“To the Editor of‘Bell’s Life in London.’“Sir,—Should the patron of the ’unknown’ candidate for ‘the Championship’ agree to allow his man to fight for £500 a side, my friends are ready to back me for that sum. Failing a match being made with him, I am ready to give any other customer a chance, and for his accommodation will fight for any sum, from £300 to £500 a side. I am, Sir, your most obedient servant,“JAMES WARD. Champion of England.“Liverpool, Sept. 18, 1833.”The Editor having submitted this epistle to “the Deaf’un,” observes, “that individual desires us to say, that ‘he’s ready to stands nps for thetitle for a hundreds, but as for tousands, and that sorts o’ rediklus tings, he can’t say nuttins about ’em.’” Another challenge elicited the subjoined from Ward:—“To the Editor of‘Bell’s Life in London.’“Sir,—I have long contemplated leaving the Ring altogether, and would not offer myself again to your notice, had you not inserted a challenge for the Championship, accompanied by a tempting stake; to which challenge I gave a suitable reply, stating at the time my readiness to fight the Unknown for £500, or a smaller sum—say £300 or £400 a side. I am not only willing to fight for the above sums, but to allow the Unknown three months to deliberate upon it.“I perceive that Deaf Burke calls himself ‘Champion of England,’ and offers to make a match with me for £100 a side. Considering that I am in business, such a sum is not worth contending for, especially as a considerable portion of it must be expended in training and other incidental expenses. If Deaf Burke means fighting me, I will accommodate him for £200 a side, and no less. Should this not meet his views in a reasonable time, my intentions are to retire from the Ringin toto; to that the Unknown and Deaf Burke will know what to do.“JAMES WARD, Champion of England.“Liverpool, October 2, 1833.”The Deaf’un seemed now doomed to the sickness of “hope deferred.” He was too good for any of the 12-stone men except the Champion, whose price, even lowered to £200, was still too high for him. Numerous letters passed and repassed between O’Rourke and Burke; and on one occasion O’Rourke dragging in the name of Ward, Jem offered to stake £300 to O’Rourke’s £200 and fight him in Ireland. To this O’Rourke made no response, and soon after sailed for America. Ward then offered to meet Burke £300 to £200; but even at these odds the Deaf’un could not find backers, at which we need not be surprised when the comparative merits of the men were weighed in the balance.Burke, who had certainly, in addition to his great powers as a boxer, a fund of native and quaint comicality, now utilised his talent as a public exhibitor of models of statues from the antique, for which his athletic development well fitted him, alternating them with displays of the Art of Self-defence. In these tours, wherein his attendant or agent in advance was the well-known Tommy Roundhead, the trainer (whom the Deaf’un dubbed his “Secretary”), Burke visited Wales, Bristol, and the West, and subsequently the Midlands and the North. An incidental notice in a newspaper published in “the Potteries” gives us a peep at the Deaf’un on his travels.“A Voice from the Pitcher Country. Disappointment of the Pottery Fancy.—On Saturday last Tommy Roundhead, theavant courierof Deaf Burke, arrived in Hanley, and cast anchor at Mr. Hawes’s, Angel Inn, in the Market Place. On making his business known, the worthyhost offered him the use of the large room in which Tom Spring and Big Brown exhibited previous to Brown’s fight with Phil Sampson, at Bishop’s Wood. Roundhead immediately got his handbills printed, and the walls covered with well-displayed posters, announcing that on Monday and Tuesday evenings, ‘Deaf Burke, Champion of England, and Harry Preston, Champion of Birmingham, would take a benefit and exhibit the manly art of self-defence; the whole to conclude with a grand set-to, previous to Preston’s return to Birmingham to fight Davis for one hundred guineas.’“Tommy gave out that Burke and Preston would arrive at Hanley at noon on Monday. During the day, but especially in the evening, the ‘Angel’ was crowded. Several indications of impatience were exhibited at the non-appearance of the men; but in the evening, when the last coach arrived from Birmingham, and there was no tidings of the ‘Deaf’un,’ an universal burst of disgust went through the rooms. They all turned upon Roundhead. Tommy got on his pins, and attempted to explain that he left Burke on the Thursday at Atherstone, and that he had come to Hanley, by Burke’s express desire, to engage a room for him and Preston to spar in. He had written to Burke, at Arthur Matthewson’s, and could only account for their non-appearance on the score that his letter had not reached them. The grumblers vehemently vociferated, ‘Stow your patter, it’s a hoax—it’s no go, Tommy.’ A regular ‘flare-up’ had very near taken place, but, by good words and persuasion, silence was restored, and the company dispersed peaceably.”From what follows, it will be seen that that very shifty gentleman—Harry Preston—was the real cause of the apparent breach of promise.“The cause of this disappointment is explained by a letter we have received from Birmingham; from which it appears that Preston and the Deaf’un had a fall out at Arthur Matthewson’s, which, after lots of chaff and a deposit of a sovereign a side, was to be decided by a fight the next morning, but on the Deaf’un going to the scratch Preston ‘would not have it.’ Some further chatter followed, in which Preston offered to fight Burke if he would reduce himself to 12 stone. This the Deaf’un declined, but offered to fight him £120 to £100, or £60 to £50. This would not suit Harry’s book, and thus the matter ended. The Deaf’un’s next trip is to Liverpool, and from thence to Scotland, where he is to join Bob Avery in Glasgow. Poor Tommy Roundhead has been undeservedly censured in this matter.”That the Deaf’un had considerable pantomimic powers may be gathered from the fact that he was engaged by the experienced manager of the Manchester Theatre, to playOrsonin the Christmas piece of “Valentine and Orson” at the Sheffield Theatre.Thus wore away the year 1834. At Tom Spring’s Anniversary Dinner, January 14th, 1835, which was numerously attended, Burke announced that he was about to take a farewell benefit on the ensuing Wednesday evening, at the “Coach and Horses,”St.Martin’s Lane, previous to his starting for America, to fight the Irish Champion, O’Rourke, or any other man in the United States or Canada who might fancy him. He had come to this determination, he said, because, although ready and willing to fight Ward for £200, Ward, after proposing to fight for that sum, raised his price to £300, and then, finding even that large stake was likely to be obtained, valued himself at the still higher sum of £500, which was utterly beyond the reach of his (Burke’s) friends. For his own part, all he wanted was the glory of the title for which he was the candidate, and, to show that he was not afraid of any man breathing, he would fight even for £5; his friends were still ready to back him for £200 against the Champion, Ward. This speech, given in Burke’s sincere but blunt style, excited warm applause, and a pledge was given that his benefit should be well attended.It was then suggested that the title of Champion of England ought not to depend on the capricious will of the person by whom it had been obtained, putting the sum at which he would risk its loss so high as to prevent the possibility of fair competition. Ward had gradually risen in his own estimation from £200 to £500, and he might, with as good a grace, if it depended on himself, say he would not fight for less than £1,000 or £10,000, and thus retain an honour to which other men might be entitled. This opinion seemed to meet the almost unanimous concurrence of the persons present, among whom were Spring, Jem Burn, Ned Neale, Young Dutch Sam, Dick Curtis, Owen Swift, Smith, Young Spring (Harry Wood, of Liverpool), and others, and a great number of amateurs and liberal supporters of the Ring. After some discussion, the following resolution was moved and seconded:—“Resolved—That, in future, themaximumstake at which the Champion of England shall be considered bound to accept a challenge shall be £200; and that if he refuse to fight for this sum, he shall be considered as no longer holding the title of Champion.”A gentleman proposed as an amendment that the sum should be £250, but this was negatived by a large majority, and the original resolution was carried with acclamation.It was then moved and seconded—“That if Jem Ward refuses to fight Deaf Burke for £200, he shall no longer be considered Champion of England, but that Burke shall assume the title, until bound to yield to a man of greater merit.” This resolution was also carried unanimously.These resolutions are certainly in the spirit of common sense, and if Ward’s situation in life placed him above the necessity of considering himself any longer a member of the Ring, it was no more than fair—as in the case of the veteran Tom Cribb and his successor Tom Spring—that he should retire; a step which certainly could not have stripped him of any of the honours to which he had previously entitled himself.The disappointed Deaf’un now repaired to Liverpool, and departing thence, like another Childe Harold, “he sung, or might, or could, or should, or would have sung”:—“Adieu! Adieu! My native shoreFades o’er the waters blue;The night-wind sighs, the breakers roar,Load shrieks the wild sea-mew.Yon sun, that’s setting o’er the sea,We’ll follow in its flight;Farewell awhile to it and thee—My native land—Good night!“With thee, my bark, I’ll swiftly go,Athwart the foaming brine,Nor care what land thou bear’st me to,So not again to mine.And if in Western land I findA worthy foe in fight,My conquering brow with bays I’ll bind—So, native land—Good night!”And so “Childe Burke” did, after a pleasant tour, in which he always spoke as receiving warm welcome and hospitality from the Americans; although, as we shall presently see, upon the unanswerable testimony of their own papers, theperfervidum ingeniumof certain emigrant Hibernian rowdies proved the prudence of Burke’s friends when they declined a contest on the Curragh of Kildare.After a brief stay in New York, where he was well received, Burke did not find any regular “professional” inclined to test his pugilistic capabilities, and, after duly acknowledging the good spirit in which he had been received, he announced, that, in compliance with “a vaunting challengein a New Orleans paper, in which O’Rourke was stated to be resident in that city, and ready to meet any man in the world,” he, the Deaf’un, had determined on a southward trip, and to drop down on Mr. O’Rourke on the scene of his glory. As the Deaf’un always meant what he said, and, himself unconscious of foul play, did not suspect it in others, he sailed for the city of swamps and slavery.He had reckoned, in his simplicity, that a stranger would have fair play, as with Englishmen, but soon found out his egregious mistake. As we desire the character of an impartial historian, we shall merely extract the account of this affair from theCharleston Courierof May 13th, 1837 which gives the account under date of New Orleans, May 6th:—“Fighting Riots, &c.—For some two or three days past, large numbers of our population have been thrown into considerable excitement by handbills posted up in bar-rooms and at the corners of the streets, that a pugilistic combat was to take place yesterday between two celebrated prize-fighters, Deaf Burke, an Englishman, and O’Rourke, an Irishman. The fight between the rival champions, as they style themselves, took place at about one o’clock, at the forks of the Bayou Road. Some two or three rounds were fought, which resulted particularly to the advantage of neither of the belligerents. The second of O’Rourke, happening to come within hitting distance of Burke, received a severe blow from the Deaf-man himself. Whether this was right or wrong, not being at the fight, we know not. At any rate it was the signal for a general scrimmage, in which the Irishmen joined the O’Rourke party, and handled Burke and his friends with fists and sticks made of anything but dough and molasses. O’Rourke’s second was settled down by a settler from Burke’s own fist, when the Deaf-man, thinking his heels better preservatives of his face and feelings than his fists, took the leg-itimate course adopted by all men and animals when assaulted by a superior force.“Matters were now coming to a fine pass. Burke was followed by crowds of Irishmen with shillelaghs, dray-pins, whips, and what not. A friend, on seeing him pass, handed him a bowie-knife, and another gave him a horse, with which he made good his escape.