he displaced the bark, and drew first blood. Sparkes delivered his right heavily on the ribs, knocking Langham down for the second time.
9.――Langham first to fight, catching Sparkes on the side of his nose, Sparkes returning heavily on the chest and ribs with both hands, and Langham down.
10.――The men rushed together, and after a slight exchange of hits, Langham slipped down.
11.――Langham commenced by delivering his left heavily on Sparkes’s left eye. Sparkes caught him on the forehead with his left, on the body with his right, and Langham got down.
12.――Langham delivered on the left cheek, received a slight body blow, and got down. Sparkes by far the stronger man.
13.――Good body blows were exchanged. Langham then planted upon his adversary’s nose with his left; Sparkes let fly at the body, and Langham was again down.
14 and 15.――Sparkes forced the fighting, but Langham jobbed him heavily as he came in. Sparkes delivered very slightly on the ribs, and Langham got down leary. [The fighting was extremely quick, no round having lasted half a minute. Fourteen minutes had now elapsed.]
16.――Langham got well in on the side of the head with his left twice as Sparkes tried to bore in. Counter-hits exchanged, Sparkes napping it on the nose, and Langham on the body. The latter then slipped down.
17.――Good counter-hits and a sharp rally; a close, in which Langham fibbed his man in the head, and after a short struggle both were down, Sparkes this time under.
18.――Sparkes led off, getting in one on the ribs with his right, and his left on the forehead, but too short to be effective. Langham seemed to have got the measure of his man; he jobbed him heavily in the left eye and on the cheek, and got down.
19 to 21.――Similar to the last. Rapid fighting, Sparkes occasionally putting in a body blow, Langham jobbing him severely in the head, and getting down in the close.
22.――Langham led off with his left, catching the Australian heavily on the side of his head; Sparkes returned on the nose, but not heavily. Langham then planted his left severely on Sparkes’s right cheek, drawing the claret. Sparkes closed, threw his man, and fell over him.
23.――Langham tried to open with sparring on the defensive, but Sparkes forced the fighting. Heavy exchanges left and right, those of Langham drawing more blood from Sparkes’s cheek and eye, Sparkes still fighting at the body. Langham eventually got down.
24 to 32.――Langham took the lead in these rounds, Sparkes hitting with less precision; Nat repeatedly jobbed his man heavily in the face, but Sparkes was thorough game, and would not be denied; he occasionally put in a body blow which sounded all over the ring; Sparkes’s left eye was fast closing, and his right cheek showed marks of punishment. In the 32nd round, in a rally, Langham caught the Australian a severe blow with his right on the left ear, from which the blood was quickly seen to flow. Langham showed no marks beyond a slight swelling on his forehead, and a redness about his ribs. So quick was the fighting that only 32 minutes had been occupied up to the close of this round.
33.――Sparkes changed his style a little and hit higher, declining to be drawn on. He sent his right well home on Langham’s jaw; Langham returned with his left on the left eye-brow, which he cut. Sparkes then got in his right on Langham’s left eye, on which he raised a slight mouse. Langham got down in an attempt by Sparkes to close.
34 and 35.――Langham met his man as he came in with well-directed jobs, the Australian still fighting at the body. In the latter round he closed, and threw Langham, falling on him.
36.――Counter-hits; Langham catching his adversary heavily on the left ear, again drawing blood. Sparkes rushed in, delivered his favourite body blow, and again knocked Nat clean off his legs.
37.――Langham came up slow, the last hit had evidently shaken him. Sparkes rushed at him to follow up his advantage, but Langham stopped him right and left, got away, and ultimately slipped down.
38.――Langham, still keeping away, propped the Australian as he came in, and got down.
39.――Langham had not yet recovered himself from the visitation in the 36th round, but Sparkes could not get the lead, as his man not only stopped cleverly, but got away immediately he went to him, and eventually slipped down.
From this to the 58th round the same style of fighting was continued; the men commenced work immediately on arriving at the scratch. Sparkes’s body blows came in occasionally with great force, but some were stopped by Langham very prettily, and the latter recovering his strength, he jobbed his man severely in the head. Sparkes’s right eye was following suit with his left, which was quite closed, and blood was drawn every round from his ear or cheek. The rounds were almost invariably finished by Langham going down to avoid the struggle and throw. In the 50th round, after a few rattling exchanges, Sparkes, for the fourth time, sent his man to grass, with a heavy right-handed hit in the ribs.
59 to 61.――Langham propped his man heavily as he attempted to come in. Sparkes, however, fought with unflinching courage, and would not retreat, and often bored Nat down.
62.――Langham got home on Sparkes’s neck, Sparkes returned on the ribs. A close followed, in which Langham was down, with Sparkes on him. Sparkes unfortunately had his right arm under his man, who fell heavily on it, and, as it afterwards appeared, broke the bone of his forearm. On coming up for the 63rd round, Sparkes held his right arm up, but was quickly compelled to drop it, from the pain he suffered. Langham went in and milled away until the Australian went down. From this to the 67th and last round Sparkes came up bravely, keeping his right arm close to his side, and attempted to plant upon his man with his left; it was of course in vain. Langham was too good a strategist to be planted on, and working in with both hands upon the game fellow in each round, punishing him until he went down. He was repeatedly asked by his seconds to give in, but in vain; his game was such that he almost disdained to sit on his second’s knee until the call of time. At length, in the 67th round, Johnny Broome entered the ring and threw up his hat in token of defeat, after a contest of 68 minutes, and even then it was with the greatest difficulty that Sparkes’s seconds could prevent his rising and rushing at his man to have another “shy.” A gamer or more fearless boxer never entered the Ring.
REMARKS.――Langham in this contest confirmed the opinion we entertained of his former fight with Gutteridge. He is a clever, scientific fighter, good on his legs, and a heavy hitter; and although the practice of getting down is anything but commendable, still, with a determined adversary, possessing superior bodily powers, every allowance must be made for the caution of a wily general. He evidently saw that to struggle with such a man as Sparkes would be attended with no advantage to himself, and he therefore determined not to throw a chance away. His superior length, and his quickness in meeting the Australian hero as he came in, in a great measure protected his mug from damage; but the fact of his leaving the ring with scarcely a scratch was mainly to be attributed to the style of Sparkes, who, when he fought at the head, invariably hit too high to do damage. Sparkes proved himself one of the gamest fellows that ever pulled off a shirt; he is a hard hitter, and stops with great neatness; but in Langham he contended with an adversary who had the advantage of him in every respect except in strength and courage (the latter attribute was not, however, wanting in either man). Notwithstanding the severe punishment he received about the head, however, he came up as strong on his legs at the end as at the commencement of the fight, and in almost every round declined all assistance of his seconds to carry him to his corner. Had it not been for the accident to his arm in the 65th round, the contest would, no doubt, have lasted longer, possibly with a different result. As to style, however, Langham was the superior fighter. The affair concluded, all returned to town per train, and “The Nymph,” in attendance at Nine Elms, conveyed her cargo to the port whence they embarked. The battle money was given to Langham at Ben Caunt’s. This is the first time that Sparkes was beaten, having fought in and out of the ring in N.S.W. with several men. His last four adversaries were Chas. Wooten, of Nottingham (N.S.W.), for £25 a side; Joe Marshall, of the same place, for £50 a side; Bill Davis, of Liverpool (N.S.W.), for £100 a side (after the conquest of whom he received his belt); and “Tom the brewer,” for £100 a side.
The stakes were presented to Langham at Ben Caunt’s, when a collection was made for the losing man. This was considerably augmented on the Friday week following at a benefit given to Sparkes at Johnny Broome’s. Of course the “tuggites,” and some of those thrown out by Johnny’s strategic movement on the previous Tuesday, were loud in their denunciations of his “shameful conduct,” as it was termed. At these Johnny laughed, while the sporting Press reminded them that “they had only themselves to blame for their disappointment.”
Nat’s victory over Sparkes was certainly calculated to place him in the very front rank of middle-weight boxers, and from this time until the beginning of the year ’51 he was “laid up in lavender,” until after all sorts of negotiations, and breaks-off with all sorts of men, some too heavy, and others thinking themselves too light, unless Nat (who had never much to get off in the way of flesh) could consent to reduce himself, Harry Orme, though more than half a stone heavier, was proposed. Orme’s defeat of Aaron Jones, in December, 1849, had proved him a strong, resolute, and formidable, if not a scientific boxer, and his friends, thinking his chance a good one, entered into articles for £50 a side, the battle to be decided on the 6th of May, 1851. On this occasion Nat was doomed to experience his first and only defeat, after a contest which Bell’s Life characterises as “one of the gamest battles the annals of the Ring can boast;” the details of which will be found in the ensuing chapter in the Life of HARRY ORME.
Langham, who was always a well-conducted, steady fellow, now went into business as a publican at the Ram Inn, Bridge Street, Cambridge, where he won “golden opinions from all sorts of men,” securing the patronage of many University undergrads, and for two years none cared to dispute his title as “Champion of the Middle-weights,” a distinction a quarter of a century ago fully recognised at a period when the heavy weights had certainly sadly degenerated, though the time had yet to come in which “the Championship of England” should be held by a boxer under 11 stone!
So highly were Langham’s capabilities in his contest with Orme esteemed by all who witnessed that gallant fight, that his name was continually to the fore, not only in Cambridge, but among the Corinthians who held their conversaziones at Jem Burn’s, at the “Rising Sun;” at Owen Swift’s “Horseshoe;” at Limmer’s Hotel, and “The Corner;” while among the knowing ones who frequented Ben Caunt’s “Coach and Horses,” at Peter Crawley’s “Duke’s Head,” and places further east, all were of opinion that “Clever Nat” was not to be beaten by any man who had not a great pull in respect of weight.
There was, however, a sporting-house, unnamed by us as yet, situated in a street off the once-famed Seven Dials, where lived an ex-pugilist (recently deceased) who was unquestionably as good a judge of the merits of a fighting man as ever lived. This was Alec Keene, of the “Three Tuns,” Moor Street, Soho; and there were not a few Corinthians who often threaded their way through the intricacies of Soho to have a palaver with Alec Keene, and learn his straight opinion as to the chances of the competitors in some coming fight, or as to the advisability of backing this or the other candidate for a match. Among these we remember “young” Sir Robert Peel, his gallant brother William (both of them splendid boxers), Lord Ongley, Lord Drumlanrig, Sir Edward Kent, Colonel Higgins, Lord Winchilsea, cum multis aliis.
Now, among the special pets of Alec foremost stood Tom Sayers, whose merits Keene was the first among the professionals to fully perceive and boldly declare; and he never ceased to use his influence in finding him backers, in which he was zealously seconded by Harry Brunton.[24]
After Tom had beaten Jack Martin, in the January of 1853, both he and his friend Alec (who acted as his second on that occasion) were confident that the championship of the middle-weights was well within his reach, notwithstanding the admitted excellence of Nat Langham. Consequently, after many discussions and conferences, the money was made all right, and a challenge was issued from Moor Street, in which Tom announced his readiness to meet the redoubtable Nat on his own terms. There was some laughing in Air Street at Tom’s audacity, and in St. Martin’s Lane, although in the city on the Cam lots of “collegians” were ready to find a bit of Nat’s money. It was soon ascertained, however, when Langham had accepted the challenge, and a match had been made to fight for the sum named, on the 18th of October, 1853, that although Langham was the favourite, his adherents had only to offer the slightest shade of odds in Tichborne Street or Soho to be at once accommodated to any amount they desired.
