CHAPTERV.

CHAPTERV.NICHOLAS (NICK) WARD.1835–1841.Theclaim 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, inSt.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,” inFistiana, underWard) 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’sbacker having won the toss for choice of place (within thirty miles of London) named the well-known Moulsey Hurst as thechamp closof combat.On the appointed Tuesday, the patrons of the fistic art were on thequi viveto 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 “anybreach 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 andthen 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 ofSt.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 theplace 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 reasonwhywe saw him there. This was soon confirmed by a sporting friend, whom we fearlessly set down as thatlusus naturæ, “an honest lawyer.” He told us, with regret, that “the Philistines wereabroad,” and that the Home Office, urged on by the twaddle of “My Grandmother” (theMorning 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 abadger-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 andCo., 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 dayfixed—​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 theP.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 commencedTHE 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 downquiteso 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 theP.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 Liferemarks, 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 ofthe 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 theheartto 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 demonstrationsof “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”—​bekasethe 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 theirmateriel, and it was ascertained that “the Deaf’un andCo.” had taken up their quarters at the “Bull,” at Stony Stratford, while “Nick Ward andCo.” 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 inBedfordshire. 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. OliverandJ. 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-horsecart, 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 theirfoglesto 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 positionagain, 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 asmart 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 ofWard’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 tookplace, 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. Thisfact 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 indispensablematerielof 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 froma 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 ofbonâ fidedistinction, 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, greetedby 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 hisknees. 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 ofFistiana, 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 the12th 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 lifeTo scare the assassin and crush the knife;Then welcome to earth as the flowers in springBe 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 shrillRave against Fistiana still,And owl-faced beaks shake the nob and vowTo 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’dShall tell them undaunted to do their worst—Shall proclaim to the traps ’tis weak and vainTo seek the brave boxer to restrain;And better ’twould be by far to grabThose who settle disputes by a mortal stab:By Heaven, ’tis sufficient to make us blushFor 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 snowMantles 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 seaIs 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 NickIn the shape of conquest shall do the trick—This day shall to Fancy lads declareWhich 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 toughWhich 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 dayOf plebeians low and Corinthians gay,But the beaks for Hants had in anger vow’dNo 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 worksWithout 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 reciteThe 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 lifeTo scare the assassin and crush the knife:Then welcome to earth as the flowers in springBe the glory renew’d of the Fighting Ring,And over each British boxer braveLong 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 ofCaunt, 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]SeeRecollections of the Ring and Pencillings of Pugilists.No. IX.Johnny Broome.

Theclaim 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, inSt.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,” inFistiana, underWard) 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’sbacker having won the toss for choice of place (within thirty miles of London) named the well-known Moulsey Hurst as thechamp closof combat.

On the appointed Tuesday, the patrons of the fistic art were on thequi viveto 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 “anybreach 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 andthen 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 ofSt.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 theplace 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 reasonwhywe saw him there. This was soon confirmed by a sporting friend, whom we fearlessly set down as thatlusus naturæ, “an honest lawyer.” He told us, with regret, that “the Philistines wereabroad,” and that the Home Office, urged on by the twaddle of “My Grandmother” (theMorning 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 abadger-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 andCo., 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 dayfixed—​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 theP.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.

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 downquiteso 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 theP.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 Liferemarks, 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 ofthe 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 theheartto 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 demonstrationsof “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”—​bekasethe 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 theirmateriel, and it was ascertained that “the Deaf’un andCo.” had taken up their quarters at the “Bull,” at Stony Stratford, while “Nick Ward andCo.” 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 inBedfordshire. 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. OliverandJ. 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-horsecart, 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 theirfoglesto 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 positionagain, 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 asmart 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 ofWard’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 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 positionagain, 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 asmart 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 ofWard’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.”

“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.”

“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 tookplace, 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. Thisfact 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 indispensablematerielof 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 froma 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 ofbonâ fidedistinction, 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, greetedby 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 hisknees. 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 ofFistiana, 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 the12th 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.

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 hisknees. 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 ofFistiana, 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 the12th 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 lifeTo scare the assassin and crush the knife;Then welcome to earth as the flowers in springBe 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 shrillRave against Fistiana still,And owl-faced beaks shake the nob and vowTo 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’dShall tell them undaunted to do their worst—Shall proclaim to the traps ’tis weak and vainTo seek the brave boxer to restrain;And better ’twould be by far to grabThose who settle disputes by a mortal stab:By Heaven, ’tis sufficient to make us blushFor 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 snowMantles 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 seaIs 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 NickIn the shape of conquest shall do the trick—This day shall to Fancy lads declareWhich 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 toughWhich 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 dayOf plebeians low and Corinthians gay,But the beaks for Hants had in anger vow’dNo 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 worksWithout 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 reciteThe 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 lifeTo scare the assassin and crush the knife:Then welcome to earth as the flowers in springBe the glory renew’d of the Fighting Ring,And over each British boxer braveLong may the banner of fair play wave.

Hurrah for the Ring and the bunch of fives!Like a giant refreshed the Ring revives,It awakens again to vigorous lifeTo scare the assassin and crush the knife;Then welcome to earth as the flowers in springBe 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 shrillRave against Fistiana still,And owl-faced beaks shake the nob and vowTo 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’dShall tell them undaunted to do their worst—Shall proclaim to the traps ’tis weak and vainTo seek the brave boxer to restrain;And better ’twould be by far to grabThose who settle disputes by a mortal stab:By Heaven, ’tis sufficient to make us blushFor 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 snowMantles 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 seaIs 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 NickIn the shape of conquest shall do the trick—This day shall to Fancy lads declareWhich 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 toughWhich 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 dayOf plebeians low and Corinthians gay,But the beaks for Hants had in anger vow’dNo 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 worksWithout 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 reciteThe 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 lifeTo scare the assassin and crush the knife:Then welcome to earth as the flowers in springBe the glory renew’d of the Fighting Ring,And over each British boxer braveLong may the banner of fair play wave.

Hurrah for the Ring and the bunch of fives!Like a giant refreshed the Ring revives,It awakens again to vigorous lifeTo scare the assassin and crush the knife;Then welcome to earth as the flowers in springBe the glory renew’d of the Boxing Ring,And over each British boxer brave,Long may the banner of fair play wave.

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 shrillRave against Fistiana still,And owl-faced beaks shake the nob and vowTo 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’dShall tell them undaunted to do their worst—

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 vainTo seek the brave boxer to restrain;And better ’twould be by far to grabThose who settle disputes by a mortal stab:By Heaven, ’tis sufficient to make us blushFor those who are seeking fair play to crush,To extinguish courage, and skill, and game,And in letters of blood stamp England’s shame.

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 snowMantles 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 seaIs whistling a sharp, shrill melody;But the sun is up, and the morning bright,So hasten, brave boys, to the field of fight.

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 NickIn the shape of conquest shall do the trick—This day shall to Fancy lads declareWhich 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 toughWhich combatant first shall sing “enough.”

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 dayOf plebeians low and Corinthians gay,But the beaks for Hants had in anger vow’dNo mill in their county should be allow’d.

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.”

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 worksWithout 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!

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 reciteThe 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.

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 lifeTo scare the assassin and crush the knife:Then welcome to earth as the flowers in springBe the glory renew’d of the Fighting Ring,And over each British boxer braveLong may the banner of fair play wave.

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 ofCaunt, 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]SeeRecollections of the Ring and Pencillings of Pugilists.No. IX.Johnny Broome.

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