“Of the different riots which took place at the scene of action we were not witnesses. Some say there was foul play on the part of O’Rourke’s friends, and especially by his second, and that it was intended long before the fight took place that Burke should get a thrashing by foul or fair means. The man who handed Burke the knife was cruelly beaten by the infuriatedfriends of O’Rourke: it is reported, and we fear with much truth, that he was killed.“O’Rourke’s friends bore him about our streets in triumph yesterday afternoon in a coach drawn by themselves.“On the arrival of the different parties in town, inflamed with liquor and ready for any disturbance, many affrays occurred. During the whole afternoon, large numbers of malcontents, principally Irishmen, were congregated in the vicinity of the Union House, and Armstrong’s, opposite the American Theatre. Several serious and disgraceful fights took place, in some of which the rascally mob beat and otherwise maltreated a number of innocent and unoffending individuals. A large number of arrests were made.“The reports in town of the loss of lives, and of the results of the wild spirit of anarchy and confusion which existed in the afternoon, are so various, so contradictory, that we cannot comment upon them. The whole affair was disgraceful in the extreme.“The Washington Guards were ordered out at eight o’clock last evening by the Mayor to quell any disturbance which might arise. As late as two o’clock this morning everything was comparatively quiet.”Thus it would seem that the affair ended in a complete Irish row, in which the lawless habits of “the Knights of the Shillelagh” put all fair play at defiance. We hope we are not open to a charge of national prejudice, but would fairly put the question, “Would such ruffianism—and ruffianism is always cruel and cowardly—be possible among a people imbued with the fair-play practices and the principles inculcated by regulated pugilism?”Some anxiety was caused in London by a rumour in a New York paper, that the Deaf’un had received his “quietus” not with “a bare bodkin” but an “Arkansas tooth-pick;” much relief therefore, was felt by them on finding from the Charleston papers that he was still in the land of the living, and had returned to New York; not finding his life safe among a set of men who considered a challenge to their “Champion” as an individual, a national insult, to be wiped out by assassination.That he had returned in safety was shown by scattered notices in the New York papers, from which we gather that one O’Connell, who, like his namesake on this side the Atlantic, was “an out-and-out big potato,” had challenged the Deaf’un for 500 dollars and “the honour of ould Ireland,” to a fistic tourney. This Burke had accepted, and Elizabeth Town Pointwas named as the field of battle. A sheriff’s notice, in anticipation of another Irish riot, compelled a change of ground to Hart’s Island, which was reached by a steam excursion, and here the affair came off without interruption. What follows is from theNew York Herald:—“The ‘Prize Ring,’ as it is emphatically called, is not without its merits, and although we regret and detest these exhibitions—when as exhibitions merely—our duty as chroniclers of passing events compels us to make public what otherwise we should bury in oblivion. Among the ancients these spectacles were frequent, and cherished by the government of the people indulging in them; and it is yet doubtful whether they do not in some degree tend to benefit the community at large. There is a feeling of courage—of proud, manly self-dependence—accompanying the champions of the Ring, that otherwise would not be elicited. The manly stand-up fight is surely far preferable to the insidious knife—the ruffianly gang system—or the cowardly and brutal practice of biting, kicking, or gouging, now so prevalent. The ancient Romans conquered and civilised half the world, and it is to them we owe the gladiatorial spectacle of the Prize Ring—modified by modern civilisation, but yet retaining sufficient of its origin to portray the manners and habits of the people among whom it has taken root. The British people are particularly fond of this exhibition, and there are some good consequences attending it. The street broil or hasty quarrel is deprived of half its ferocity. Three or four or more do not fall upon and beat a single individual. None but gangs of ruffians can commit such deeds. The single man when struck down by his opponent is permitted to rise and put himself, as it were, in something like equilibrium with his opponent. Stamping upon a man when down—biting, kicking, and other such ‘courageous’ displays are entirely exploded; and when the party combating cries ‘hold, enough,’ no bowie-knife enters his vitals, or proves the superior courage of his opponent by depriving him of existence. With all its disadvantages, therefore, and demoralising tendency, as contended, and perhaps truly so, it may be doubted whether the spirit emanating from it may not be productive of benefit among the lower classes. The knock-down blow is surely preferable to private assassination, or even to the open taking of human life by means of deadly weapons. Quitting these reflections, let us give our account of the fight itself.“At nine o’clock the steamboat left the ferry (Catharine Street), with about three hundred passengers, and those of a very select kind, owing principally, perhaps, to the high price demanded for tickets—three dollars,which speedily rose to four and five dollars, and even at that price could not be procured. The destination was Hart’s Island, where the passengers were landed and the preliminary measures to the ‘set-to’ adopted. A twenty-four feet ring, according to the articles of agreement, was formed, and an outside one to prevent any interruption to the pugilistic efforts of the combatants. The ring being completed, and the seconds proclaiming ‘all ready,’ the two champions made their appearance—O’Connell, as the challenger, threw his hat first in the ring, which was quickly answered by Burke; the men then peeled for the battle.“On stripping, the great disparity between the two men was apparent. Burke presented an iron frame, in which all surperfluous flesh seemed excluded. His broad and extended chest, his outward turned knees, that take off from beauty to add so much to muscular power, his muscular and well-knit lower limbs left no doubt on the minds of the spectators that no common skill or bodily strength would be sufficient to overpower or vanquish the possessor. O’Connell stripped to greater advantage than was expected. His upper frame is large and muscular, but it wants compactness and tension. His sinews hang loose, and his frame is far from being well banded together. In his lower conformation this defect is still more striking; this is his weak point, and must ever incapacitate him from becoming a redoubtable competitor in the Prize Ring. ‘All ready’ being proclaimed by the respective seconds (Abm. Vanderzee and Alexander Hamilton officiating for O’Connell, and Hatfield and Summerdyke for Deaf Burke), the opponents previously shaking hands, put themselves in attitude for the onset.THE FIGHT.Round 1.—The men came up, each equally confident. Some sparring took place which only tended to show in a more striking point the disparity of the pugilists. The quick eye of Burke immediately discovered that he had the game in his hands, and he accordingly forebore any active exertion, threw his body open, which O’Connell immediately caught at, and implanted two heavy blows—one immediately beneath the ribs, and the second on the loins of his adversary. Burke received this infliction without the slightest variation of muscle or feature—and in return put forth a feeler (left hand) which dropped O’Connell at his full length. Some of Burke’s friends cheered—this was instantly stopped by the umpires, who requested that, let the fight terminate how it might, no ebullition of the feelings of either party should be suffered to take place. All, upon this appeal, were immediately silent.2.—Both men were equally confident. O’Connell smiled, as much as to say “I stoop to conquer.” Burke made play; O’Connell struck a well-meant left-handed compliment to Burke’s knowledge-box, which was prettily stopped. Burke returned with right, in part husbanding his strength; the blow told slightly on O’Connell’s bread-basket—a wrestle—O’Connell down. First blood was here claimed by each party. The umpires decided that both sported the claret simultaneously—thus deciding all wagers on this matter.3.—Burke appeared brooding mischief. O’Connell struck a random blow and lost his guard, when Burke immediately put in his tremendous right-handed blow, which takingeffect under the ear of O’Connell, floored him as if struck by lightning.4.—Time being called, O’Connell courageously rose to the scratch, but had scarcely left his second’s knee, when he fell as if through weakness. The fight was here claimed by the friends of Burke; the umpires, however, decided “not lost,” and the fifth round commenced.5.—O’Connell tried a new mode, and went boldly into his man. He succeeded in planting a pretty severe body-blow on Burke, closed for the wrestle, but was thrown—he fell slightly, however.6.—Burke piped a trifle. O’Connell made a rush—got well in for the close, but the superior strength of Burke shook him off. O’Connell seemed spent, was entirely off his guard, and Burke could easily have concluded the fight by any blow he chose to have put in; but, seeing the disabled state of O’Connell, Burke unclosed his fist, and with the back of his open hand struck O’Connell in the breast, which dropped him as a man might be supposed to push down a child. A low exclamation of approbation, impossible to repress, ran through the spectators at the manliness of this conduct.7.—O’Connell seemed to be gaining strength, and fought this round most manfully. It was evident, nevertheless, that his faulty method of delivering his blows could never win him the day. Three severe blows were delivered by Burke in succession, on the head, chest, and loins of O’Connell, who made a sort of headlong rush, closed with Burke, bore him towards the ropes, and was thrown heavily in the wrestle.8.—Hatfield, the second of Burke, here said, “He’s finished, polish him off.” O’Connell came up staggering—Burke made a feint, and prepared to strike a finisher. From humanity, however, he did not deliver his blow—O’Connell closed—a short rally took place, and O’Connell was thrown.9.—O’Connell showed some game, but it was evidently of an expiring effort. He faced his man, made a blow, which fell short, and was met by Burke with a terrible facer, which set the claret flowing in a rapid stream from O’Connell’s nostrils. All was over.10.—Time was repeatedly called. O’Connell rose but could not stir a step towards his man. Burke said, “I wish to fight honourable—I will not strike him—does your man wish to fight any more?” O’Connell’s second immediately gave in the battle, and Burke was declared the conqueror.A word or two respecting the rival combatants: O’Connell never was or can be capable of figuring with credit as a fighter. He wants bottom, activity, and science—three things which are indispensable in the formation of a boxer. From the third round he had not the slightest chance of winning—it was a doubloon to a shin-plaster, and no takers. The day was peculiarly propitious, and the company of a very respectable description. Those who conducted this affair deserve all praise. Not the slightest disturbance of any kind took place. It was what the Prize Ring ever ought to be—an exhibition of manly and courageous contest.”We need add nothing to this “round, unvarnished tale,” written by a literary gentleman who had never before witnessed a prize-fight. In Burke, his Irish opponent found, notwithstanding his foul treatment at New Orleans, a brave and humane antagonist; and that, despite the contaminating effects of bad example, the Deaf’un preserved in the New World the high and generous qualities he exhibited in his own country. Cant, cruelty, and cowardice have crushed out the courageous confidence in the unarmed fist as the weapon in hand-to-hand encounters, and the American populace trust for victory to the bowie-knife and the revolver, when man opposes man to settle their personal differences “in a higher phase of civilisation.” (?)As the patrons of the Ring are, such will its professors be, holds good as an axiom in pugilism as in every other science. A few unprejudiced and enlightened Americans, seeing the horrors and savagery of Irish-American rowdyism, entertained the milling missionary, and strove to propagate his principles, but were in a minute and powerless minority among a multitudeof howling saints and savages—for extremes meet in this as in all other things. To these friends and sympathisers Burke bade an affectionate farewell, after a handsome benefit, and arrived at Liverpool on the 25th of June, 1838.During the Deaf’un’s absence some pretentious “big ones” had been coming into prominent notice. Bendigo, Ben Caunt, and Brassey had become famous, and not a few of their several partisans thought either one or the other more than a match for the Deaf’un. It was whispered, too, and too truly, that his rupture had been aggravated by an accident, and that his habits in America had not been such as would improve his constitution or stamina. Indeed, some of those deepest in Ring mysteries declared his reappearance in the Ring more than questionable. The gallant fellow himself had no such misgivings, and lost no time in so telling his countrymen.