Both men went into active training at an early period. Nat, whose long rest had rendered him somewhat rusty, retired to country quarters, under the care of Jemmy Welsh, who had to give him a full dose of work to bring him, without any loss of power, within the stipulated 11st., though at this period Nat’s fighting weight was only two or three pounds in excess of that point. However, his training went smoothly on, without a break or a hitch of any kind, and, as will be seen presently, he was brought to the post in prime fettle. Tom, on the other hand, who had, as usual, gone down to the neighbourhood of Brighton――his mentor and attendant being the celebrated pedestrian, Bob Fuller――encountered quite a series of mischances. He first caught a severe cold, almost deserving to be called an influenza, which stopped him in his work. This was followed by an ugly breaking out on his face and chin, which certainly did not indicate that his blood was in its ordinary healthful condition. No difficulties of this kind dismayed either Tom or his backers, and, consequently, Bell’s Life on the 16th of October was enabled to announce that both men were well and full of confidence. In consequence of the day fixed for the fight being the opening day of the Warwick Meeting, there had been an endeavour to alter the day to the Monday previous, but as this was the settling-day for the Cesarewitch, the alteration would have been no improvement, if, indeed, not rather the reverse, as backers and bookmakers would both be compelled to show at Tattersall’s――the lucky backer of Haco to receive, and the unfortunate followers of the ill-fated Nabob (who was second that year in both the great handicaps to the turned loose youngsters, Haco and Little David) to part with what had so nearly brought them safe home.
On another account it was fortunate that the fixture remained unchanged, for on Monday the rain came down in an almost ceaseless downpour from morning till night, and the Corinthians and professionals who assembled at Caunt’s and Alec Keene’s in the evening, to obtain their tickets for the excursion, and the straight tip as to the time and place of departure, prognosticated somewhat gloomily as to the weather possibilities of the morrow.
Fortunately, these prophecies were falsified by the event, and shortly before eight o’clock, as hansom after hansom dashed up to the Eastern Counties Railway Station, in Shoreditch――the directors had not yet become sufficiently aristocratic to call it the Great Eastern Station, Bishopsgate, nor had they attained their grand terminus at Liverpool Street――their occupants shook hands heartily with the first acquaintance they encountered, and congratulated themselves on the bright October sun, which was making even the dingy East End look moderately cheerful. At half-past eight the train started, and after a pleasant journey of about three hours, past Cambridge, Ely, and Mildenhall, pulled up at Lakenheath, in Suffolk, and the living cargo, which numbered not less than four hundred, among whom were most of the Corinthian supporters of the Ring, who had come down under the special care of Jem Burn, invaded and overran the little station.
For the benefit of those who slumbered too long to refresh the inner man satisfactorily before leaving, a copious breakfast had been provided by Mr. Moore, of the “Old Rum Puncheon,” Moorfields, who, we are happy to say, still survives in this year of grace, 1881, the hale and hearty host of the “Royal Standard” at Walthamstow. Ample justice being done to this repast, we found that Tom Oliver, assisted by Tom Callas, had decided on the spot for the ring, in a field about two hundred yards from the stopping-place. While the stakes and ropes were being placed in situ, Dan Dismore attended to the sale of inner ring tickets; and the character of the gathering may be inferred from the fact that about one in five of the travellers elected to become purchasers of “privilege” cards. The men having made their toilets, Sayers, just at half-past twelve, shied his castor into the ring, following it himself, with his seconds, Alec Keene and Bob Fuller. Tom received a loud and hearty greeting from his partisans; and this had hardly died away when the cheers were renewed as Nat Langham entered, attended by the accomplished Jemmy Welsh and Jerry Noon, who was equally clever as a second when――as upon this occasion he did――he could refrain from those eccentric performances for which he was notorious, and which, however amusing they might be to the spectators, were anything but useful to his principal. On this particular day Jerry was on his good behaviour, and did not once attempt to raise a laugh until the fight was over. Immediately on entering the ring Tom and Nat, who were “old pals,” shook hands with great cordiality, evoking the cheers of the onlookers, who were delighted at this proof that the combatants were actuated only by the desire to win fame and reputation, and, in fact, realised the description of the prizefighter by the poet:――
Who are sworn friends to one another, And first shake hands before they box; Then give each other plaguy knocks, With all the love and kindness of a brother.
This episode completed, the referee and umpires having taken their places, the seconds retired to their corners, and all was attention as the men approached each other and began
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.――On toeing the scratch the knowing ones eagerly scanned the appearance and condition of the men, in order, if possible, to gain thus some indication of the possible issue of the combat, and a few bets were made at 6 to 4 on Langham. There was a wide contrast between the men, both in appearance and condition; Langham was long and lathy; his frame was evidently that of a man who had seen severe work, and――to all appearance――not likely to last through the wear and tear of long-continued exertion. There was a smile of good-humoured confidence on his mug, however, that showed how little he feared the result of the coming combat, while his condition was simply perfect, and reflected the highest credit on his trainer. Sayers, on the other hand, although he looked――as of old――broad, strong, and burly, was clearly overburdened with flesh――the 5lb. he scaled above his accustomed 10st. 7lb. being palpably all to the bad. The breaking out on his chin and face, already alluded to, certainly did not give one the idea of his being in a perfect state of health, and it may well be that to the fact of his not being in his best form may be attributed an anxious look about his eyes, so different to the gay, laughing confidence he exhibited in his other fights. Both men, on taking up position, stood with their legs too wide apart; their guards were neither easy nor graceful, nor was there anything strikingly artistic in their attitudes. They began with a good deal of sparring, and, at length, Langham let go his left, but did not get quite home. Caution was again the order of the day, until Langham once more got within distance, and tried his left a second time, just reaching Tom’s chest. Sayers now tried to draw his man, but Langham was not to be had. Sayers, therefore, approached him, when Langham popped in his left on the cheek, and then the same hand on the nose, and got away. Sayers soon followed him up, and Nat, as he retreated, again sent out his left on the cheek. More sparring now took place, and, at length, counter-hits were exchanged, Nat catching Tom on the chin and drawing first blood from a pimple below his mouth. Sayers now bored in, and caught Nat a nasty one on the forehead, from the effects of which Langham went to grass. (First knock-down blow for Sayers.) Little merit, however, could be attached to it, as the ground was in such a state from the previous day’s rain as to render it difficult for Nat to keep his legs, and the hit rather helped him to grass than fairly sent him there. Having now had an opportunity of judging and comparing the men, the betting settled down to 5 to 4 on Nat, the odds being principally due to Tom’s obviously bad condition, and to the fact that, having lost the toss for choice of corners, he had to fight with the sun in his eyes.
2.――In this round Nat commenced the saving game, which he persisted in throughout the fight, and after planting a tap on the mouth, and receiving on the forehead, slipped down.
3.――Both men ready to the call of time, and Langham led off, but the blow fell short on Tom’s chest. A second attempt was more successful, as he got home a heavy spank on Tom’s snout, from which the ruby was instantly visible. Left-handed counter-hits followed, each getting it slightly on the cheek, and Nat, in getting back again slipped down.
4.――On getting within distance both went to work. Tom made his left on Nat’s cheek, and his right rather heavily on his ribs. Heavy counter-hits followed, in favour of Nat, whose length here gave him the advantage. Tom napped it again severely on the smeller, just between the eyes, and returned on Nat’s side of his head and his short ribs, the latter a sounding right-hander. Langham now retreated, and, as Tom followed him up, pinked him twice in succession with effect on the nozzle, drawing more claret. Sayers returned slightly on the ribs, and again was met by Nat on the mouth and left eye. Sayers continued to persevere, occasionally getting in a little one on Nat’s ribs, but Nat in this round appeared to have it his own way; he propped his man repeatedly on the nose and mouth, and then on the dexter eye. Again and again did Sayers go to it, but Nat jobbed him with it severely on the old spot, and at length finished the round by going down, Sayers walking away, his face brightly crimsoned by Nat’s handiwork.
5.――Nat, on getting his man, let go with his left with great quickness on Tom’s nose, completely over his guard. Sayers then went to in-fighting, and got home his left on the side of Nat’s knowledge-box, and, after a slight rally, both went down. A claim of foul was made, that Sayers had hit Nat while down, but it was not allowed, the men being on the ropes when the blow was delivered.
6.――Tom came up grinning, but his mug was in anything but grinning order. Langham, as usual, led off, but Tom jumped away. Tom now feinted, let go his left on Nat’s jaw, and then repeated the dose without return. Some rattling exchanges followed in favour of Sayers, and in the end Langham fell.
7.――Langham attempted to plant his left, but was out of distance. Two more efforts were frustrated by Tom jumping away. Nat was not to be denied; he went in, and some rattling exchanges took place in favour of Sayers, who got home on Nat’s cheek and ribs with severity, and received one or two on the kissing organ, from which more pink was drawn, and Langham in getting back fell.
8.――Langham dodged his man, and again popped in his left with great quickness over his guard, turning on the tap. Sayers returned slightly on the cheek, and, on trying to improve upon this, was countered heavily on the mouth. This led to some rapid exchanges in favour of Sayers, who got home heavily on the ribs and jaw, and received on the nasal promontory. The round finished by Langham going to earth apparently weak.
9.――Sayers came up with a visible puffiness under both eyes. Langham, as usual, led off on Tom’s mouth. Sayers returned left and right on the canister and ribs, received another little one on the nose, and then lunged out with his right a sounding spank in the side. Langham retreated, and was followed up by Tom, who caught him on the mouth with his left, and Nat, after an ineffectual attempt to return, fell.
10.――Langham stepped back to draw his man, who came for it, and again napped an awkward one on the snout. Sayers tried a return, but was short, and got another smack on the nose for his pains. Counter-hits followed, Nat getting it rather heavily on the left eye, and Tom on the nose. Nat, after placing a little one on the nose, fell on his south pole.
11.――Langham opened the pleadings by another well-delivered spank on the proboscis, from his left, over Tom’s guard. It was wonderful to see how completely Sayers’s index seemed to be within reach of Nat’s straight-darting deliveries. Left-handed exchanges followed, but Sayers appeared to hit short. Langham delivered again with severity on the bridge of the nose, when Sayers made a one, two (the left on the side of the head, and his right on the ribs), and Langham got down on the saving suit.
12.――A pause now took place, and some mutual feinting and dodging, it being “bellows to mend” on each side. Nat at length tried his left, which was prettily stopped. Sayers now went in, made his left and right on the nose and ribs, but not heavily. Langham retaliated on the nose, which led to some slight exchanges, and a close, at the end of which both fell, Langham under.
13.――Sayers attempted to take the lead, but was propped heavily on the snuff-box. He, however, got in his right with severity on the ribs, and then his left on Nat’s cheek. Nat’s returns were rendered abortive by the activity of Tom, who again visited his ribs heavily with his right, and Langham fell, Tom falling over him.
14.――Langham resumed his lead, and got well on to Tom’s damaged nose and mouth. Sayers’s nose and cheeks puffing visibly, to the great danger of his clear sight for attack or defence. Tom countered him heavily on cheek and ribs, and Langham fell, Tom on him.
15.――Sayers went to his man, planted his left on the side of Nat’s brain-pan. Langham returned on the neck with his right, a round hit, and fell in getting away.
16.――Nat sent in his left, over Tom’s guard, upon his nose heavily, and again turned on the main. Good counters followed, Nat on the nose, and Tom on the neck heavily. Exchanges, in which Tom got on to Nat’s left cheek, and Langham got down, Sayers falling over him.
17.――Langham was short in two attempts with his left, and a third was stopped, when Sayers dashed out his left, getting home on the ribs. Langham returned with good effect on the nose, and both fell.
18.――Long sparring until Nat let fly his left on the old spot. Tom made his right on the ribs, but again got a nasty crack on the side of his cranium, and Langham got down.
19.――Nat was again short in his lead. Tom was more successful, got home his right on the ribs, and Nat was again down.
20.――This was a good round on both sides. After a little sparring Langham tried his left, but Tom jumped well away. In a second attempt Nat got slightly home on the chest, and then on the nose. Sayers countered him on the mouth, and then some exchanges took place, in which Nat hit the straightest, Tom’s blows appearing to be open-handed. Sayers now went in, but got it heavily on the nose from Nat, who fought on the retreat. Tom followed him up, got well home on the jaw, and then on the nose and left eye, knocking Langham clean off his legs. (A fair knock-down blow.)
21.――Tho last blow delivered by Sayers was evidently a stinger, as Nat’s left peeper and nose showed the effects of it. Tom immediately led off, got in his left and right on the nose and ribs without a return, and then, closing, threw Langham a back-fall, and fell heavily on him. (5 to 4 offered by an enthusiastic backer of Tom’s.)
22.――Hitting over Tom’s guard Nat got well on Tom’s nose, but Sayers returning heavily on the mouth, Nat got back, and fell.
23.――Odds of 5 to 4 on Sayers were now freely offered all round the ring, and he certainly seemed to have much the best of it, was full of confidence, and at once opened proceedings by sending in his left heavily on Nat’s ivory-box. The latter tried to get away, but Tom followed him up closely and again landed on the mouth, avoiding the return. Severe counter-hitting followed, in which Sayers again got on to Nat’s mouth, but received on the smeller, and then Langham went to the earth in a decided state of weakness.
24.――Sayers, attempting to force the fighting all he could, again led off on Nat’s left cheek, and Nat retaliated on the nose heavily. Tom retreated, and, on going to it again, popped in his right on Nat’s commissariat department. He tried a repetition of this, but napped it severely on the nose for his pains. After some sparring Tom reached Nat’s ribs, and the latter, reaching his own corner, got down.
25.――Sayers, first to begin, delivered a little one on Nat’s nose, but the blow wanted steam. Nat retreated, and as Tom followed him, Nat jobbed him on the nozzle, again disturbing the cochineal; and on receiving a little one on the chin Nat dropped.
26.――Nat began the attack by a successful endeavour to resume his lead. He got home heavily on Tom’s left cheek, which led to exchanges in favour of Nat, who repeatedly met Tom in the middle of the head. Tom got in one or two on the ribs and chest, and one on Nat’s left peeper, but not heavily. Nat returned on the face, and in retreating slipped down.
27.――Langham again made play on Tom’s nose, the cork being drawn. He got in a little one on the ribs in return, and Nat fell, Sayers on him.
28.――On coming up Nat led off, but misjudged his distance and was short, the blow falling on Tom’s cheek. Tom sent out his left, but got a very heavy one on his mouth in return. Some heavy exchanges followed, in which Tom got well home on Nat’s cheek, from the effect of which Nat fell.
29.――One hour had now elapsed, and still there was no decided lead. Langham was again short in his opening deliveries, and Sayers, after returning on the left cheek, closed and threw his man, falling heavily on him.
30.――Nat’s left once more fell short of its destination, when Tom let out his left and caught him on the mouth; Langham returned quickly on the nose, from which once more the ruby trickled. Slight exchanges followed, and Langham fell evidently weak.
31.――Sayers led off, caught Nat a heavy cross hit with his left over the left peeper, inflicting a deep cut and drawing the carmine; he in return had his cork drawn by Nat’s left. Some exchanges followed, in the course of which Tom again opened the cut over Nat’s left ogle by a heavy hit from his left, and Nat fell.
32.――Another good round. Nat’s left peeper looked the worse for wear, but he came gamely up, and as Tom led off he countered him on the nose. Some exchanges followed in favour of Sayers, who got well on Nat’s left cheek, and received a return on the cheek-bone. They now got to work in earnest, and some ding-dong fighting took place, as if both thought this the turning point of the battle. Each got it heavily on the frontispiece, Sayers re-opening the cut over Nat’s left eye, and receiving one or two awkward reminders on the cheek and nose. A break away followed, and then Langham again went up to his man, who met him on the left eye another heavy spank. Nat returned on the nozzle, and immediately afterwards received another reminder on the sinister peeper, and fell. This was a capital fighting round, exhibiting the determined resolve of both men.
33.――Sayers led off, got home slightly on the throat, and received a heavy one from Nat’s left on the right cheek. Excellent counter-hits followed, Tom on the cheek and Nat on the right peeper, and Nat then got down.
34.――Long sparring, Langham evidently wanting wind, and Tom not much better. At last Nat went to work, got well on Tom’s damaged nose with his left, and stopped Tom’s return. Sayers tried again, and succeeded in reaching Nat’s throat, when the latter again fell.
35.――Another fighting round. Good counter-hits, each receiving on the left eye. A break away and more counter-hitting, Sayers on the left peeper, and Nat well on the nose. Langham now lunged out his right with great force, but, luckily for Tom, the blow missed its destination, and Nat, overreaching himself, fell.
36.――Nat, on coming up, showed his left peeper in deep mourning, and nearly closed; he was evidently weak, and the friends of Sayers were up in the stirrups. Sayers feinted, and let out his left, which reached the damaged optic, re-opening the former wound. Langham was short in his return. Sayers twice got home his left on the throat, but was stopped in the third attempt; he afterwards succeeded in reaching Nat’s left cheek, and the latter, after an ineffectual attempt to return, got down.
37.――In spite of the punishment he had received in the previous round, Langham was first up, and he sent out his left, but Tom jumped quickly away, returned heavily on the forehead and ribs, and then fell.
38.――Some ineffectual countering, after which Sayers got nearer, and put in a little one on the left eye. Nat retreated, and on being followed by Tom, who delivered straight on the mouth, got down weak.
39.――There could be no question as to the gallantry with which both men were fighting, and although appearances were in favour of Sayers, there were not wanting those who saw the danger lying before him, and among these must assuredly be numbered Nat’s clever seconds, under whose directions and advice Langham now seemed to devote himself to land just one blow on Tom’s swollen nose, or on one of his puffy eyes, and then to get down with as little punishment and as little exertion as possible; for it was impossible to conceal Nat’s weakness, and it was decidedly a moot point whether he would be able to hold out until Tom could be forced to “put up the shutters.” Nat tried to lead off, but was stopped. Sayers attempted to return, but Nat sent out his left very straight on the left eye, and on Sayers again coming on, he delivered the same hand on Tom’s damaged smeller, and drew more claret. Tom made his left slightly on the cheek, and Nat at once went to grass.
40.――Tom let go his left, got slightly home on the chest, and Nat, after returning with his left on the forehead, fell.
41.――Sayers tried to take the lead, but Nat jumped quickly away; Sayers followed him up, when Nat met him with a sharp tap on the left eye, and then another left-hander on the cheek. Sayers persevered until he got home his right on Nat’s ribs, when the latter again got down.
42.――Nat led off, caught Tom heavily on the left cheek and then on the brow. He tried to repeat the visitation, when Tom caught him sharply over the right peeper, drawing blood, and Nat got down. Nat’s length and cleverness were conspicuous in his left-hand deliveries.
43.――Sayers rushed in, but Nat countered him on the left peeper. Sayers got in his right heavily on the bread-basket, and Nat fell.
44.――After a little sparring, the men got close together, and some sharp counter-hits were exchanged, Tom getting well on to Nat’s damaged left peeper, and receiving on the right cheek. Nat now attempted another delivery, but overreached himself and fell.
45.――The temporary revival of Langham’s strength seemed at an end. Sayers let go his left, got home on the cheek, and Nat, who was decidedly in “Queer Street,” again went down sick and weak.
46.――Nothing done. Nat got down as soon and as easily as he could manage it.
47.――Sayers led off, and caught Nat over the left ogle; this led to some counter-hits, in which Langham got home heavily on Tom’s right peeper, which was now pretty nearly closed from the repeated hits on the nose and its exposure to the bright rays of the sun. Langham received a little one on the left cheek in return, and fell.
48.――Tom led off, but was countered by Nat on the left eye. In a second attempt Nat stopped him, and then popped him heavily on the nose, drawing more of the ruby. Nat succeeded in planting another heavily on the left peeper, and Tom fell for the first time for many rounds.
49.――Things looked by no means so cheerful for Sayers’ backers, for although he was by far the stronger man on his pins, he now came up bleeding from both eyes, his seconds having been compelled to lance them while he was in his corner to prevent his going blind. He dashed in, aware that although much the stronger man on his legs, he must be in total darkness if he did not finish his man soon. Slight exchanges took place, Tom getting it on both eyes slightly, and returning, but without effect, on Nat’s mouth, and in the end Sayers was first down.
50.――Sayers once more dashed in but was met by Nat on the left peeper. Tom returned slightly on the body, and Langham again went to grass, apparently weak.
51.――Tom rushed in, delivered his left heavily on the conk, and then his right on the ribs without a return, and Nat dropped.
52.――Tom again went to work, caught Langham on the side of his nut; Nat returned on the left peeper, and then slipped down.
53.――Tom led off, got home on Langham’s left eye, but the blow lacked force, and Nat fell, Sayers falling over him.
54.――Sayers stepped in with his left, but was short; he tried it again, catching Nat on the waistband. Langham attempted a return, but Sayers jumped away. Nat again lunged out, but, overreaching himself, fell.
55.――Nat seemed to shake himself together, went up to his man, led off with his left on the right cheek, and got away. Sayers followed him up, when some sharp exchanges took place, Nat reaching Tom’s damaged snout, and once more turning on the tap. Tom returned the compliment on the left cheek, and Langham fell weak, Tom falling over him, not much better off.
56.――It was now clear that Tom’s peepers had not many minutes to remain open, and he therefore at once led off, but was out of distance; in a second attempt he caught Nat over the left peeper, but received another hot one on the nose in return. He would not be shaken off, however; he followed Nat and let fly his left on the jaw. Sharp counter-hits followed, Sayers on the mouth and nose, and Nat on the right ogle, and Langham fell.
57.――Tom at once rushed in, but was stopped. His next effort reached Nat’s mouth, and the latter got down.
58.――Both were nearly pumped out, and it was evident that a chance hit might finish Langham, while Sayers, if he could not deliver that hit, must soon “cut it.” The men let fly simultaneously, each getting it on the frontispiece. A break away followed, after which Tom reached Nat’s left eye, but not effectively. A close, in which Tom caught his man with his right as he went down, and then fell on him.
59.――Langham went to his man, delivered his left heavily on the nose, and received a little one on the jaw. He then rushed at Sayers, who stepped back, and Nat, missing his mark, fell.