“THE CHAMPIONSHIP OF ENGLAND.“To the Editor of‘Bell’s Life in London.’“Sir,—When I was in Yankeeshire I heard a great deal about ‘would-be champions’ challenging any man in England. ‘While the cat’s away the mice will play;’ and thus the little fry took advantage of my absence to bounce and crow like cocks in a gutter. I hastened back to take the shine out of those braggadocios; and to put their pretensions to the test, I beg to state that I am now ready to fight any man in England for from One Hundred to Five Hundred Pounds; and as my old friend Jem Ward has retired from the Ring, if he will add his Champion’s belt to the prize, and let the best man wear it, he will give new energies to the Ring, and, I trust, afford an opportunity for deciding the long-contested question, ‘Who is Champion of England?’ I bar neither country nor colour—age nor dimensions; and whether it be the Goliath Caunt, or his hardy antagonist Bendigo, or any other man who ever wore a head, I am his customer, and ‘no mistake.’ My money is ready at Jem Burn’s, the ‘Queen’s Head,’ Queen’s Head Court, Windmill Street, Haymarket, at a moment’s notice; but I will not consent to a less deposit that £25 at starting. If I find the race of old English boxers of the right kidney is extinct, I shall go back to America, where an honest man need never want ‘a friend or a bottle.’“DEAF BURKE.“Windmill Street, Haymarket, July 29, 1838.”As we have already recorded in our memoir of Bendigo, the Nottingham hero lost no time in accepting this challenge, and stated he had placed £100 in the hands of Peter Crawley to make the match. Unfortunately for the Deaf’un’s reputation, he had, through his intimacy with Young Dutch Sam, become entangled in a vicious companionship, as the humble “pot-companion” and gladiatorial buffoon of a clique of dissolute young noblemen and swells, the last expiring parodists of the school of which “Corinthian Tom” and “Jerry Hawthorn” were the models. By these and their companions he was carried off to France, on the pretext of training and seconding Owen Swift in his second fight with Jack Adams, and much obloquy was cast on him unjustly, under a supposition that hehad run away from his engagements. A “Paris Correspondent” transmitted the following:—“Paris, June 14.—The Deaf’un arrived in this city on Sunday, under theMentorshipof Sancho Panza, from Seven Dials, a ‘buck’ of the first water. He met Swift on the Boulevard des Italiens, and was so affected at the interview with this interestingexile, that the water came from his eyes like thejet d’eauin the Temple Gardens. As the speediest mode of acquiring an acquaintance with the French language, he lives entirely onfricandeau de dictionnaire. He has already won the affections of a grisette by his very natural imitation of the statue of Cupid. He afterwards tried theVenus de Medici, but that was a decided failure. He has been favourably received by the patrons of British Sports in the French capital, but it is feared he cannot be presented at the Court of Louis Philippe, in consequence of his having neglected to present himself at the Drawing-room of our lovely young Queen. In a visit to theJardin des Plantes, he thought he recognised a young brother, but on closer inspection he discovered it was only the chimpanzee. He appears to be regarded with as much curiosity in Paris as Soult was in London, and expected the old Marshal would have given him ‘a Wellington reception,’ but hitherto the gallant veteran has not recognised him as ‘a companion in arms.’ His presence has already had an influence on the fashions, and ‘pantalons à la Burke’ have made their appearance in the Palais Royal, while ‘gantelets à la Deaf’un’ are noted as a novelty inLe Courrier des Salons.”We have already noticed in our memoir of Bendigo that the Deaf’un did not return from his continental trip until, after training Owen Swift, and seconding him on the 5th of September, 1838, he again sought the shores of England, lest he should receive the “polite attentions” of the French authorities for his share in that “scandal,” as the Paris correspondent of “My Grandmother” styled it. The staunchness of poor Burke’s “summer friends” was now tested. They had withdrawn the £100 placed in Jem Burn’s hands, but, after some negotiation, the match was made, Burke posting £100 to Bendigo’s £80, and on the 29th of February, 1839, the rivals met. The full details of the Deaf’un’s defeat may be read inpp.16–22.The reflection is here unavoidably thrust upon us, that the so-called “friends” of an athlete, if they by their own loose habits seduce him into similar irregularities, are his worst enemies. What is sport to them is ruin to him. Temperance, regularity of living, open air exercise, and severeattention to the wellbeing of every bodily function that goes to build up health—themens sana in corpore sano—can never be neglected without ruinous consequences; and thus fell the brave and imprudent Deaf’un, the victim of the follies of those the world miscalled “his betters.” A few quatrains on his downfall shall find a place here.THE LAMENT OF DEAF BURKE.Well, ’tis strange, precious strange, arter what I have done,That in my late battle I shouldn’t have won;I vow and protest, on the word of a bruiser,I scarce can persuade myself yet I’m the loser.I have always so well in the Ring gone to work,That my backers proclaimed me “inwincible Burke;”And then for a lad of my courage and gameTo be floored by a novice—by Jove! ’tis a shame.I hang down my head, quite dismay’d and perplex’d.And when folks ax me questions, of course, I am wex’d,For, instead of consoling me under my loss,They insiniwate plainly the thing was a cross.They swear, for a man who has stood so much fight,To be whopp’d in ten rounds was impossible quite:That I couldn’t be he, it was plain to discern,Wot floor’d Carter and Crawley, O’Connell and Byrne.They vow of their bets upon me they’ve been robb’d,That I show’d no good point, but stood still to be jobb’d,That no punishment sharp was produced by my blows,And Bendy did with me whatever he chose.Hard words for the Deaf’un, and cruel the sting,To one who ne’er acted amiss in the Ring—To him who was always alive to a mill,And in thirteen prize-battles was conqueror still.I boldly appeal to my slanderers whetherI was ever the covey to show the white feather?And Bendigo’s conduct I cannot think right,When he stripp’d me of something that lost me the fight.That he acted unfairly I do not advance—He was perfectly right not to part with a chance;Still I say, but for this, whosoever may scoff,He would not have easily polished me off.And may I again never put on a glove,If once more I don’t fight him for money or love;And my stick I will cut in the Prize Ring, by Jove!Ere the belt shall be worn by a Nottingham cove.And shall poor Deaf Burke be consign’d to the shade?No, tho’ I’m defeated I am not dismay’d,And in a fresh contest I’ll do what I can,To take the conceit from this bounceable man.When victory smiles on a pugilist’s front,He has lots of supporters and plenty of blunt;But if luck turns against him, my eyes! how they rave,And stamp him a cross cove—a thundering knave!Into me some choice worthies keep pitching it home,For sporting thestatutesof Greece and of Rome;Is it fair, I would ax, to inflict this here slap,Because I’m a sort of a classical chap?And some swear ’tis time I was laid on the shelf,For I grows’ristocratic—too sweet on myself;Now I wenture most humbly to make an appeal,If I’m to be blam’d for behaving genteel?In France and New York I have sported my tanners,And no wonder a polish I have got on my manners;Now, I begs to inquire whether winner or loser,Must a man be a blackguard because he’s a bruiser?No, to tip the purlite I will still do my best,For everything wulgar I scorn and detest;My pipe I’ve discarded like most other stars,And now I smoke nowt but Hawanna cigars.And I dare say some folks may consider it strange,That I’m courting the Muses by way of a change,And thus inBell’s Lifeto my feelings give went,In a copy of werses I’ve called “The Lament.”Be this as it may, here I’m ready and willingThis Bendy again to encounter at milling,And perhaps if I once get him into a line,Tho’ the first chance was his’n, the next may be mine.That “next chance,” as Edgar Poe’s raven said, “never, never, never more” came to the turn of the Deaf’un, so far as regarded a meeting with Bendy, although he issued sundry invitations and offers. In March, 1840, occurred the accident to Bendigo, narrated at page 25, which struck the Nottingham hero from the list of “wranglers” for the Championship, and hereupon Burke again came to the front with a challenge. This was quickly responded to by Nick Ward, the younger brother of the renowned Jem. The match was made for the modest sum of £50 a side, and the day fixed for Tuesday, the 22nd September, 1840. The battle, which took place at Lillingstone Level, Oxfordshire, will be found in detail in the Life of Nick Ward, ChapterV.of the present volume.Poor Burke’s day was gone by; unconquered in heart, his impaired physical powers failed him, and he fell before youth, activity, skill, and length. As we have mentioned in our memoir of Nick Ward that the stakeholder received notice of action for the stakes, it is but just to give the following vindication of the Deaf’un’s conduct as reported in a contemporary journal:—“The Deaf’un Himself Again!—The Deaf’un took a benefit at the Bloomsbury Assembly Rooms on Tuesday evening, and, notwithstanding his late defeat, found a goodly number of friends, and ‘a strong turn’ inthe financial department. The sets-to, although many of them between commoners, were amusing and effective, and conducted with great spirit and vigour. Among the most popular was that between Owen Swift and Maley, in which the quickness and scientific deliveries of the former were happily illustrated. At the conclusion the Deaf’un mounted the stage to ‘wind-up,’ but unfortunately, Caunt having forfeited his promise to appear, he was only opposed to a new beginner called ‘The Cumberland Youth,’ whose inexperience left the star of the night nothing to do but flap him at pleasure. The Deaf’un, after smoothing down his bristles with his dexter digits, and clearing his throat by sundry ‘hems,’ delivered himself of the following oration, which we took down as nearly as could be verbatim. ’Gemmen—I have dis here to say. I’m werry sory as Caunt has not come to sets-to wid me according to his promises, for he gave me his words of honours as he would attend; but dats de way wid dese here mens—when dey gets to the top of de trees, dey do nothing to help a poor fellow as is down; but dey had better minds what dey are abouts, or they’ll be as bad as Jack Scroggins, and look for atannerswhen they can’t find it. Gemmen—I mean to say as I do not thinks as I was fairly beat by Bendigo, and I am prouds to say as I am not widout friends what tink de same, and as are ready to back me for a cool hundreds against him, or Nick Wards, or Jem Bailey. Bendigo is wery bounceable now, as he says he has licked me; but I says he took an unfair advantage in regard of my belt; but dats neither one ting nor toder; and if he has friends, if he’s a man, he’ll give me anoder chance, and till he does, I shall always thinks as he has won de belts widout any right to it. I went to Sheffields and Nottinghams to make a match wid him, and now let him show equal pluck and come to London to make a match wid me—my pewters is always ready (applause). Dat’s all I’ve got to say. Gemmen, I thank my friends and patrons for coming here to-night (coughing); but I’ve got something here (pointing to his throat, and the poor fellow appeared overflowing with gratitude) which won’t let me say no mores.’