60.――Sayers’s fate was sealed; like Jack Broughton in the memorable account of Captain Godfrey,[25] he might have exclaimed, “I can’t see my man; I’m blind, not beat. Only let me see my man and he shall not gain the day yet!” Tom rushed in open-handed. Nat stepped on one side, met him as he came on the left peeper, and then beside the nose. Tom persevered, but Langham easily avoided him, and then propped him in the mouth heavily. Tom continued to bore in, and got in a round hit on the side of Nat’s head, whereon Nat returned with his left just behind Tom’s ear, and both fell. Sayers evidently all abroad.
61 and last.――It was beyond a doubt now that Sayers could not see what he was doing or where he was going, and there were loud cries from his backers of “take him away,” which Alec Keene was anxious to do; but Tom, full of pluck as ever, resolutely refused to give in, and swinging his arms, walked deliberately to the scratch. He lunged out, but could not judge his distance, and Nat, waiting for him coolly until he came again, hit him heavily on the right eye. Poor Tom struck out wildly and altogether at random, and Nat getting out of his way delivered a heavy left-hander on the left eye, which put up the other shutter, and he rather fell than was knocked down. On being helped to his corner, despite his entreaties, Alec Keene, seeing there was no hope, threw up the sponge, and Langham was proclaimed the victor in this truly gallant struggle, after a contest that had been protracted for two hours and two minutes. Immediately the fiat had been pronounced in his favour, Nat walked across the ring to shake hands with his defeated opponent, who shed bitter tears of disappointment and humiliation, while Nat, seeming to acquire fresh strength from the consciousness of victory, contrived to leap over the ropes, although five minutes before he could hardly stand on his legs.
REMARKS.――Nothing could possibly be farther from our thoughts or wishes than any attempt to detract from the gallant achievements of Nat Langham in thus maintaining his title as middle-weight champion, and also earning a lasting fame as the only man who ever licked Tom Sayers. Still, in fairness to the beaten man, it must be remembered that Sayers was at that time by no means either so good a boxer nor so strong a man as he became a few years later, when he defeated one big man after another. Moreover, his defeat was palpably owing to his want of condition, in consequence of which his face puffed up and his eyes closed with far less punishment than he could otherwise have taken scatheless. But when all allowances have been made, the fact remains, that the gallant Nat did defeat the otherwise invincible Tom, and thus worthily dosed a pugilistic career, which, like Sayers’s, had only once been clouded by defeat. Nothing could be more deserving of the highest praise and warmest admiration than the cool courage and calculating generalship with which, when he found that the superior strength of his adversary was likely to prove too much for him, he at once adopted the only system of tactics likely to serve him, and deliberately set to work to avert defeat by blinding his opponent. How skilfully he carried this plan into effect we have seen, and it is interesting to remember that Sayers never forgot the lesson he had received, but himself put it into practical effect on the occasion of his fight with Heenan.
Sayers’s gallant stand was duly appreciated by his friends, and upwards of fifty pounds were collected for him in the train during the homeward journey. Immediately he had recovered his eyesight Tom challenged Langham to another trial of skill, but Nat announced his retirement from the Ring; and, further, his opening of the “Cambrian Stores,” Castle Street, Leicester Square, where he decorated a showy lamp, bearing his name and the inscription, “Champion of the Middle-weights.” At this period our hero developed into a publican; for your successful pugilist is a publican in chrysalis, so sure as a caddis shall become a May-fly in due season. Sayers, however, had also become the landlord of the “Bricklayers’ Arms,” in his favourite locality of Camden Town, and demurred to Nat’s lamp and inscription. “Here am I,” said he, “ready for all comers, Nat Langham included. He has been beaten by Harry Orme, who has retired, and I have been beaten by him. As I do not believe myself conquered on my merits, but by inferior condition, I claim the Championship of the Middle-weights.”
The introduction of Harry Orme’s name is irrelevant, as Orme, Aaron Jones (12 stone), Tom Paddock (12 stone), Harry Broome (12 stone), claimed and fought for the actual and unlimited “Championship,” during the interregnum closed by Tom Sayers’s successive disposal of Aaron Jones, Bill Perry (the Tipton Slasher), 13 stone, Bill Benjamin (Bainge), 12 stone, and Tom Paddock. Quitting this point, however, Nat’s reply was conclusive. He had espoused the niece of Ben Caunt, had settled down, and did not see why he should risk all these “hostages given to fortune,” by trusting what Captain Godfrey calls in his sketch of Broughton, “a battle to a waning age.” Langham’s health, too, never robust, was by no means A 1, and he prudently preferred leaving off a winner, as disposing of such a boxer as Tom Sayers was by no means what betting men would call a “safe thing.” He, therefore, in a brief epistle declined Tom’s cartel, and told him he might paint his lamp at the “Bricklayers’ Arms” in any way he chose; meantime that he, Langham, had won the title of Middle-weight Champion and meant to wear it, and certainly should not transfer it from Castle Street to Camden Town; and there the controversy closed.
We should here close the history of Nat Langham’s career in the P.R. but for the regrettable incident of his rescinding his commendable resolution of retirement four years later, in 1857, in the September of which year, owing to some domestic jars with his relative and neighbour, “Big Ben,” the ill-assorted pair met in battle array to decide their fistic merits, also who should forfeit a stake of £100 to the other, and to settle a family feud in which the public could not feel the slightest possible interest. How they did not achieve either of these three results will be found fully set forth in our account of their drawn-battle, in the Life of CAUNT, in Chapter II. of the present volume.
Langham, in his later years, was host of the “Mitre” tavern in St. Martin’s Lane, and died at the “Cambrian,” Castle Street, Leicester Square, September 1st, 1871.
[24] Harry Brunton still flourishes (June, 1881), it cannot be said in a “green old age,” at the “Nag’s Head,” Wood Green, a handy house of call in the Green Lanes, near the Alexandra Palace.
[25] See PUGILISTICA, vol. i., p. 28.
VII. HARRY ORME
1849-1853.
The brown-skinned, hardy, game, and resolute boxer, whose name heads this somewhat brief biography, demands a niche in our gallery of prize pugilists who have aspired to the Championship, were it only for the obstinately contested battles in which he was engaged on each of the four occasions in which he made a public appearance in the twenty-four foot enclosure. In the short period between December, 1849, and April, 1853, Harry advanced from the position of a “novice” to that of a candidate, and a very dangerous one, for the Championship of England; reckoning among those who succumbed to his prowess, Aaron Jones (twice), the accomplished Nat Langham――the only conqueror of Tom Sayers――and closing his career by one of the most memorable battles of modern times, in which he fell before the conquering arm of Harry Broome.
Harry Orme was by birth a Londoner, having first seen daylight at Old Ford, near Bow, in the month of May, 1826; in which year, also, were born his antagonist, Harry Broome, and the yet more renowned Tom Sayers, doubtless under the influence of some pugilistic planet. Harry, who “came of decent people,” was introduced to the London Ring with less preliminary paragraphing than usual; he was an East-Ender by birth, parentage, and associations, and an East-Ender he remained to the end of his career.
It so happened that in the year 1849, Jem Burn, the Mæcenas of millers, had among his visitors at the “Queen’s Head” a powerful big one, hight Aaron Jones, of Shrewsbury, 20 years of age, weighing 11st. 4lb., standing 5ft. 10½in. in his stocking-feet, who had friends among the “proud Salopians,” who were anxious to get on a match with any “trial horse” Jem might select for their promising novice. Jones had passed a favourable “competitive examination” in the sparring schools, and Jem had declared, with a qualifying if, that “If there was the right stuff in him he was big enough and clever enough for anything then on the list.” The “sages of the East” were of opinion that they had a novice as good as he of the West, so Harry, after taking stock of his opponent in futuro at a sparring soirée in Windmill Street, returned to his friends at the “Blue Anchor,” and “reported progress.” The result was favourable to a venture of the East against the West, the Orientals already well knowing that their man would take a great deal of beating to turn him from brown to blue. Articles were accordingly formulated at Mr. Hunter’s, “Weavers’ Arms,” Kingsland Road, with deposits at “Jolly Jem’s,” for a fight to come off on the 18th December, 1849, each man not to exceed 11st. 4lb. on the day before the fight. Frimley Green, Surrey, was duly reached per train on the day appointed, and at a quarter to one, in a drizzle of cold rain, the men entered the ring. The “Shrewsbury Youth” was waited on by Jack Hannan and Bob Fuller, the pedestrian; Orme by two well-known East End professionals, Joe Rowe and John Hazeltine. Umpires and a referee were quickly agreed upon; and the colours, a blue birdseye for Orme, and a fancy orange, shot with green, with a blue border, for Jones, being knotted to the stake, the men and their seconds crossed hands, and the principal performers stood up for
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.――Considering that the men were novices, there was a good deal of money laid out on the mill, Jones being made the favourite at 5 and 6 to 4――chiefly from having the wealthier backers. He certainly, though young and light downwards, was lathy, long, and muscular, and looked dangerously like a fighter; while Orme, compact, well knit, and determined, seemed, with his mahogany frontispiece and walnut-brown skin, more like a gipsy than ever. Orme squared his elbows in the old-fashioned style that was called “navigatorish;” while Jones, though awkward and nervous, showed the superior school in which he had graduated. The Young One tried his left, but Orme jumped away, going bang against one of the stakes. The men crept close again, each sparring in what was meant to be a finished style, till Jones let fly with his left, but almost out of distance, so that he barely reached his man. After feeling his way again, Jones let go, but was stopped neatly, and in the exchanges that followed Orme threw in his right heavily on Jones’s left cheek. There was weight in this blow; the Young One shook his head as if puzzled, then went in resolutely. Orme missed his one, two. A rally followed, during which Jones hit Orme in the mouth, and received on the right eye in return. Both rolled down. In this, his very first round within the ropes, it was seen that Orme’s favourite weapon was his right, and that he was a heavy hitter.
2 to 6.――These rounds were much alike, and although there were some sharp exchanges all through them, they were tedious. Novices are generally in one extreme or the other; they either rush at their opponents as if fights were to be won in a gallop, or else are ambitious to show how scientific they are, and so spar and manœuvre without any definite end in view. The fighting took place chiefly in Orme’s corner, the length of arm possessed by Jones forcing his opponent to retreat; here they manœuvred and jumped in and out, till at last they got close, and then staggering counter-hits would be exchanged. The closes were scrambling affairs, and generally ended in the men rolling down together.
7.――Another tedious example of ring manœuvring, without the skill which makes such fiddling, squaring, advancing, retreating, feinting, and shifting tolerable. Both novices, however, were actuated by a desire not to throw a chance away; but on a wet December day a little less generalship and busier work would have suited the spectators. The round lasted 27 minutes, but tedious as it was, it was wound up by a slashing rally, in which the big ones hit with all their steam. Jones drew first blood in profusion from Orme’s nose and mouth, while Harry delivered his right with tremendous force on Jones’s left ribs and left eye, badly marking the one and almost entirely closing the other.
8.――Both slow in answering the call of time; more than a minute elapsed before they appeared at the scratch, the heavy hitting in the last round having told its tale. Orme, instead of going in and taking advantage of his weight and power of arm, stood out and retreated, by advice of his friends. The round lasted 17 minutes, and at last was closed by another desperate rally, Jones improving in his style, and using both hands well, but the returns of Orme were heaviest and most effective. Jones threw Orme cleverly in the close.