—It is not very creditable to theéliteof the Fancy to have abstained from setting-to for the unfortunate fellow; for, although his ignorance may have led him to assume too much, the motto of all professed pugilists should be ‘forget and forgive;’ and ‘if a man’s in distress, like a man to relieve him.’”In the years 1841–2, the magistracy and police, stimulated into abnormal activity by a sort of clerical crusade against the Ring “and all its works,” set the powers of the law in motion against pugilists and their patrons, and“all persons aiding and abetting in riotous and tumultuous assemblages calculated to produce a breach of the peace,” by issuing warrants, holding them to bail, and indicting them at the quarter sessions of the county wherein the same took place. Among the zealots of this Puritanical campaign against the amusements and relaxations of the people, theRev.Joshua Cautley, curate of Broughton, in Bedfordshire, distinguished himself with the fervour of Ralpho, the squire of Sir Hudibras; though he, fortunately, escaped the cudgellings, rotten eggs, and stocks, which in rougher times befell his prototype. In an evil hour the Deaf’un came in contact with this clerical suppressor of “anti-knife” congregations, under the serio-comic circumstances we are about to narrate.On the 9th of February, 1841, at Holcut, in Bedfordshire, an orderly assemblage surrounded a well-arranged inner-and-outer ring, within the latter of which Ned Adams, of London, and Dick Cain, of Leicester, were contending. At a critical period of the battle, the curate of Broughton, theRev.Joshua Cautley, who was not, as all the “rurals” surrounding the ring well knew, either a magistrate in the commission of the peace, or in any way legally authorised to interfere, appeared at the ring-side in an excess of peace-preserving furor, and not only attempted to take Adams into custody (without any warrant), but cut the ropes with a knife, and behaved otherwise in an outrageous manner. He was afterwards aided by a police constable (John M’Hugh), and by the arrival of theRev.Edward Orlebar Smith, a Justice of the Peace for Bedfordshire, previous to whose appearance on the scene certain of the country people present had certainly ejected Parson Cautley from the ring. TheRev.Justice of the Peace, as it appears, then put his fellow clergyman and himself on the right side of the law by reading—at a distance, and amidst immense confusion and the continuance of the battle—the Riot Act. The result of all this was that the zealous Parson Cautley procured, upon affidavit sworn by himself, the constable, and theRev.Mr. Smith, the indictment of thirteen persons (six of them being his own neighbours) at the ensuing Bedford Quarter Sessions. The pugilists indicted were James Burke, Owen Swift, Edward Adams, and Richard Cain, Thomas Brown (the respected landlord of the “Swan,” at Newport Pagnell, who was there in charge of his post-horses and four-in-hand), Messrs. Mark Cross, William Maley (a solicitor), Joseph Goodwin, George Durham, Edward Dawkes, James Morris the younger, Martin Hughes (who died during the proceedings), and Richard Walter Chetwynd, Viscount Chetwynd, Baron Rathdowne. The indictmentcharged, in its first count, “that they, the defendants aforesaid, on the 9th day of February, 1841, in the parish of Holcut, in the county of Bedford, did then and there, together with other evil-disposed persons, whose names are unknown to the jurors aforesaid, unlawfully, riotously, and tumultuously assault Edward Orlebar Smith, clerk, one of the Justices of the Peace for the said County, and John M’Hugh, one of the constables of the Peace for the said County, and, then and there, did, in contempt of our said Lady the Queen and her laws, to the great terror, alarm, and disturbance of all the liege subjects of our said Lady the Queen thereabouts inhabiting and residing and being, passing and repassing, to the great damage of the said Edward Orlebar Smith and John M’Hugh, and against the peace of our said Lady the Queen her crown and dignity.” The second count in this formidable document, repeating the names and verbiage, included the same charges against the defendants for riot and assault on the person of theRev.Joshua Cautley. The third count varied by specifying James Burke as the assailant of theRev.Edward Orlebar Smith (whom he never touched in any way). The 4th, 5th, 6th, and 7th counts merely varied in the names of the parties assaulted, by substituting “Smith” for “M’Hugh,” and “Cautley” for “Smith,” as the persons on whom “with force and arms,” the same defendants “did then and there beat, wound, and ill-treat, and do other wrong, to the great damage of the said E. O. Smith,”&c., &c., “and against the peace of our said Lady the Queen her crown and dignity.”Any one not used to the formal wording of legal documents may well share the astonishment of the Deaf’un when this astounding rigmarole, being furnished to his legal advisers (Mr. Vincent Dowling and Mr. Serjeant Dowling), was read and explained to him. His truthful and indignant denials of all the serious delinquencies laid to his charge in this farrago of legal fictions were most amusing. Perhaps the way in which these were thrown into rhyme, by what old Jacob Tonson, the bookseller, used to call “a competent pen,” will convey some idea of the Deaf’un’s objections and denial of the charges:—ADDRESS OF DEAF BURKE TO THE GRAND AND COMMON JURIES OF BEDFORD.
“To the Editor of‘Bell’s Life in London.’“Sir,—Should the patron of the ’unknown’ candidate for ‘the Championship’ agree to allow his man to fight for £500 a side, my friends are ready to back me for that sum. Failing a match being made with him, I am ready to give any other customer a chance, and for his accommodation will fight for any sum, from £300 to £500 a side. I am, Sir, your most obedient servant,“JAMES WARD. Champion of England.“Liverpool, Sept. 18, 1833.”
“To the Editor of‘Bell’s Life in London.’
“Sir,—Should the patron of the ’unknown’ candidate for ‘the Championship’ agree to allow his man to fight for £500 a side, my friends are ready to back me for that sum. Failing a match being made with him, I am ready to give any other customer a chance, and for his accommodation will fight for any sum, from £300 to £500 a side. I am, Sir, your most obedient servant,
“JAMES WARD. Champion of England.
“Liverpool, Sept. 18, 1833.”
The Editor having submitted this epistle to “the Deaf’un,” observes, “that individual desires us to say, that ‘he’s ready to stands nps for thetitle for a hundreds, but as for tousands, and that sorts o’ rediklus tings, he can’t say nuttins about ’em.’” Another challenge elicited the subjoined from Ward:—
“To the Editor of‘Bell’s Life in London.’“Sir,—I have long contemplated leaving the Ring altogether, and would not offer myself again to your notice, had you not inserted a challenge for the Championship, accompanied by a tempting stake; to which challenge I gave a suitable reply, stating at the time my readiness to fight the Unknown for £500, or a smaller sum—say £300 or £400 a side. I am not only willing to fight for the above sums, but to allow the Unknown three months to deliberate upon it.“I perceive that Deaf Burke calls himself ‘Champion of England,’ and offers to make a match with me for £100 a side. Considering that I am in business, such a sum is not worth contending for, especially as a considerable portion of it must be expended in training and other incidental expenses. If Deaf Burke means fighting me, I will accommodate him for £200 a side, and no less. Should this not meet his views in a reasonable time, my intentions are to retire from the Ringin toto; to that the Unknown and Deaf Burke will know what to do.“JAMES WARD, Champion of England.“Liverpool, October 2, 1833.”
“To the Editor of‘Bell’s Life in London.’
“Sir,—I have long contemplated leaving the Ring altogether, and would not offer myself again to your notice, had you not inserted a challenge for the Championship, accompanied by a tempting stake; to which challenge I gave a suitable reply, stating at the time my readiness to fight the Unknown for £500, or a smaller sum—say £300 or £400 a side. I am not only willing to fight for the above sums, but to allow the Unknown three months to deliberate upon it.
“I perceive that Deaf Burke calls himself ‘Champion of England,’ and offers to make a match with me for £100 a side. Considering that I am in business, such a sum is not worth contending for, especially as a considerable portion of it must be expended in training and other incidental expenses. If Deaf Burke means fighting me, I will accommodate him for £200 a side, and no less. Should this not meet his views in a reasonable time, my intentions are to retire from the Ringin toto; to that the Unknown and Deaf Burke will know what to do.
“JAMES WARD, Champion of England.
“Liverpool, October 2, 1833.”
The Deaf’un seemed now doomed to the sickness of “hope deferred.” He was too good for any of the 12-stone men except the Champion, whose price, even lowered to £200, was still too high for him. Numerous letters passed and repassed between O’Rourke and Burke; and on one occasion O’Rourke dragging in the name of Ward, Jem offered to stake £300 to O’Rourke’s £200 and fight him in Ireland. To this O’Rourke made no response, and soon after sailed for America. Ward then offered to meet Burke £300 to £200; but even at these odds the Deaf’un could not find backers, at which we need not be surprised when the comparative merits of the men were weighed in the balance.
Burke, who had certainly, in addition to his great powers as a boxer, a fund of native and quaint comicality, now utilised his talent as a public exhibitor of models of statues from the antique, for which his athletic development well fitted him, alternating them with displays of the Art of Self-defence. In these tours, wherein his attendant or agent in advance was the well-known Tommy Roundhead, the trainer (whom the Deaf’un dubbed his “Secretary”), Burke visited Wales, Bristol, and the West, and subsequently the Midlands and the North. An incidental notice in a newspaper published in “the Potteries” gives us a peep at the Deaf’un on his travels.
“A Voice from the Pitcher Country. Disappointment of the Pottery Fancy.—On Saturday last Tommy Roundhead, theavant courierof Deaf Burke, arrived in Hanley, and cast anchor at Mr. Hawes’s, Angel Inn, in the Market Place. On making his business known, the worthyhost offered him the use of the large room in which Tom Spring and Big Brown exhibited previous to Brown’s fight with Phil Sampson, at Bishop’s Wood. Roundhead immediately got his handbills printed, and the walls covered with well-displayed posters, announcing that on Monday and Tuesday evenings, ‘Deaf Burke, Champion of England, and Harry Preston, Champion of Birmingham, would take a benefit and exhibit the manly art of self-defence; the whole to conclude with a grand set-to, previous to Preston’s return to Birmingham to fight Davis for one hundred guineas.’
“Tommy gave out that Burke and Preston would arrive at Hanley at noon on Monday. During the day, but especially in the evening, the ‘Angel’ was crowded. Several indications of impatience were exhibited at the non-appearance of the men; but in the evening, when the last coach arrived from Birmingham, and there was no tidings of the ‘Deaf’un,’ an universal burst of disgust went through the rooms. They all turned upon Roundhead. Tommy got on his pins, and attempted to explain that he left Burke on the Thursday at Atherstone, and that he had come to Hanley, by Burke’s express desire, to engage a room for him and Preston to spar in. He had written to Burke, at Arthur Matthewson’s, and could only account for their non-appearance on the score that his letter had not reached them. The grumblers vehemently vociferated, ‘Stow your patter, it’s a hoax—it’s no go, Tommy.’ A regular ‘flare-up’ had very near taken place, but, by good words and persuasion, silence was restored, and the company dispersed peaceably.”
From what follows, it will be seen that that very shifty gentleman—Harry Preston—was the real cause of the apparent breach of promise.
“The cause of this disappointment is explained by a letter we have received from Birmingham; from which it appears that Preston and the Deaf’un had a fall out at Arthur Matthewson’s, which, after lots of chaff and a deposit of a sovereign a side, was to be decided by a fight the next morning, but on the Deaf’un going to the scratch Preston ‘would not have it.’ Some further chatter followed, in which Preston offered to fight Burke if he would reduce himself to 12 stone. This the Deaf’un declined, but offered to fight him £120 to £100, or £60 to £50. This would not suit Harry’s book, and thus the matter ended. The Deaf’un’s next trip is to Liverpool, and from thence to Scotland, where he is to join Bob Avery in Glasgow. Poor Tommy Roundhead has been undeservedly censured in this matter.”