9.――Jones jobbed Orme on the nose, and then on the cheek, but the blows, although well from the shoulder, left no mark. Orme seemed remarkably slow in showing contusions, while Jones was already much disfigured. Jones forced Orme towards his corner; Orme rushed forward as Jones retreated in turn; he let go both left and right viciously, but was short. Jones lunged out desperately with his right, and nailing Orme on the side of the head, knocked him clean down in the middle of the ring. (Cheers for the Shrewsbury Youth. First knock-down for Jones.)
10.――Orme came up smiling, and as Jones made himself up for following his supposed advantage, surprised him by dashing in and planting his left a smasher on the nose. A pounding rally followed, in which some heavy counter-hitting took place, each man standing well to his gun, until Jones fell under the ropes.
For the next fifteen rounds the fighting grew quicker, the sparring less tedious, and the rallies more frequent. Jones, taking a leaf out of his opponent’s book, planted several slashing hits with his right on the side of Orme’s head, but being the taller man, he frequently hit too high, and his hand, rather than Orme’s hard skull, suffered. The East-Ender took his punishment patiently, and was with Jones in nearly all his attempts, with heavy right-handers on the left ribs, which gradually impaired the force of Jones’s hitting, and when they got closer still, his ponderous right fell on his cheek-bone or temple, till Jones was nearly blinded. The Shrewsbury man, however, was yet as strong as Orme, and was the better wrestler, for he threw his adversary in several of these rounds. Towards the 25th round, however, the repeated right-handers of Orme began to tell their tale, and Jones grew slower and weaker. In the last-mentioned round Orme led off, and hit Jones sharply in the head, repeating the dose without a return. Jones attempted to force a rally, but Orme got down more cleverly than heretofore. Jones fought with great fairness, and was much applauded.
26.――Orme showed few marks of punishment, and was sent up by his seconds very clean, while Jones grew more disfigured each round. The men fought somewhat wildly, but managed to exchange some stinging counters, which led to a close; but Jones was now unable to throw his opponent, and both were down.
27 to 35.――(Two hours and twenty-nine minutes had elapsed, and no odds were obtainable; indeed, it was yet on the cards for either to win.) Burn called to his man, Jones, to come away from Orme’s corner, and let the East-Ender come to him. Jones, who was evidently distressed, did so, and the same style of fighting was pursued. Jones fell from weakness in the 32nd round, which Orme noting, he forced the fighting again, and, in the 35th round delivered several of his slogging hits at close quarters with such staggering effect that Jones, whose returns were slight, dropped in the rally.
36.――The last two or three rounds had told their tale, and it was evident that Jones’s chance was fading. (3 to 1 offered on Orme without takers.) Jones came up as game as a man could be, and still tried to look cheerful; but his knees were tottery, and he was plainly “going.” Orme went to him, forced another rally, and, after one or two heavy hits, dropped him with a right-hander. (“Take him away.”)
37 and 38.――In each of these rounds Jones came to the scratch, and made one or two futile attempts to stop his adversary’s rush, dropping on his knee on receiving a hit from Orme.
39.――Orme paused, as if hesitating to strike his opponent, who was quite at his mercy. Jones made a peck at him, and received a touch on the old spot in the ribs. It was but a push, yet it sent him to grass sideways.
40.――Loud cries of “Take him away!” Jones faced his opponent for the fortieth time, but he was all abroad. Orme gradually forced him back into his corner, and harmlessly sent him down, when Hannan threw up the sponge in token of Jones’s defeat.
The fight lasted two hours and forty-five minutes, including several tedious rounds, and much useless breaking ground, advancing, and retreating. It was, nevertheless, a truly hard fight, and the two powerful boxers who made their début on this occasion inflicted severe mutual punishment. It was manifest, early in the battle, that Orme was the more lasting of the two, and much the heavier hitter. It seemed, also, that Jones had commenced his career too early.
Each man proved himself thorough game, and possessed of undoubted stamina. Orme, in beating a man taller, longer in the reach, a shade heavier, and much the favourite in the betting, had done all expected of him, and his friends resolved on quietly biding their time, and――when that time did come――on playing for a good stake. Their confidence in their champion was shown by the character of the next antagonist selected for him being no other than Nat Langham, whose fame already stood high among the few who had an opportunity of judging of his merits.
Orme’s coup d’essai having proved eminently satisfactory, and Master Nat having been waiting in vain for a suitable customer from the day when he defeated Sparkes the Australian, as related in the previous chapter, a match was proposed for £50 a side, to be decided on the 6th day of May, 1851. A trip down the river being agreed on, “The Queen of the Thames” was the vessel engaged, and the oft-described voyage having been effected at two o’clock, the ring was pitched by Ould Tom Oliver, Tom Callas, and assistants. At three Orme tossed in his cap, and Langham followed his example. The usual ridiculous haggling with regard to a referee ensued, during which we adjourned to another part of the marsh, where a merry little mill between an Israelite and a son of Ishmael, in the person of a gipsy lad, which had been arranged for decision on this occasion, came off. The Hebrew was worsted after a stubborn resistance. This settled, we returned to the legitimate roped quadrangle called “the ring” because it is not round. Here, after positively refusing an arbitration which carries with its exercise nought but unpleasantness, a veteran Ring-goer (Old Tom Oliver), with the snows of sixty winters on his head, accepted the office. At fifteen minutes past four the men were escorted to the scratch. Orme was esquired by Jemmy Welsh and Jack Grant; Langham by D’Orsay Turner and Johnny Hannan. The men, at scale, were stated to be respectively 11st. 5lb. and 11st. 2lb.; but upon this point we have our doubts, Orme appearing upon every point far the heavier man. Orme had trained upon the Chatham hills, and was as tough-looking a dark grained bit of stuff as ever was selected by shipwright of that famed dockyard locality. Langham took his breathings on Newmarket Heath, and was as fine as any thoroughbred fresh from its gallops. The betting was now even, Langham for choice. After waiting a few minutes for a hailstorm, which, according to the precedent of this “merry month,” will have its way, at a quarter past four the men stood up for
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.――Orme stood firmly, with his elbows rather high, his fists level and almost square, and his heavy, thick, round arms in anything but an elegant position; yet he loomed big, massive, and formidable, and his deep chest, matted with coarse black hair, and complexion of the deepest gipsy brown, gave an impression of hardihood and enduring strength. Langham was fine and fair in skin, clean built, with handsome shoulders and biceps, good length of reach and active pins. His attitude was artistic; the left well up and forward, the right playing easily across the mark, covering the short ribs, and ready for stop or delivery. Orme seemed a little flurried and worked forward, Langham shifting and retreating before him, coolly and collectedly. Orme let go his left, which Langham stopped, and caught Orme sharply on the cheekbone; Langham followed Orme on the bustle, and reached him slightly with the right, when Orme ducked his head, turned clean round, and rose up outside the ropes (laughter). Langham beckoned Orme, who came inside, nodding his head and smiling. Langham, cautious and steady, would not lead off. Orme tried to make his left, but was stopped, and following it immediately with his right was out of distance; Langham hit Orme sharply with the left in a quick exchange, drawing “first blood” from his mouth and nose. The men got at it, and fighting was the order of the round, Orme giving Langham a heavy body hit, but catching pepper about the frontispiece. Both down, Langham first, but with the best of the hitting.
2.――Nat retreating, measuring Orme with his left, till the latter let fly; pretty counter-hits with the left, Orme home on Langham’s cheek, Langham on Orme’s nasal organ, from which more of the ruby distilled. Some exchanges of no great moment, Langham slipping down from his own hit.
3.――Orme stopped Langham’s left neatly (applause); counters with left, Langham’s straightest, but did not seem much to mark Orme’s cast-iron nob. Orme bored in, pegging away; Langham propped him, but dropped when forced to the ropes.
4.――Orme made several feints, Langham shifted and laughed; Langham tried to draw his man, but the latter, advised by Welsh, pointed to the scratch. Langham tried his left, but Orme was with him, and, after some heavy weaving work, Langham fell because it suited him.
5.――Sparring; Langham cautious but lively. Orme had found that he got pepper whenever he attempted to lead off, and he paused awhile. There was some little chaff about each man having something in his hands, and they were shown to be empty. The mill recommenced by Langham rattling in one, two, catching Orme on the nose and ribs; in the scramble Langham was down.
6.――Nat visited Orme’s left eye a stinger, raising a “mouse.” Orme rushed in and delivered with tremendous half-arm energy; Langham fought up and was bored down.
7.――Orme rolled in, letting go both hands; Nat nobbed him, but Orme forced the fun, and ran Langham to earth.
8.――Orme had got terribly disfigured by Langham’s retreating shots, but they did not seem to impair his strength or resolution; he hit Langham heavily on the ribs in the rally, but got one, straight as an arrow, in the nose from Langham’s left; it was a smasher, and was followed by a lunge from the right, as he was already on the stagger, and down he went on his south pole. (First knock-down far Langham. Great cheering.)
9.――Orme came up more steady than was expected; he hemmed and coughed several times, as if troubled in the throat, but played about, waiting for Langham to begin. Langham led off, and made his left, but Orme dashed in desperately, and both were down in the rally. (6 to 4 on Langham.)
10.――Langham propped Orme on the nose; Orme hit rather out of distance, and Langham slipped down.
11.――Rapid exchanges. Langham made his straight left sharply on Orme’s right eye, raising a “mouse” to match the left. Orme got Langham in his arms, and, after a brief struggle, held him by the crook, forced him over, and threw him from his hip on his neck and head, lending his whole weight to the impetus of his fall. Langham, apparently stupefied, was picked up, all abroad, by Jem Turner and Hannan. (Cries of “It’s all over!”)
12.――Langham came up loose in the knees and puzzled, but he had not lost his style. Orme could not get on to him, and he fell on the saving suit.
13.――(“Time.”) Langham fought prettily on the defensive, but was in evident distress; indeed, he never entirely shook off effects of the throw in the previous round throughout the fight. Orme hit him in the body, but he was getting down when he received the blow.
14, 15, 16.――Langham still merely defensive but the last a good fighting round.
17 to 20.――Heavy work; both rather wild. Langham generally finished the rounds by getting to grass. (Offers of 3 to 2 on Orme.)
21.――Punishing exchanges. Nat getting steadier; Orme gave way a little after a job or two from Langham’s left. Langham followed him. After some hard fighting Orme threw Langham.
22.――(A claim on account of Orme having some substance in his hand; it was disproved.) Ding-dong work, and Langham down in the hitting.
23.――Orme pursued Langham, determined not to allow him to recover his wind; hard, but rather wild hitting, during which Orme getting close, sent Langham down.
24.――Nat missed his left, Orme stepping back; Orme put out his tongue. Exchanges, and Langham fell.
25.――Langham hit Orme several times as he came in, but could not stop himself from being bored down.
26.――Langham tried his left twice, but was not near enough to his man. Orme let go his left, and Langham dropped. (An appeal from Orme on the plea that Langham dropped without a blow.)
27.――Heavy counters; Orme on Langham’s jowl; Langham on Orme’s eye, which was nearly shut up. A rattling round. Nat got on Orme’s best eye (the right), then on his note. Orme hammered away, but was short of distance, except when in-fighting; a close, and Langham under. (One hour.)
28, 29.――Exchanges; Langham precise, and timing his hits, got Orme to a standstill. When Orme came on again Langham fell. (Another claim.)