That the Deaf’un had considerable pantomimic powers may be gathered from the fact that he was engaged by the experienced manager of the Manchester Theatre, to playOrsonin the Christmas piece of “Valentine and Orson” at the Sheffield Theatre.
Thus wore away the year 1834. At Tom Spring’s Anniversary Dinner, January 14th, 1835, which was numerously attended, Burke announced that he was about to take a farewell benefit on the ensuing Wednesday evening, at the “Coach and Horses,”St.Martin’s Lane, previous to his starting for America, to fight the Irish Champion, O’Rourke, or any other man in the United States or Canada who might fancy him. He had come to this determination, he said, because, although ready and willing to fight Ward for £200, Ward, after proposing to fight for that sum, raised his price to £300, and then, finding even that large stake was likely to be obtained, valued himself at the still higher sum of £500, which was utterly beyond the reach of his (Burke’s) friends. For his own part, all he wanted was the glory of the title for which he was the candidate, and, to show that he was not afraid of any man breathing, he would fight even for £5; his friends were still ready to back him for £200 against the Champion, Ward. This speech, given in Burke’s sincere but blunt style, excited warm applause, and a pledge was given that his benefit should be well attended.
It was then suggested that the title of Champion of England ought not to depend on the capricious will of the person by whom it had been obtained, putting the sum at which he would risk its loss so high as to prevent the possibility of fair competition. Ward had gradually risen in his own estimation from £200 to £500, and he might, with as good a grace, if it depended on himself, say he would not fight for less than £1,000 or £10,000, and thus retain an honour to which other men might be entitled. This opinion seemed to meet the almost unanimous concurrence of the persons present, among whom were Spring, Jem Burn, Ned Neale, Young Dutch Sam, Dick Curtis, Owen Swift, Smith, Young Spring (Harry Wood, of Liverpool), and others, and a great number of amateurs and liberal supporters of the Ring. After some discussion, the following resolution was moved and seconded:—
“Resolved—That, in future, themaximumstake at which the Champion of England shall be considered bound to accept a challenge shall be £200; and that if he refuse to fight for this sum, he shall be considered as no longer holding the title of Champion.”
A gentleman proposed as an amendment that the sum should be £250, but this was negatived by a large majority, and the original resolution was carried with acclamation.
It was then moved and seconded—“That if Jem Ward refuses to fight Deaf Burke for £200, he shall no longer be considered Champion of England, but that Burke shall assume the title, until bound to yield to a man of greater merit.” This resolution was also carried unanimously.
These resolutions are certainly in the spirit of common sense, and if Ward’s situation in life placed him above the necessity of considering himself any longer a member of the Ring, it was no more than fair—as in the case of the veteran Tom Cribb and his successor Tom Spring—that he should retire; a step which certainly could not have stripped him of any of the honours to which he had previously entitled himself.
The disappointed Deaf’un now repaired to Liverpool, and departing thence, like another Childe Harold, “he sung, or might, or could, or should, or would have sung”:—
“Adieu! Adieu! My native shoreFades o’er the waters blue;The night-wind sighs, the breakers roar,Load shrieks the wild sea-mew.Yon sun, that’s setting o’er the sea,We’ll follow in its flight;Farewell awhile to it and thee—My native land—Good night!“With thee, my bark, I’ll swiftly go,Athwart the foaming brine,Nor care what land thou bear’st me to,So not again to mine.And if in Western land I findA worthy foe in fight,My conquering brow with bays I’ll bind—So, native land—Good night!”
“Adieu! Adieu! My native shoreFades o’er the waters blue;The night-wind sighs, the breakers roar,Load shrieks the wild sea-mew.Yon sun, that’s setting o’er the sea,We’ll follow in its flight;Farewell awhile to it and thee—My native land—Good night!“With thee, my bark, I’ll swiftly go,Athwart the foaming brine,Nor care what land thou bear’st me to,So not again to mine.And if in Western land I findA worthy foe in fight,My conquering brow with bays I’ll bind—So, native land—Good night!”
“Adieu! Adieu! My native shoreFades o’er the waters blue;The night-wind sighs, the breakers roar,Load shrieks the wild sea-mew.Yon sun, that’s setting o’er the sea,We’ll follow in its flight;Farewell awhile to it and thee—My native land—Good night!
“Adieu! Adieu! My native shore
Fades o’er the waters blue;
The night-wind sighs, the breakers roar,
Load shrieks the wild sea-mew.
Yon sun, that’s setting o’er the sea,
We’ll follow in its flight;
Farewell awhile to it and thee—
My native land—Good night!
“With thee, my bark, I’ll swiftly go,Athwart the foaming brine,Nor care what land thou bear’st me to,So not again to mine.And if in Western land I findA worthy foe in fight,My conquering brow with bays I’ll bind—So, native land—Good night!”
“With thee, my bark, I’ll swiftly go,
Athwart the foaming brine,
Nor care what land thou bear’st me to,
So not again to mine.
And if in Western land I find
A worthy foe in fight,
My conquering brow with bays I’ll bind—
So, native land—Good night!”
And so “Childe Burke” did, after a pleasant tour, in which he always spoke as receiving warm welcome and hospitality from the Americans; although, as we shall presently see, upon the unanswerable testimony of their own papers, theperfervidum ingeniumof certain emigrant Hibernian rowdies proved the prudence of Burke’s friends when they declined a contest on the Curragh of Kildare.
After a brief stay in New York, where he was well received, Burke did not find any regular “professional” inclined to test his pugilistic capabilities, and, after duly acknowledging the good spirit in which he had been received, he announced, that, in compliance with “a vaunting challengein a New Orleans paper, in which O’Rourke was stated to be resident in that city, and ready to meet any man in the world,” he, the Deaf’un, had determined on a southward trip, and to drop down on Mr. O’Rourke on the scene of his glory. As the Deaf’un always meant what he said, and, himself unconscious of foul play, did not suspect it in others, he sailed for the city of swamps and slavery.
He had reckoned, in his simplicity, that a stranger would have fair play, as with Englishmen, but soon found out his egregious mistake. As we desire the character of an impartial historian, we shall merely extract the account of this affair from theCharleston Courierof May 13th, 1837 which gives the account under date of New Orleans, May 6th:—
“Fighting Riots, &c.—For some two or three days past, large numbers of our population have been thrown into considerable excitement by handbills posted up in bar-rooms and at the corners of the streets, that a pugilistic combat was to take place yesterday between two celebrated prize-fighters, Deaf Burke, an Englishman, and O’Rourke, an Irishman. The fight between the rival champions, as they style themselves, took place at about one o’clock, at the forks of the Bayou Road. Some two or three rounds were fought, which resulted particularly to the advantage of neither of the belligerents. The second of O’Rourke, happening to come within hitting distance of Burke, received a severe blow from the Deaf-man himself. Whether this was right or wrong, not being at the fight, we know not. At any rate it was the signal for a general scrimmage, in which the Irishmen joined the O’Rourke party, and handled Burke and his friends with fists and sticks made of anything but dough and molasses. O’Rourke’s second was settled down by a settler from Burke’s own fist, when the Deaf-man, thinking his heels better preservatives of his face and feelings than his fists, took the leg-itimate course adopted by all men and animals when assaulted by a superior force.
“Matters were now coming to a fine pass. Burke was followed by crowds of Irishmen with shillelaghs, dray-pins, whips, and what not. A friend, on seeing him pass, handed him a bowie-knife, and another gave him a horse, with which he made good his escape.
“Of the different riots which took place at the scene of action we were not witnesses. Some say there was foul play on the part of O’Rourke’s friends, and especially by his second, and that it was intended long before the fight took place that Burke should get a thrashing by foul or fair means. The man who handed Burke the knife was cruelly beaten by the infuriatedfriends of O’Rourke: it is reported, and we fear with much truth, that he was killed.
“O’Rourke’s friends bore him about our streets in triumph yesterday afternoon in a coach drawn by themselves.
“On the arrival of the different parties in town, inflamed with liquor and ready for any disturbance, many affrays occurred. During the whole afternoon, large numbers of malcontents, principally Irishmen, were congregated in the vicinity of the Union House, and Armstrong’s, opposite the American Theatre. Several serious and disgraceful fights took place, in some of which the rascally mob beat and otherwise maltreated a number of innocent and unoffending individuals. A large number of arrests were made.
“The reports in town of the loss of lives, and of the results of the wild spirit of anarchy and confusion which existed in the afternoon, are so various, so contradictory, that we cannot comment upon them. The whole affair was disgraceful in the extreme.
“The Washington Guards were ordered out at eight o’clock last evening by the Mayor to quell any disturbance which might arise. As late as two o’clock this morning everything was comparatively quiet.”
Thus it would seem that the affair ended in a complete Irish row, in which the lawless habits of “the Knights of the Shillelagh” put all fair play at defiance. We hope we are not open to a charge of national prejudice, but would fairly put the question, “Would such ruffianism—and ruffianism is always cruel and cowardly—be possible among a people imbued with the fair-play practices and the principles inculcated by regulated pugilism?”
Some anxiety was caused in London by a rumour in a New York paper, that the Deaf’un had received his “quietus” not with “a bare bodkin” but an “Arkansas tooth-pick;” much relief therefore, was felt by them on finding from the Charleston papers that he was still in the land of the living, and had returned to New York; not finding his life safe among a set of men who considered a challenge to their “Champion” as an individual, a national insult, to be wiped out by assassination.
That he had returned in safety was shown by scattered notices in the New York papers, from which we gather that one O’Connell, who, like his namesake on this side the Atlantic, was “an out-and-out big potato,” had challenged the Deaf’un for 500 dollars and “the honour of ould Ireland,” to a fistic tourney. This Burke had accepted, and Elizabeth Town Pointwas named as the field of battle. A sheriff’s notice, in anticipation of another Irish riot, compelled a change of ground to Hart’s Island, which was reached by a steam excursion, and here the affair came off without interruption. What follows is from theNew York Herald:—
“The ‘Prize Ring,’ as it is emphatically called, is not without its merits, and although we regret and detest these exhibitions—when as exhibitions merely—our duty as chroniclers of passing events compels us to make public what otherwise we should bury in oblivion. Among the ancients these spectacles were frequent, and cherished by the government of the people indulging in them; and it is yet doubtful whether they do not in some degree tend to benefit the community at large. There is a feeling of courage—of proud, manly self-dependence—accompanying the champions of the Ring, that otherwise would not be elicited. The manly stand-up fight is surely far preferable to the insidious knife—the ruffianly gang system—or the cowardly and brutal practice of biting, kicking, or gouging, now so prevalent. The ancient Romans conquered and civilised half the world, and it is to them we owe the gladiatorial spectacle of the Prize Ring—modified by modern civilisation, but yet retaining sufficient of its origin to portray the manners and habits of the people among whom it has taken root. The British people are particularly fond of this exhibition, and there are some good consequences attending it. The street broil or hasty quarrel is deprived of half its ferocity. Three or four or more do not fall upon and beat a single individual. None but gangs of ruffians can commit such deeds. The single man when struck down by his opponent is permitted to rise and put himself, as it were, in something like equilibrium with his opponent. Stamping upon a man when down—biting, kicking, and other such ‘courageous’ displays are entirely exploded; and when the party combating cries ‘hold, enough,’ no bowie-knife enters his vitals, or proves the superior courage of his opponent by depriving him of existence. With all its disadvantages, therefore, and demoralising tendency, as contended, and perhaps truly so, it may be doubted whether the spirit emanating from it may not be productive of benefit among the lower classes. The knock-down blow is surely preferable to private assassination, or even to the open taking of human life by means of deadly weapons. Quitting these reflections, let us give our account of the fight itself.
“At nine o’clock the steamboat left the ferry (Catharine Street), with about three hundred passengers, and those of a very select kind, owing principally, perhaps, to the high price demanded for tickets—three dollars,which speedily rose to four and five dollars, and even at that price could not be procured. The destination was Hart’s Island, where the passengers were landed and the preliminary measures to the ‘set-to’ adopted. A twenty-four feet ring, according to the articles of agreement, was formed, and an outside one to prevent any interruption to the pugilistic efforts of the combatants. The ring being completed, and the seconds proclaiming ‘all ready,’ the two champions made their appearance—O’Connell, as the challenger, threw his hat first in the ring, which was quickly answered by Burke; the men then peeled for the battle.
“On stripping, the great disparity between the two men was apparent. Burke presented an iron frame, in which all surperfluous flesh seemed excluded. His broad and extended chest, his outward turned knees, that take off from beauty to add so much to muscular power, his muscular and well-knit lower limbs left no doubt on the minds of the spectators that no common skill or bodily strength would be sufficient to overpower or vanquish the possessor. O’Connell stripped to greater advantage than was expected. His upper frame is large and muscular, but it wants compactness and tension. His sinews hang loose, and his frame is far from being well banded together. In his lower conformation this defect is still more striking; this is his weak point, and must ever incapacitate him from becoming a redoubtable competitor in the Prize Ring. ‘All ready’ being proclaimed by the respective seconds (Abm. Vanderzee and Alexander Hamilton officiating for O’Connell, and Hatfield and Summerdyke for Deaf Burke), the opponents previously shaking hands, put themselves in attitude for the onset.
THE FIGHT.Round 1.—The men came up, each equally confident. Some sparring took place which only tended to show in a more striking point the disparity of the pugilists. The quick eye of Burke immediately discovered that he had the game in his hands, and he accordingly forebore any active exertion, threw his body open, which O’Connell immediately caught at, and implanted two heavy blows—one immediately beneath the ribs, and the second on the loins of his adversary. Burke received this infliction without the slightest variation of muscle or feature—and in return put forth a feeler (left hand) which dropped O’Connell at his full length. Some of Burke’s friends cheered—this was instantly stopped by the umpires, who requested that, let the fight terminate how it might, no ebullition of the feelings of either party should be suffered to take place. All, upon this appeal, were immediately silent.2.—Both men were equally confident. O’Connell smiled, as much as to say “I stoop to conquer.” Burke made play; O’Connell struck a well-meant left-handed compliment to Burke’s knowledge-box, which was prettily stopped. Burke returned with right, in part husbanding his strength; the blow told slightly on O’Connell’s bread-basket—a wrestle—O’Connell down. First blood was here claimed by each party. The umpires decided that both sported the claret simultaneously—thus deciding all wagers on this matter.3.—Burke appeared brooding mischief. O’Connell struck a random blow and lost his guard, when Burke immediately put in his tremendous right-handed blow, which takingeffect under the ear of O’Connell, floored him as if struck by lightning.4.—Time being called, O’Connell courageously rose to the scratch, but had scarcely left his second’s knee, when he fell as if through weakness. The fight was here claimed by the friends of Burke; the umpires, however, decided “not lost,” and the fifth round commenced.5.—O’Connell tried a new mode, and went boldly into his man. He succeeded in planting a pretty severe body-blow on Burke, closed for the wrestle, but was thrown—he fell slightly, however.6.—Burke piped a trifle. O’Connell made a rush—got well in for the close, but the superior strength of Burke shook him off. O’Connell seemed spent, was entirely off his guard, and Burke could easily have concluded the fight by any blow he chose to have put in; but, seeing the disabled state of O’Connell, Burke unclosed his fist, and with the back of his open hand struck O’Connell in the breast, which dropped him as a man might be supposed to push down a child. A low exclamation of approbation, impossible to repress, ran through the spectators at the manliness of this conduct.7.—O’Connell seemed to be gaining strength, and fought this round most manfully. It was evident, nevertheless, that his faulty method of delivering his blows could never win him the day. Three severe blows were delivered by Burke in succession, on the head, chest, and loins of O’Connell, who made a sort of headlong rush, closed with Burke, bore him towards the ropes, and was thrown heavily in the wrestle.8.—Hatfield, the second of Burke, here said, “He’s finished, polish him off.” O’Connell came up staggering—Burke made a feint, and prepared to strike a finisher. From humanity, however, he did not deliver his blow—O’Connell closed—a short rally took place, and O’Connell was thrown.9.—O’Connell showed some game, but it was evidently of an expiring effort. He faced his man, made a blow, which fell short, and was met by Burke with a terrible facer, which set the claret flowing in a rapid stream from O’Connell’s nostrils. All was over.10.—Time was repeatedly called. O’Connell rose but could not stir a step towards his man. Burke said, “I wish to fight honourable—I will not strike him—does your man wish to fight any more?” O’Connell’s second immediately gave in the battle, and Burke was declared the conqueror.A word or two respecting the rival combatants: O’Connell never was or can be capable of figuring with credit as a fighter. He wants bottom, activity, and science—three things which are indispensable in the formation of a boxer. From the third round he had not the slightest chance of winning—it was a doubloon to a shin-plaster, and no takers. The day was peculiarly propitious, and the company of a very respectable description. Those who conducted this affair deserve all praise. Not the slightest disturbance of any kind took place. It was what the Prize Ring ever ought to be—an exhibition of manly and courageous contest.”
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—The men came up, each equally confident. Some sparring took place which only tended to show in a more striking point the disparity of the pugilists. The quick eye of Burke immediately discovered that he had the game in his hands, and he accordingly forebore any active exertion, threw his body open, which O’Connell immediately caught at, and implanted two heavy blows—one immediately beneath the ribs, and the second on the loins of his adversary. Burke received this infliction without the slightest variation of muscle or feature—and in return put forth a feeler (left hand) which dropped O’Connell at his full length. Some of Burke’s friends cheered—this was instantly stopped by the umpires, who requested that, let the fight terminate how it might, no ebullition of the feelings of either party should be suffered to take place. All, upon this appeal, were immediately silent.
2.—Both men were equally confident. O’Connell smiled, as much as to say “I stoop to conquer.” Burke made play; O’Connell struck a well-meant left-handed compliment to Burke’s knowledge-box, which was prettily stopped. Burke returned with right, in part husbanding his strength; the blow told slightly on O’Connell’s bread-basket—a wrestle—O’Connell down. First blood was here claimed by each party. The umpires decided that both sported the claret simultaneously—thus deciding all wagers on this matter.
3.—Burke appeared brooding mischief. O’Connell struck a random blow and lost his guard, when Burke immediately put in his tremendous right-handed blow, which takingeffect under the ear of O’Connell, floored him as if struck by lightning.
4.—Time being called, O’Connell courageously rose to the scratch, but had scarcely left his second’s knee, when he fell as if through weakness. The fight was here claimed by the friends of Burke; the umpires, however, decided “not lost,” and the fifth round commenced.
5.—O’Connell tried a new mode, and went boldly into his man. He succeeded in planting a pretty severe body-blow on Burke, closed for the wrestle, but was thrown—he fell slightly, however.
6.—Burke piped a trifle. O’Connell made a rush—got well in for the close, but the superior strength of Burke shook him off. O’Connell seemed spent, was entirely off his guard, and Burke could easily have concluded the fight by any blow he chose to have put in; but, seeing the disabled state of O’Connell, Burke unclosed his fist, and with the back of his open hand struck O’Connell in the breast, which dropped him as a man might be supposed to push down a child. A low exclamation of approbation, impossible to repress, ran through the spectators at the manliness of this conduct.
7.—O’Connell seemed to be gaining strength, and fought this round most manfully. It was evident, nevertheless, that his faulty method of delivering his blows could never win him the day. Three severe blows were delivered by Burke in succession, on the head, chest, and loins of O’Connell, who made a sort of headlong rush, closed with Burke, bore him towards the ropes, and was thrown heavily in the wrestle.
8.—Hatfield, the second of Burke, here said, “He’s finished, polish him off.” O’Connell came up staggering—Burke made a feint, and prepared to strike a finisher. From humanity, however, he did not deliver his blow—O’Connell closed—a short rally took place, and O’Connell was thrown.
9.—O’Connell showed some game, but it was evidently of an expiring effort. He faced his man, made a blow, which fell short, and was met by Burke with a terrible facer, which set the claret flowing in a rapid stream from O’Connell’s nostrils. All was over.
10.—Time was repeatedly called. O’Connell rose but could not stir a step towards his man. Burke said, “I wish to fight honourable—I will not strike him—does your man wish to fight any more?” O’Connell’s second immediately gave in the battle, and Burke was declared the conqueror.
A word or two respecting the rival combatants: O’Connell never was or can be capable of figuring with credit as a fighter. He wants bottom, activity, and science—three things which are indispensable in the formation of a boxer. From the third round he had not the slightest chance of winning—it was a doubloon to a shin-plaster, and no takers. The day was peculiarly propitious, and the company of a very respectable description. Those who conducted this affair deserve all praise. Not the slightest disturbance of any kind took place. It was what the Prize Ring ever ought to be—an exhibition of manly and courageous contest.”
We need add nothing to this “round, unvarnished tale,” written by a literary gentleman who had never before witnessed a prize-fight. In Burke, his Irish opponent found, notwithstanding his foul treatment at New Orleans, a brave and humane antagonist; and that, despite the contaminating effects of bad example, the Deaf’un preserved in the New World the high and generous qualities he exhibited in his own country. Cant, cruelty, and cowardice have crushed out the courageous confidence in the unarmed fist as the weapon in hand-to-hand encounters, and the American populace trust for victory to the bowie-knife and the revolver, when man opposes man to settle their personal differences “in a higher phase of civilisation.” (?)
As the patrons of the Ring are, such will its professors be, holds good as an axiom in pugilism as in every other science. A few unprejudiced and enlightened Americans, seeing the horrors and savagery of Irish-American rowdyism, entertained the milling missionary, and strove to propagate his principles, but were in a minute and powerless minority among a multitudeof howling saints and savages—for extremes meet in this as in all other things. To these friends and sympathisers Burke bade an affectionate farewell, after a handsome benefit, and arrived at Liverpool on the 25th of June, 1838.