30, 31.――As before, Langham slipped down in the hitting. (A claim each round for Orme.)
32.――Orme wild and rushing; Langham steadied himself, and propped him severely. Langham fell at the ropes, Orme over him.
33, 34.――Langham delivered and fell from his own blows.
35.――Hard hitting; Orme would not be denied; Langham got down at the ropes, and Orme, bending his knee, tried to drop on him. (An appeal from Langham’s party, but overruled.)
36 to 40.――Nat nailed Orme dexterously, swelling his lips till he resembled the portrait of the elder Molyneaux. In the 40th round he got him to a standstill for a few seconds. (“Where’s your 2 to 1 now?”) Langham fought cunningly, and got through the ropes, down.
41.――Orme’s eye closed; he rushed at Langham, who dropped, and Orme was again charged with trying to “knee” him.
42.――Exchanges; Langham made his left prettily, but Orme gave him such a sneezer that he dropped.
43.――Langham game and clever, but weak. (80 minutes had elapsed.) In the struggle at the close Langham was undermost; a nasty back fall.
44.――Some sharp work, the men falling from their own hits, reaching the ground at the same time.
45 to 60.――It was wonderful to see how, round after round, such fighting could be kept up, Langham still holding the palm for generalship, straight hitting, and precision, but wanting strength from repeated falls. In the 60th round he fell weak. In the 64th, both men were again down in the hitting. From the 65th to the 100th round, time after time, did the men come up with fluctuating chances, the changes every three or four rounds being truly surprising. First Langham got so shaky that every round seemed his last; then Orme got such straight props from the shoulder, in return for his attempts to “go in and finish,” that it seemed a pity both could not win; several times he stood still, puzzled, but scorned to go down, while Langham could not get up steam enough to seize the advantage and secure victory. Orme was twice appealed against, on the ground that he lifted his foot when Langham was down. We do not think he either knew or intended to do what he did. Langham, too, was appealed against for going down, but the veteran referee would not have the battle snatched from such good men by a quibble. In the 100th round, 2 hours and 34 minutes having expired, Orme, on being carried to his corner, communicated to his seconds that he would fight no more; when the practised eye of Welsh perceiving that Langham’s head had dropped on Turner’s shoulder, he revived his man by the information that his opponent had “cut it.” Orme went up, but was not allowed to have it for asking. Langham showed, and pecked away like a game cock, though there was no power in his blows.
102 to 108.――Short rounds, as they well might be. Langham got a turn in his favour, for he hit Orme in the last-mentioned round, and his head dropped when picked up.
109.――Orme recovered quicker than could be expected, and again perceived that his opponent’s plight was no better than his own: he staggered in, punched away, and Langham fell.
110 to 113.――Orme very much abroad, but still the stronger. Langham fell in the 113th round on the ropes, and Orme upon him.
114, 115.――Both game as pebbles; Orme quite foggy in the optics; Langham staggering, and instinctively putting out his left for a pushing hit. (“Take them both away,” said a bystander. Orme shook his head, and Langham tried to muster the ghost of a smile.) The seconds went close to their men. “It’s all right,” said poor Langham to Jem Turner. If he thought so no one else did. After a slight pop with his left, Orme pushed Langham down, and fell over him.
116.――Orme on his knees, and Langham down anyhow, in a weak rally.
117th and last.――Langham sent out his left; Orme stepped back; Langham again hit out. He evidently did not perceive what was before him, and coming forward, from his own blow, fell on both knees and his hands. His seconds ran up to him, but it was all over. Orme stood in his corner for a few seconds, when time was called, to which the Leicester man was yet deaf, walked slowly across the ring, and taking the hand of his brave, fallen adversary, tried to muster an expression of admiration at his bravery. The sponge had before gone up from Langham’s corner, and thus, at the close of two hours and forty-six minutes, was brought to a decision one of the gamest battles the modern annals of the Ring can boast.
The shades of evening were closing in as the voyagers got on board their respective steamers, many more, as is usual on such occasions, extending their patronage to the “men’s” peculiar boat on the upward voyage than came down by that conveyance; for the very obvious reason that as the voyage both ways was paid at starting, the disagreeable ceremony of paying would be insisted on, while having once got down by a Gravesender, tug, or other cheap conveyance, the homeward-bound voyage could be effected gratis. It was nearly midnight when the “Queen of the Thames,” working against tide and a head wind, reached London Bridge; the voyage being shortened by many an anecdote of brave battles in bygone days, with which all agreed the present mill might well bear a comparison.
Orme now rested for a year upon his well-earned laurels, when once again Aaron Jones, who during the interval of two years had, so rumour averred, wonderfully developed and immensely improved in the art, sought to reverse the verdict given against him in December, 1849. Aaron had, moreover, in the interim fought Bob Wade (the Dover Champion), a 12st. man, whom he defeated at Edenbridge, Kent, in one hour, in which forty-three punishing rounds were contested.
Monday, May 10th, 1852, was the fixture, instead of the customary Tuesday; the moving reason thereto being that the Turfites, among whom were Jones’s prominent patrons, might attend another “ring” at Newmarket on the latter day. On Jones’s improvement the Sporting Oracle thus delivered itself: “When Jones first contended with Orme he was a youth of eighteen, weighing 11st. 2lbs., and too young to bear the wear and tear of a long encounter. He has now increased in height and weight, stands 6 feet in height, and will draw a trifle over 12st., besides having materially improved in the pugilistic art.” At the last deposit of £10 a side, making up the stakes to £200, which took place on Tuesday last at Mr. Prior’s, “Nag’s Head,” South Audley Street, Jones had the call in the betting, his friends being West-enders and ready to back their own “stable.” As the rendezvous was in the vicinity of Newmarket, and a trip per Eastern Counties rail the mode of reaching the field of arms, we were glad, on presenting ourselves at the Shoreditch terminus at eight o’clock, to see at “the meet,” not only a large number of the Corinthian patrons of the Ring, whose faces we have for some time missed from such gatherings, but many of the ex-professors of the art――Owen Swift, Adams, Jem Burn, Shaw, Dan Pinxton, Jemmy Gardner, Alec Keene, Harry Milbourn, &c., &c. At a little before eight Jones arrived at the station, accompanied by the lively Bob Fuller and Alec Keene; the former being his trainer and the twain his selected seconds for the fistic duello. Jones looked remarkably bright and well, indeed, as Bob expressed it, he was “as fit as a fiddle,” and “would take a great deal of beating.” Orme did not put in an appearance at Shoreditch, but it was quickly made known that he had departed overnight for the neighbourhood of Newmarket, where he was awaiting the arrival of the “London particulars.” At a few minutes past eight the whistle sounded, and off we went, understanding that Chesterford, where we were told Orme awaited us, was our calling-place, and thence we should be conveyed to Mildenhall. This was a judicious ruse, but, as we shall presently see, failed in the trial. On arriving at Chesterford, however, our steam-steed merely took a drink of water, and sped on its way to Six Mile Bottom, on the Newmarket line. We must confess that we were a little staggered, knowing what we did of the Cambridge authorities, that the “managers” should have chosen their ground within that shire, and we argued that as one of the men had been training near the racing metropolis the watchful blues had doubtless an eye upon his movements.
On mentioning our misgivings, however, to some of the parties concerned, and expressing our surprise that so hazardous an attempt should be made, we were assured that it was all right, that there were no magistrates within call, and that the fight was certain to be settled without interruption. While waiting for the arrival of Orme, our fears for the result were verified to the fullest extent by the appearance of a body of Cambridge police, both horse and foot, evidently determined to spoil sport. It was now determined to go on to Newmarket at once to fetch Orme, who had prudently retreated into the town on finding that the enemy was in the field. At Newmarket it was stated that he had chartered a fly, and was about to proceed across country to Mildenhall. A despatch was instantly sent to recall him, and, after a delay of about half an hour, he made his appearance, looking big, brown, hardy, and confident. He immediately took his place in the train, and an inhabitant of the district having intimated that he knew a spot where there was no chance of interruption, consented to act as pilot, the train was once more put in motion, and taking its course up the old Newmarket line, which was at that time closed for general traffic, was brought to a standstill by the side of a field at Bourne Bridge, a place rendered memorable as the scene of the first contest between Mr. Gully and Gregson, in days long vanished, passed away. Here a debarkation was effected, and when all the voyageurs by train were collected there were certainly not more than two hundred persons present. These, by the time the ropes and stakes were pitched, were increased by the arrival of some dozen equestrians from Cambridge and Newmarket, anxious, no doubt, to enjoy a treat so seldom witnessed by the inhabitants of those celebrated universities for the education of man and horse; but, as will be shortly seen, their arrival on horseback defeated the object they had in view, as it served to put the blues upon the scent, and enabled them, before much business had been got through, again to put in their unwelcome appearance, and once more to send the “peace breakers” to the right about.
On the recommendation of “the pilot” the business of constructing the arena was set about with unusual celerity by young Fred Oliver and the veteran Tom Callas, under the superintendence of the ancient Commissary himself, and by a few minutes past one o’clock all was in readiness. A capital outer ring was formed, round which the “cheapsiders” took their stations, while comfortable straw hassocks were provided for the tenants of the inner circle who chose to pay the price demanded by those who had been so thoughtful as to provide such luxuries. Jem Burn, whose hind feet and legs were not sufficiently under his command to enable him to take up a position so close to mother-earth, was accommodated with a chair, around which were grouped several of his ancient patrons, and all appeared now to be satisfied that at length fortune was favourable, and that the mill would be brought to a conclusion without let or hindrance. Umpires and a referee were quickly chosen, and the men at once proceeded to their toilettes, Jones, as we have already stated, being waited on by Bob Fuller and Alec Keene, while Orme had for valets Jemmy Welsh and a “Jolly Butcher” from Southwark. On stripping, Jones confirmed the opinion we had formed in the morning, that he was as “fine as a star,” and as fit as Fuller could make him. Orme, on denuding himself of his outer rind, looked big enough and strong enough for anything. His skin, of a nut-brown tint, gave him altogether an appearance of hardihood which lead a spectator to infer that he was an adversary by no means to be sneezed at, even by those who considered themselves his superiors in the fistic art. It was clear, nevertheless, that he had not devoted quite as much time to his preparation as the nature of the encounter he had undertaken would have justified. There were indications of loose flesh about his ribs and chest which might have been well dispensed with. On inquiring his weight we were informed that he was about 11st. 8lb., being just 4lb. more than when he encountered Langham. Notwithstanding this exuberance of meat he looked remarkably well, was extremely confident, and “eager for th’ affray.” All being at length in readiness, the colours (blue for Orme, and yellow with blue border for Jones) were nailed to the mast――we mean, tied to the stake. Orme laid his adversary a bet of £25 to £20, which was duly posted. The men and their seconds shook hands――silence was proclaimed――“Time” was called (half-past one)――the seconds retired to their corners, and left the men at the scratch to commence
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.――On throwing themselves into attitude, which, as the dandies say, “is everything,” there was no very great display of artistic skill on either side. If anything, Jones’s position was the more graceful of the two; still he left his ribs totally unprotected, and held his hands much too far from his body to please our mind. Orme, on the contrary, held his arms, which loomed large and ponderous, closer to his corpus. He stood almost square, his thick, muscular legs seeming well calculated to support his enormous round shoulders, which resembled those of a miniature Atlas. Jones, after a dodge or two, feinted with his left, but Orme grinned and stepped back; Jones followed him up, when Orme stopped his further progress with a prop from his right on the side of the head. Counter-hits with the left followed without any mischief. Orme then swung round his right as if it was a sledgehammer, and caught Jones with tremendous force on the ribs under the left arm, in the region of the heart, where he left most unmistakable imprints of his knuckles, which never disappeared during the remainder of the battle. Jones returned slightly on the right ear, which led to a rally, in which Orme had the best of the hitting, again delivering a rib-bender with his right, removing the bark from Jones’s smeller, and drawing first blood with his left. A close, in which Orme held his man tight, and fibbed him on the nose and forehead until both were down in Jones’s corner.