During the Deaf’un’s absence some pretentious “big ones” had been coming into prominent notice. Bendigo, Ben Caunt, and Brassey had become famous, and not a few of their several partisans thought either one or the other more than a match for the Deaf’un. It was whispered, too, and too truly, that his rupture had been aggravated by an accident, and that his habits in America had not been such as would improve his constitution or stamina. Indeed, some of those deepest in Ring mysteries declared his reappearance in the Ring more than questionable. The gallant fellow himself had no such misgivings, and lost no time in so telling his countrymen.
“THE CHAMPIONSHIP OF ENGLAND.“To the Editor of‘Bell’s Life in London.’“Sir,—When I was in Yankeeshire I heard a great deal about ‘would-be champions’ challenging any man in England. ‘While the cat’s away the mice will play;’ and thus the little fry took advantage of my absence to bounce and crow like cocks in a gutter. I hastened back to take the shine out of those braggadocios; and to put their pretensions to the test, I beg to state that I am now ready to fight any man in England for from One Hundred to Five Hundred Pounds; and as my old friend Jem Ward has retired from the Ring, if he will add his Champion’s belt to the prize, and let the best man wear it, he will give new energies to the Ring, and, I trust, afford an opportunity for deciding the long-contested question, ‘Who is Champion of England?’ I bar neither country nor colour—age nor dimensions; and whether it be the Goliath Caunt, or his hardy antagonist Bendigo, or any other man who ever wore a head, I am his customer, and ‘no mistake.’ My money is ready at Jem Burn’s, the ‘Queen’s Head,’ Queen’s Head Court, Windmill Street, Haymarket, at a moment’s notice; but I will not consent to a less deposit that £25 at starting. If I find the race of old English boxers of the right kidney is extinct, I shall go back to America, where an honest man need never want ‘a friend or a bottle.’“DEAF BURKE.“Windmill Street, Haymarket, July 29, 1838.”
“THE CHAMPIONSHIP OF ENGLAND.
“To the Editor of‘Bell’s Life in London.’
“Sir,—When I was in Yankeeshire I heard a great deal about ‘would-be champions’ challenging any man in England. ‘While the cat’s away the mice will play;’ and thus the little fry took advantage of my absence to bounce and crow like cocks in a gutter. I hastened back to take the shine out of those braggadocios; and to put their pretensions to the test, I beg to state that I am now ready to fight any man in England for from One Hundred to Five Hundred Pounds; and as my old friend Jem Ward has retired from the Ring, if he will add his Champion’s belt to the prize, and let the best man wear it, he will give new energies to the Ring, and, I trust, afford an opportunity for deciding the long-contested question, ‘Who is Champion of England?’ I bar neither country nor colour—age nor dimensions; and whether it be the Goliath Caunt, or his hardy antagonist Bendigo, or any other man who ever wore a head, I am his customer, and ‘no mistake.’ My money is ready at Jem Burn’s, the ‘Queen’s Head,’ Queen’s Head Court, Windmill Street, Haymarket, at a moment’s notice; but I will not consent to a less deposit that £25 at starting. If I find the race of old English boxers of the right kidney is extinct, I shall go back to America, where an honest man need never want ‘a friend or a bottle.’
“DEAF BURKE.
“Windmill Street, Haymarket, July 29, 1838.”
As we have already recorded in our memoir of Bendigo, the Nottingham hero lost no time in accepting this challenge, and stated he had placed £100 in the hands of Peter Crawley to make the match. Unfortunately for the Deaf’un’s reputation, he had, through his intimacy with Young Dutch Sam, become entangled in a vicious companionship, as the humble “pot-companion” and gladiatorial buffoon of a clique of dissolute young noblemen and swells, the last expiring parodists of the school of which “Corinthian Tom” and “Jerry Hawthorn” were the models. By these and their companions he was carried off to France, on the pretext of training and seconding Owen Swift in his second fight with Jack Adams, and much obloquy was cast on him unjustly, under a supposition that hehad run away from his engagements. A “Paris Correspondent” transmitted the following:—
“Paris, June 14.—The Deaf’un arrived in this city on Sunday, under theMentorshipof Sancho Panza, from Seven Dials, a ‘buck’ of the first water. He met Swift on the Boulevard des Italiens, and was so affected at the interview with this interestingexile, that the water came from his eyes like thejet d’eauin the Temple Gardens. As the speediest mode of acquiring an acquaintance with the French language, he lives entirely onfricandeau de dictionnaire. He has already won the affections of a grisette by his very natural imitation of the statue of Cupid. He afterwards tried theVenus de Medici, but that was a decided failure. He has been favourably received by the patrons of British Sports in the French capital, but it is feared he cannot be presented at the Court of Louis Philippe, in consequence of his having neglected to present himself at the Drawing-room of our lovely young Queen. In a visit to theJardin des Plantes, he thought he recognised a young brother, but on closer inspection he discovered it was only the chimpanzee. He appears to be regarded with as much curiosity in Paris as Soult was in London, and expected the old Marshal would have given him ‘a Wellington reception,’ but hitherto the gallant veteran has not recognised him as ‘a companion in arms.’ His presence has already had an influence on the fashions, and ‘pantalons à la Burke’ have made their appearance in the Palais Royal, while ‘gantelets à la Deaf’un’ are noted as a novelty inLe Courrier des Salons.”
We have already noticed in our memoir of Bendigo that the Deaf’un did not return from his continental trip until, after training Owen Swift, and seconding him on the 5th of September, 1838, he again sought the shores of England, lest he should receive the “polite attentions” of the French authorities for his share in that “scandal,” as the Paris correspondent of “My Grandmother” styled it. The staunchness of poor Burke’s “summer friends” was now tested. They had withdrawn the £100 placed in Jem Burn’s hands, but, after some negotiation, the match was made, Burke posting £100 to Bendigo’s £80, and on the 29th of February, 1839, the rivals met. The full details of the Deaf’un’s defeat may be read inpp.16–22.
The reflection is here unavoidably thrust upon us, that the so-called “friends” of an athlete, if they by their own loose habits seduce him into similar irregularities, are his worst enemies. What is sport to them is ruin to him. Temperance, regularity of living, open air exercise, and severeattention to the wellbeing of every bodily function that goes to build up health—themens sana in corpore sano—can never be neglected without ruinous consequences; and thus fell the brave and imprudent Deaf’un, the victim of the follies of those the world miscalled “his betters.” A few quatrains on his downfall shall find a place here.
THE LAMENT OF DEAF BURKE.
Well, ’tis strange, precious strange, arter what I have done,That in my late battle I shouldn’t have won;I vow and protest, on the word of a bruiser,I scarce can persuade myself yet I’m the loser.I have always so well in the Ring gone to work,That my backers proclaimed me “inwincible Burke;”And then for a lad of my courage and gameTo be floored by a novice—by Jove! ’tis a shame.I hang down my head, quite dismay’d and perplex’d.And when folks ax me questions, of course, I am wex’d,For, instead of consoling me under my loss,They insiniwate plainly the thing was a cross.They swear, for a man who has stood so much fight,To be whopp’d in ten rounds was impossible quite:That I couldn’t be he, it was plain to discern,Wot floor’d Carter and Crawley, O’Connell and Byrne.They vow of their bets upon me they’ve been robb’d,That I show’d no good point, but stood still to be jobb’d,That no punishment sharp was produced by my blows,And Bendy did with me whatever he chose.Hard words for the Deaf’un, and cruel the sting,To one who ne’er acted amiss in the Ring—To him who was always alive to a mill,And in thirteen prize-battles was conqueror still.I boldly appeal to my slanderers whetherI was ever the covey to show the white feather?And Bendigo’s conduct I cannot think right,When he stripp’d me of something that lost me the fight.That he acted unfairly I do not advance—He was perfectly right not to part with a chance;Still I say, but for this, whosoever may scoff,He would not have easily polished me off.And may I again never put on a glove,If once more I don’t fight him for money or love;And my stick I will cut in the Prize Ring, by Jove!Ere the belt shall be worn by a Nottingham cove.And shall poor Deaf Burke be consign’d to the shade?No, tho’ I’m defeated I am not dismay’d,And in a fresh contest I’ll do what I can,To take the conceit from this bounceable man.When victory smiles on a pugilist’s front,He has lots of supporters and plenty of blunt;But if luck turns against him, my eyes! how they rave,And stamp him a cross cove—a thundering knave!Into me some choice worthies keep pitching it home,For sporting thestatutesof Greece and of Rome;Is it fair, I would ax, to inflict this here slap,Because I’m a sort of a classical chap?And some swear ’tis time I was laid on the shelf,For I grows’ristocratic—too sweet on myself;Now I wenture most humbly to make an appeal,If I’m to be blam’d for behaving genteel?In France and New York I have sported my tanners,And no wonder a polish I have got on my manners;Now, I begs to inquire whether winner or loser,Must a man be a blackguard because he’s a bruiser?No, to tip the purlite I will still do my best,For everything wulgar I scorn and detest;My pipe I’ve discarded like most other stars,And now I smoke nowt but Hawanna cigars.And I dare say some folks may consider it strange,That I’m courting the Muses by way of a change,And thus inBell’s Lifeto my feelings give went,In a copy of werses I’ve called “The Lament.”Be this as it may, here I’m ready and willingThis Bendy again to encounter at milling,And perhaps if I once get him into a line,Tho’ the first chance was his’n, the next may be mine.
Well, ’tis strange, precious strange, arter what I have done,That in my late battle I shouldn’t have won;I vow and protest, on the word of a bruiser,I scarce can persuade myself yet I’m the loser.I have always so well in the Ring gone to work,That my backers proclaimed me “inwincible Burke;”And then for a lad of my courage and gameTo be floored by a novice—by Jove! ’tis a shame.I hang down my head, quite dismay’d and perplex’d.And when folks ax me questions, of course, I am wex’d,For, instead of consoling me under my loss,They insiniwate plainly the thing was a cross.They swear, for a man who has stood so much fight,To be whopp’d in ten rounds was impossible quite:That I couldn’t be he, it was plain to discern,Wot floor’d Carter and Crawley, O’Connell and Byrne.They vow of their bets upon me they’ve been robb’d,That I show’d no good point, but stood still to be jobb’d,That no punishment sharp was produced by my blows,And Bendy did with me whatever he chose.Hard words for the Deaf’un, and cruel the sting,To one who ne’er acted amiss in the Ring—To him who was always alive to a mill,And in thirteen prize-battles was conqueror still.I boldly appeal to my slanderers whetherI was ever the covey to show the white feather?And Bendigo’s conduct I cannot think right,When he stripp’d me of something that lost me the fight.That he acted unfairly I do not advance—He was perfectly right not to part with a chance;Still I say, but for this, whosoever may scoff,He would not have easily polished me off.And may I again never put on a glove,If once more I don’t fight him for money or love;And my stick I will cut in the Prize Ring, by Jove!Ere the belt shall be worn by a Nottingham cove.And shall poor Deaf Burke be consign’d to the shade?No, tho’ I’m defeated I am not dismay’d,And in a fresh contest I’ll do what I can,To take the conceit from this bounceable man.When victory smiles on a pugilist’s front,He has lots of supporters and plenty of blunt;But if luck turns against him, my eyes! how they rave,And stamp him a cross cove—a thundering knave!Into me some choice worthies keep pitching it home,For sporting thestatutesof Greece and of Rome;Is it fair, I would ax, to inflict this here slap,Because I’m a sort of a classical chap?And some swear ’tis time I was laid on the shelf,For I grows’ristocratic—too sweet on myself;Now I wenture most humbly to make an appeal,If I’m to be blam’d for behaving genteel?In France and New York I have sported my tanners,And no wonder a polish I have got on my manners;Now, I begs to inquire whether winner or loser,Must a man be a blackguard because he’s a bruiser?No, to tip the purlite I will still do my best,For everything wulgar I scorn and detest;My pipe I’ve discarded like most other stars,And now I smoke nowt but Hawanna cigars.And I dare say some folks may consider it strange,That I’m courting the Muses by way of a change,And thus inBell’s Lifeto my feelings give went,In a copy of werses I’ve called “The Lament.”Be this as it may, here I’m ready and willingThis Bendy again to encounter at milling,And perhaps if I once get him into a line,Tho’ the first chance was his’n, the next may be mine.