2.――Jones led off with his left, reaching Orme’s cheek, and cleverly stopping the return. Counter-hits followed, Jones drawing claret from Orme’s mouth, catching it in return heavily on the cheek and chin. Some slogging hits were exchanged without any regard to science, and Jones at length slipped down.
3.――Jones again led off with his left, but was very wild in his deliveries, which passed over Orme’s shoulder. Had he been more precise his blows would have told a tale, for Orme appeared to think that “stopping” was quite beneath him. Orme went in, pegged away left and right on the left eye and ribs, and Jones fell.
4.――Jones on coming up displayed the marks of Orme’s handiwork in the last round in the shape of a mouse on his left eye. He appeared loth to come out of his corner, whereupon Orme went to him. Jones retreated as far as he could, and delivered his left as Orme came in. Orme “stopped the blow” with his left cheek, returned the compliment with interest by two heavy cracks on Jones’s injured peeper and his forehead, when Jones got down.
5.――Orme commenced business by rushing in and planting his left and right heavily on Jones’s mouth and nose, drawing more claret. Jones returned slightly on the left cheek and slipped down just as Orme was about to effect a delivery. He looked up as if anticipating a foul, but Orme restrained himself, grinned, shook his head, patted Jones on the back of his poll, and walked to his corner.
6.――Jones led off with his left, catching Orme on the potato-trap. Orme countered him on the nose heavily, stepped back again, went in, repeated the dose on Jones’s nose and his left eye, and the latter was again down.
7.――Jones came up much flushed, bleeding from the nose and left eye. His forehead was swelled, and altogether it was evident that Orme’s visitations had not been without their effect. The only mark Orme showed was a swelling under his left eye. Orme led off, caught Jones another rattler on the damaged ogle, drawing more of the ruby. Jones wild, dashed in, planted a heavy blow on Orme’s left cheek, and fell on his latter end from the force of his own blow.
8.――Jones stopped Orme’s left neatly, and tried a return which was short. A rally followed, in which Jones’s deliveries were mostly thrown away, inasmuch as they passed over Orme’s shoulder. Orme, whose punches, although very round, in general got home, again planted on Jones’s left eye and nose. At length Jones got one on Orme’s left peeper, drawing blood, and then slipped down.
9.――Jones came up bleeding, and looking much the worse for wear, while Orme was all confidence. Jones led off with his left, got home slightly on Orme’s smeller, when suddenly was heard the unwelcome watchword of “Police”――and sure enough, on looking round we perceived a detachment of neatly attired Cambridge “Peelers” making their way to the field of action. A cry of sauve qui peut was instantly raised, and the ground was cleared in a trice, every one making for the train and jumping into the first carriage that he could find open. It was soon discovered, however, that the object of the “powers that be” was not to apprehend any of the wrongdoers, but merely to prevent a breach of the peace in the county of Cambridge.
A council of war was called; the referee, whose duty it was to name the next time and place, if possible on the same day, suggested that there was yet time to go to Mildenhall, where he knew the matter could be concluded in peace. The officials, however, connected with the railway, said that, inasmuch as the train would have to return up the old Newmarket line, and then go round by Cambridge, where it would be detained so as not to interfere with the general traffic, it was very probable that Mildenhall could not be reached in time to finish the business in hand before dark. It was then hinted by “the pilot” that the affair might be completed in the neighbourhood of Newmarket, that town being in the county of Suffolk, and out of the jurisdiction of the Cambridgeshire authorities. The plan appeared feasible, and “bock agin” to Newmarket was the order of the day. The pilot conducted the Commissary and assistants to a likely piece of turf behind the plantation of firs at the top of the training-ground, not much more than a mile from the town, and here a second ring was formed with all due diligence, and here, of course, the crowd of spectators was largely increased by detachments of lovers of the sport from the town itself and the surrounding districts. At twenty-two minutes after three, all being for the second time in readiness, in the midst of a shower of rain, round nine was resumed.
THE FIGHT RESUMED.
Round 9 continued.――On the men throwing off their blankets both looked rather the worse for wear, Jones having a most unmistakable black eye, and the bark being off his frontispiece in several places. The marks also of Orme’s hammerings on his ribs were very apparent. Orme displayed a slight swelling and discolouration under his left eye, and an enlargement of his upper lip. Both seemed fresher from the rest they had taken, and appeared anxious now to finish the fight out of hand. Jones led off twice, but was short. Orme then delivered a spank on his left eye. Jones returned rather heavily on the nose and slipped down.
10.――Orme led off, planted his right again heavily on the ribs. Jones, after one or two wild plunges over his adversary’s shoulder, succeeded in reaching his damaged cheek, and slipped down.
11.――Jones again led off twice with his left, but in both instances the blows fell short; Orme then went to his man, slight taps were exchanged, after which Orme popped in a nasty one on the nose, and slipped down.
12.――Orme rushed in to fight, but Jones stepped back, caught him heavily on the left ear and left eye, drawing claret from the latter; Orme tried to return, but Jones got down cunning.
13.――Orme on coming to the scratch showed that Jones’s last two hits had not been without their effect; his left ogle began to show symptoms of shutting up shop, while his left ear was considerably discoloured. Jones led off, delivered his left and right on Orme’s injured optic and his ear, stopped Orme’s returns cleverly, and slipped down.
14.――Orme rushed in in a determined manner, but was again stopped. Jones stepped back, delivered his right on Orme’s left ear heavily; Orme would not be stalled off, but again bored in, when Jones slipped down.
15.――Jones led off, but the blow passed harmless over Orme’s head; good counter-hits followed, Orme delivering on Jones’s nose, and receiving a heavy visitation on his right peeper. Jones then received a one-two on the nose and ribs, when both got down together, and, after a slight scramble, were down side by side.
16.――Jones was again short in his deliveries, when Orme closed, and both were again down, no mischief being done.
17.――Both rattled in to their work, and some sharp exchanges took place, in which Jack was as good as his master. Orme then caught Jones round the neck, fibbed him heavily in the mouth and nose, and after a short struggle threw him heavily, and fell upon him.
18.――Jones, led off, his arm passing over his adversary’s head. He was more lucky in a second attempt, reaching Orme’s left ogle heavily. Some rattling exchanges followed, left and right, Jones catching it on the ribs and left eye, while he got home heavily on Orme’s ear, mouth, and left cheek. Orme bored in, planted his one-two on Jones’s nose and mouth, and was trying to improve his advantage when Jones slipped down cunning.
19.――Jones first to fight, Orme appearing to blow from want of condition. Jones got home again on the left ear and nose; Orme returned slightly, but his hits now appeared to lack steam. Jones in this round rattled away in style, had all the best of the hitting, but in the end Orme counterbalanced these advantages by closing and throwing him a cross buttock, and falling heavily on him.
20.――Jones led off, but was met by Orme with a sharp counter-hit, each reached his adversary’s left eye, after which Jones immediately got down. He had evidently been much shaken by the fall in the previous round.
21.――Orme attempted to take the lead, but was short; Jones delivered a heavy right-hander on the left ear; counter-hits followed, Orme reaching Jones’s left eye heavily, and received on the nose. Jones finished the round by delivering a spank on Orme’s right eye and getting down.
22.――Jones came up, bleeding from his left eye. Orme opened the ball by repeating the dose on the same optic, and drawing a fresh supply of the ruby. He attempted to do ditto ditto, but was cleverly stopped by Jones. Counter-hits followed, Orme succeeding in again planting upon the nearly closed eye of his adversary, who delivered on the left cheek and left ear and then got down.
23.――Jones attempted to take the lead, but was wofully short. Orme went to him, delivered his left and right heavily, received a slight tap in return, and Jones fell.
It was now forty minutes past three, and before time could be called for the next round, “police!” was again the cry of the multitude――a cry which, as at the first ring, proved to be only too true. Several individuals, clad in blue array, connected with the Suffolk constabulary, forced their way to the arena, and ordered the combatants to desist in the Queen’s name. A fly was close to the spot, and in this both men and their seconds quickly ensconced themselves. The stakes were once more drawn, and all repaired to the railway station, to once more ponder upon the reverses of a day which had dawned with every prospect of a successful expedition. The backers of the men applied to the referee to know his decision, and that functionary, after considering the circumstances of the case, decided that there must be another meeting, and, having taken council with the pilot, the excursionists once more re-entered the train, the pilot and a backer of Orme taking their station on the tender, the former undertaking to direct the engine driver to a spot where it was thought a satisfactory last act might be appended to the two which had already been performed. The train once more flew past Six Mile Bottom, where the blue-coated fraternity were still observable on the qui vive, to prevent a second invasion of their bailiwick. The old Newmarket line was a second time traversed for some miles, and at length the pilot gave orders to “heave to” at a field of clover, about two miles on the Newmarket side of Chesterford. And now comes the unpleasant part of our narrative. On the referee leaving the train, he was asked by some of Jones’s backers why the train had stopped, as they understood he had decided that the fight was to be postponed until another day. The referee stated that he had given no decision of the kind; the articles specified that in case of magisterial interference the referee was to name the next time and place, if possible on the same day. He had named a place (having directed the engine driver under the orders of “the pilot” to go where there was a probability of a satisfactory conclusion); that place had been reached, there was plenty of daylight, he saw no excuse for postponing the battle to a future day, and he had no alternative but to order the men to fight. Jones’s friends replied that Orme’s principal backer had told them when the police arrived at the second ring that there would be no more fight that day, but that he should take his man back to London at once. They had therefore given Jones oranges to eat, and brandy-and-water to drink, and had, moreover, been smoking in the same carriage with him. The referee stated that this, if it was the case, was highly reprehensible on their part; Orme’s backers had no power to decide whether the fight was to be resumed or not; that was discretionary on his (the referee’s) part. He had stated to one or two of Jones’s friends what his intentions were, and if there had been any doubt upon the point, the least that could have been done by his seconds and attendants would have been to ask the question before they allowed their man to commit the excesses they alluded to. It was then urged by Jones’s backers that it would be a cruel thing to order the men to fight again after being twice stripped and twice disturbed. The referee said that might or might not be the case; his duty, according to the articles, was imperative. The men must fight, unless they chose mutually to agree to a postponement, when of course he could have no objection. Orme and his friends would not hear of an adjournment, and wished to have the matter decided at once. Jones’s backers then became very excited, and one of them applied language to the referee which was utterly unjustifiable, and that gentleman said he would have nothing more to do with the matter, and that he would resign his office as referee. After a lengthened argument pro and con, however, the referee, seeing that if he resigned his office the friends of Jones would attain the object they evidently had in view――namely, to save any bets they might have upon the fight, by refusing to agree to any other referee, and thus procuring an adjournment――consented to leave the railway carriage into which he had retired. He was again begged by Jones’s friends to adjourn the fight, but again repeated his decision that they must make another attempt on that day to bring the affair to an issue. Jones and Co. appeared still reluctant to renew the encounter, whereupon the referee stated that he would give them half an hour, and if Jones was not in the ring ready to fight by that time he would award the stakes to Orme. Orme went to the ring, which had already been formed, whither he was followed, after a short delay, by Jones and his seconds. Jones, whose left eye was completely closed, and who showed other symptoms of severe chastisement, pulled off his trousers and coat, and was about to denude himself of his other clothing, when suddenly he appeared to change his mind; he whispered to one of his seconds that it was “No use his fighting any more, as he was sure to be licked.” He then resumed his extra toggery and went to the referee, to whom he stated that he would not fight again unless another referee was chosen, as he had resigned his office. The referee replied that his resignation was only threatened, and was not consummated, inasmuch as it had not been accepted by the parties concerned, who had asked him (after he had said that he would resign) to adjourn the fight to another day, and had thus acknowledged his authority. He was not disposed now to give up that authority, and thus deprive Orme of any chance he might have of finishing the battle that night. He did not consider that either man was licked, or that there was any great advantage on either side in point of punishment; there were still two hours of daylight. As he had said before, he could see no ground for a postponement, and fight they must, or he would certainly award the battle in favour of Orme. Jones still persisted in his refusal to fight, and at length left the ring, repeating the observation, that if he fought again he knew he should be licked. He did not leave the arena, however, without hearing sundry complimentary speeches from the spectators upon the courage (?) he displayed in refusing to finish the battle in a manly, upright manner, and without resorting to any petty subterfuges to obtain an adjournment. Amongst others who commented in strong terms upon his behaviour was Jemmy Massey, who was backing him, and who has shown himself a pretty good judge of the quantity of punishment a man can take without being licked; Jemmy strongly advised Jones to at once leave the ring, acknowledge that he was afraid of Orme, and thus end the matter. The referee waited the promised half-hour, at the end of which time, finding that Jones still declined the contest, he awarded the victory to Orme, to whom he at once handed the sum of £45, being the bet of £25 to £20 which had been laid prior to the commencement of the fight. The battle lasted 15 minutes at Bourne Bridge, and 18 minutes at Newmarket――total 33 minutes.
REMARKS.――Few remarks are called for upon the style displayed by either of the combatants in this most unsatisfactory affair. Orme displayed all that fearless determination to do or die which has characterised his former encounters, but we could not perceive any improvement in his scientific acquirements since his battle with Nat Langham last year. His principal notion of stopping seemed to be with his head, which consequently received many sharp visitations from Jones’s wild deliveries, which a very little care would have enabled him entirely to escape. The art of getting away seemed to be one to the study of which he has paid very little attention. His game evidently is “nothing venture, nothing gain,” and he acted up to this to the fullest extent. Notwithstanding his want of skilful direction of his undoubted powers, Orme is a dangerous customer to any one at all near his weight. He is a very hard hitter, an extremely powerful and determined man, of indomitable courage, and, although his powers as a receiver were not severely tested on the present occasion, still, it is known that in his fight with Langham he showed that his qualities as a glutton are of the highest order. He is, moreover, possessed of an excellent temper, which enables him to control himself under circumstances which are calculated sometimes to “ruffle the feathers” of the coolest combatant. As to Jones, in whom we were taught to expect a most wonderful alteration for the better, we can only say that our expectations were grievously disappointed. He certainly did stop Orme’s swinging right-handers occasionally, but his returns, which from the opening afforded to him might have enabled him to punish his daring adversary’s temerity in a most signal manner, were mostly thrown to the winds. The tremendous blow he received on the ribs in the very first round appeared to take a good deal of the fight out of him, and it was with extreme caution that he trusted himself within reach of Orme’s pile-driving visitations. In the first ring, indeed, after the first round, he did little but receive what Orme could give, and on arriving at the second arena, previous to recommencing operations, it appeared to us that there was some little difficulty on the part of his seconds in persuading him that there was a chance left for him to snatch the laurel of victory from his more hardy opponent. When he did begin, however, he proved that he could fight very well if he chose, and that what he might lack in strength could be fully counterbalanced by steadiness; for whenever he collected himself and made up his mind to be with his man, the hits were pretty equally balanced, both as regarded their severity and their number. The fall which he received in the second act, to which was superadded the weight of Orme’s carcase, however, seemed again to take a good deal of fight out of him, and it was pretty evident to all, that although Orme was not likely to gain a victory without receiving a very considerable amount of punishment, still, barring an accident, victory must ultimately be his. The conduct of Jones at the third ring proved either that his heart was composed of a softer material than is necessary to render a man a successful bruiser, or that he acted under advice which, however well intended, was certainly as ill-timed as it was injudicious. We know that his seconds did all they could to endeavour to persuade him to fight, but finding that he was obviously disinclined, they, like clever counsellors, did their best for their client in trying to convert a bad cause into a good one, and obtain an adjournment to a future day; but, as has already been seen, the fiat had gone forth. Their man had but to choose one of two alternatives――viz., to fight or lose the battle, and he, doubtless feeling assured in his own mind that the latter course would be the safer, declined to have any more, withdrew from the ring, leaving behind him a reputation little creditable to him as a man of courage, and little calculated to raise him in the opinion of those Corinthians who were prepared to witness a manly struggle for pre-eminence, without any of those paltry shifts and subterfuge which appear now to be almost necessary concomitants of every encounter.
As was to be expected, the stakeholder received a legal notice from the backers of Jones, not to part with their portion of the money deposited. Nevertheless, on the Monday following, that gentleman handed over the £200 to Orme, pursuant to the decision of the referee. The stakeholder, in giving the money to Orme, animadverted severely on the conduct of the backers of Jones, which he characterised as unsportsmanlike and ill-judged. Such conduct was calculated to lower the already fallen fortunes of the P.R., and unless measures were taken to make an example of persons who could so far forget themselves, he feared that gentlemen would in future be deterred from putting down money to back men, from the fear that the backers of the opposing party would, if they found their man was getting the worst of it, take every unfair means in their power to prevent a manly and upright termination to the contest. On the present occasion two of Jones’s friends and supporters (whom he named) had, but whether with Jones’s consent he was unable to say, served him (the stakeholder) with a legal notice not to part with the money they had placed in his hands. Not feeling disposed to permit Orme to be thus deprived of a sum to which he had fairly entitled himself, he communicated the fact to the gentleman who staked the greater part of his money, and that gentle- and Orme executed a bond of indemnity to hold him (the stakeholder) harmless, in case Messrs. Ledger and Prior should take any further steps. The law expenses attending this bond of indemnity amounted to nearly £6. This sum would have to be paid by Orme, and it would make a considerable reduction in the amount of his winnings, which were already sufficiently circumscribed by the expenses incurred for training, paying his seconds, &c., &c. He felt assured that all persons who were disposed to look at the result of the contest in a proper light would agree with the referee in the decision he had given, and in this opinion he was upheld by remarks which had come to his ears, which had been made on the ground, by persons who had lost their money by backing Jones, many of whom said that the referee could not do otherwise than he had done. It was not necessary to trouble the company with any further remarks; they would form their own estimate of the proceedings of Jones and Co.; and in conclusion he was sure they would cordially agree with him in wishing that when Orme was again matched he would be more lucky in the choice of an opponent. It was certain that whenever he did fight again he would do his best to win, and it would be from no lack of determination on his part if he lost. The stakeholder then handed to Orme the £200, minus £5 17s. 4d., the amount of the lawyer’s bill for preparing the bond of indemnity.
Orme expressed his thanks to the stakeholder for his determination in giving up the money. He said it was usual, when the winning man received the reward of his victory, to present the loser with something as a compensation for his disappointment. It had been his intention to act up to the custom on the present occasion, and give Jones a £5 note, if his (Jones’s) backers had not acted in such an unsportsmanlike manner. They had, however, put him to an expense of nearly £6, and this so reduced his winnings that he really could not afford to give anything. He was sorry for this, on Jones’s account, as he did not believe that he had any hand in the legal proceedings. Although he could not himself afford to do anything for Jones, however, he would make a collection among his friends.
Orme’s determination to give nothing to Jones was applauded by the parties present, who expressed their opinion that this was the true method of punishing him for any countenance he might have given to the dealing with the lawyers which had been commenced by his friends. Orme then went round the room, and made a collection for Jones. This he handed over to Jones, who immediately rose and thanked the company. He assured them that he had nothing to do with the notice served upon the stakeholder, and all he could say was, he hoped when he fought again he should get a better character from the Press than he had received on the present occasion. He was no coward, and he trusted that the day would come when he might be able to prove himself as game a man as Orme. As to the amount subscribed for him, he thought he could not do better than hand it over to the stakeholder, to be appropriated towards Spring’s monument. Jones’s speech was much applauded, and he sat down amidst considerable cheering, and the remainder of the evening passed off harmoniously.
Orme’s second victory over Aaron Jones, who, as must not be forgotten, was at this period (1852-3) looked upon by the Broomes and many good judges as the “coming man” for the championship in futuro, marked him out as a boxer who in time to come must “give away weight,” and who was not to be tackled by any middle-weight; for the phenomenon of a ten-and-a-half stone Champion had not yet presented itself to men’s eyes, or to their minds as a possibility or even a probability. At this juncture the Champion’s title had passed into the hands of Harry Broome, in consequence of his very debatable conquest of the “Old Tipton” (through a foul blow), on the 27th of September, 1851, at Mildenhall, Suffolk. From that time Harry Broome had worn the title undisputed (Aaron Jones being of the Broome party), but now the East End friends of Orme thought they perceived their Champion within a “measurable distance” of the Championship. Accordingly Harry Orme, with laudable ambition, picked up the gauntlet thrown down by the Champion, the “other Harry,” and agreeing to the amount of stake, £500, articles were drawn, and the 23rd of March, 1853, fixed for its decision; owing, however, to that being the day of the Newmarket Handicap, a supplemental agreement was signed, postponing the battle to Monday, 18th of April. We need not here recapitulate the circumstances of the battle, seeing that they are minutely detailed in the Memoir of HARRY BROOME, Chapter IX. of this volume.
With this “glorious defeat,” more honourable to the loser than many victories, we close the Ring career of the brave, honest, and straightforward Harry Orme. We shall conclude our Ring memoirs of this courageous champion by a few words of quotation from a contemporary account of this final fight: “Orme is a remarkably quiet, civil fellow, and is much respected by his friends at the East End, and, indeed, by all who intimately know him. He is a man who never talks about fighting, except in the briefest terms, and then only when he means business. We do not ever recollect hearing from his lips, either at home or in public, any of that slang or loose talk which many of his brother professionals consider witty, or smart, and laughter-provoking. In fact, Harry Orme is singularly modest, and not only avoids boasting, but is always ready to concede credit to his opponent, and leave to others the praising of himself.”
Harry Orme was for many years known as the landlord of the “Jane Shore,” in Shoreditch. He died on the 9th of June, 1864, in his 41st year, and rests beneath a neat memorial in Abney Cemetery.
[26] “Rari quippe boni: numero vix sunt totidem, quot Thebarum portæ, vel divitis ostia Nili.”――JUVENAL, SAT.