Well, ’tis strange, precious strange, arter what I have done,That in my late battle I shouldn’t have won;I vow and protest, on the word of a bruiser,I scarce can persuade myself yet I’m the loser.
Well, ’tis strange, precious strange, arter what I have done,
That in my late battle I shouldn’t have won;
I vow and protest, on the word of a bruiser,
I scarce can persuade myself yet I’m the loser.
I have always so well in the Ring gone to work,That my backers proclaimed me “inwincible Burke;”And then for a lad of my courage and gameTo be floored by a novice—by Jove! ’tis a shame.
I have always so well in the Ring gone to work,
That my backers proclaimed me “inwincible Burke;”
And then for a lad of my courage and game
To be floored by a novice—by Jove! ’tis a shame.
I hang down my head, quite dismay’d and perplex’d.And when folks ax me questions, of course, I am wex’d,For, instead of consoling me under my loss,They insiniwate plainly the thing was a cross.
I hang down my head, quite dismay’d and perplex’d.
And when folks ax me questions, of course, I am wex’d,
For, instead of consoling me under my loss,
They insiniwate plainly the thing was a cross.
They swear, for a man who has stood so much fight,To be whopp’d in ten rounds was impossible quite:That I couldn’t be he, it was plain to discern,Wot floor’d Carter and Crawley, O’Connell and Byrne.
They swear, for a man who has stood so much fight,
To be whopp’d in ten rounds was impossible quite:
That I couldn’t be he, it was plain to discern,
Wot floor’d Carter and Crawley, O’Connell and Byrne.
They vow of their bets upon me they’ve been robb’d,That I show’d no good point, but stood still to be jobb’d,That no punishment sharp was produced by my blows,And Bendy did with me whatever he chose.
They vow of their bets upon me they’ve been robb’d,
That I show’d no good point, but stood still to be jobb’d,
That no punishment sharp was produced by my blows,
And Bendy did with me whatever he chose.
Hard words for the Deaf’un, and cruel the sting,To one who ne’er acted amiss in the Ring—To him who was always alive to a mill,And in thirteen prize-battles was conqueror still.
Hard words for the Deaf’un, and cruel the sting,
To one who ne’er acted amiss in the Ring—
To him who was always alive to a mill,
And in thirteen prize-battles was conqueror still.
I boldly appeal to my slanderers whetherI was ever the covey to show the white feather?And Bendigo’s conduct I cannot think right,When he stripp’d me of something that lost me the fight.
I boldly appeal to my slanderers whether
I was ever the covey to show the white feather?
And Bendigo’s conduct I cannot think right,
When he stripp’d me of something that lost me the fight.
That he acted unfairly I do not advance—He was perfectly right not to part with a chance;Still I say, but for this, whosoever may scoff,He would not have easily polished me off.
That he acted unfairly I do not advance—
He was perfectly right not to part with a chance;
Still I say, but for this, whosoever may scoff,
He would not have easily polished me off.
And may I again never put on a glove,If once more I don’t fight him for money or love;And my stick I will cut in the Prize Ring, by Jove!Ere the belt shall be worn by a Nottingham cove.
And may I again never put on a glove,
If once more I don’t fight him for money or love;
And my stick I will cut in the Prize Ring, by Jove!
Ere the belt shall be worn by a Nottingham cove.
And shall poor Deaf Burke be consign’d to the shade?No, tho’ I’m defeated I am not dismay’d,And in a fresh contest I’ll do what I can,To take the conceit from this bounceable man.
And shall poor Deaf Burke be consign’d to the shade?
No, tho’ I’m defeated I am not dismay’d,
And in a fresh contest I’ll do what I can,
To take the conceit from this bounceable man.
When victory smiles on a pugilist’s front,He has lots of supporters and plenty of blunt;But if luck turns against him, my eyes! how they rave,And stamp him a cross cove—a thundering knave!
When victory smiles on a pugilist’s front,
He has lots of supporters and plenty of blunt;
But if luck turns against him, my eyes! how they rave,
And stamp him a cross cove—a thundering knave!
Into me some choice worthies keep pitching it home,For sporting thestatutesof Greece and of Rome;Is it fair, I would ax, to inflict this here slap,Because I’m a sort of a classical chap?
Into me some choice worthies keep pitching it home,
For sporting thestatutesof Greece and of Rome;
Is it fair, I would ax, to inflict this here slap,
Because I’m a sort of a classical chap?
And some swear ’tis time I was laid on the shelf,For I grows’ristocratic—too sweet on myself;Now I wenture most humbly to make an appeal,If I’m to be blam’d for behaving genteel?
And some swear ’tis time I was laid on the shelf,
For I grows’ristocratic—too sweet on myself;
Now I wenture most humbly to make an appeal,
If I’m to be blam’d for behaving genteel?
In France and New York I have sported my tanners,And no wonder a polish I have got on my manners;Now, I begs to inquire whether winner or loser,Must a man be a blackguard because he’s a bruiser?
In France and New York I have sported my tanners,
And no wonder a polish I have got on my manners;
Now, I begs to inquire whether winner or loser,
Must a man be a blackguard because he’s a bruiser?
No, to tip the purlite I will still do my best,For everything wulgar I scorn and detest;My pipe I’ve discarded like most other stars,And now I smoke nowt but Hawanna cigars.
No, to tip the purlite I will still do my best,
For everything wulgar I scorn and detest;
My pipe I’ve discarded like most other stars,
And now I smoke nowt but Hawanna cigars.
And I dare say some folks may consider it strange,That I’m courting the Muses by way of a change,And thus inBell’s Lifeto my feelings give went,In a copy of werses I’ve called “The Lament.”
And I dare say some folks may consider it strange,
That I’m courting the Muses by way of a change,
And thus inBell’s Lifeto my feelings give went,
In a copy of werses I’ve called “The Lament.”
Be this as it may, here I’m ready and willingThis Bendy again to encounter at milling,And perhaps if I once get him into a line,Tho’ the first chance was his’n, the next may be mine.
Be this as it may, here I’m ready and willing
This Bendy again to encounter at milling,
And perhaps if I once get him into a line,
Tho’ the first chance was his’n, the next may be mine.
That “next chance,” as Edgar Poe’s raven said, “never, never, never more” came to the turn of the Deaf’un, so far as regarded a meeting with Bendy, although he issued sundry invitations and offers. In March, 1840, occurred the accident to Bendigo, narrated at page 25, which struck the Nottingham hero from the list of “wranglers” for the Championship, and hereupon Burke again came to the front with a challenge. This was quickly responded to by Nick Ward, the younger brother of the renowned Jem. The match was made for the modest sum of £50 a side, and the day fixed for Tuesday, the 22nd September, 1840. The battle, which took place at Lillingstone Level, Oxfordshire, will be found in detail in the Life of Nick Ward, ChapterV.of the present volume.
Poor Burke’s day was gone by; unconquered in heart, his impaired physical powers failed him, and he fell before youth, activity, skill, and length. As we have mentioned in our memoir of Nick Ward that the stakeholder received notice of action for the stakes, it is but just to give the following vindication of the Deaf’un’s conduct as reported in a contemporary journal:—
“The Deaf’un Himself Again!—The Deaf’un took a benefit at the Bloomsbury Assembly Rooms on Tuesday evening, and, notwithstanding his late defeat, found a goodly number of friends, and ‘a strong turn’ inthe financial department. The sets-to, although many of them between commoners, were amusing and effective, and conducted with great spirit and vigour. Among the most popular was that between Owen Swift and Maley, in which the quickness and scientific deliveries of the former were happily illustrated. At the conclusion the Deaf’un mounted the stage to ‘wind-up,’ but unfortunately, Caunt having forfeited his promise to appear, he was only opposed to a new beginner called ‘The Cumberland Youth,’ whose inexperience left the star of the night nothing to do but flap him at pleasure. The Deaf’un, after smoothing down his bristles with his dexter digits, and clearing his throat by sundry ‘hems,’ delivered himself of the following oration, which we took down as nearly as could be verbatim. ’Gemmen—I have dis here to say. I’m werry sory as Caunt has not come to sets-to wid me according to his promises, for he gave me his words of honours as he would attend; but dats de way wid dese here mens—when dey gets to the top of de trees, dey do nothing to help a poor fellow as is down; but dey had better minds what dey are abouts, or they’ll be as bad as Jack Scroggins, and look for atannerswhen they can’t find it. Gemmen—I mean to say as I do not thinks as I was fairly beat by Bendigo, and I am prouds to say as I am not widout friends what tink de same, and as are ready to back me for a cool hundreds against him, or Nick Wards, or Jem Bailey. Bendigo is wery bounceable now, as he says he has licked me; but I says he took an unfair advantage in regard of my belt; but dats neither one ting nor toder; and if he has friends, if he’s a man, he’ll give me anoder chance, and till he does, I shall always thinks as he has won de belts widout any right to it. I went to Sheffields and Nottinghams to make a match wid him, and now let him show equal pluck and come to London to make a match wid me—my pewters is always ready (applause). Dat’s all I’ve got to say. Gemmen, I thank my friends and patrons for coming here to-night (coughing); but I’ve got something here (pointing to his throat, and the poor fellow appeared overflowing with gratitude) which won’t let me say no mores.’—It is not very creditable to theéliteof the Fancy to have abstained from setting-to for the unfortunate fellow; for, although his ignorance may have led him to assume too much, the motto of all professed pugilists should be ‘forget and forgive;’ and ‘if a man’s in distress, like a man to relieve him.’”
In the years 1841–2, the magistracy and police, stimulated into abnormal activity by a sort of clerical crusade against the Ring “and all its works,” set the powers of the law in motion against pugilists and their patrons, and“all persons aiding and abetting in riotous and tumultuous assemblages calculated to produce a breach of the peace,” by issuing warrants, holding them to bail, and indicting them at the quarter sessions of the county wherein the same took place. Among the zealots of this Puritanical campaign against the amusements and relaxations of the people, theRev.Joshua Cautley, curate of Broughton, in Bedfordshire, distinguished himself with the fervour of Ralpho, the squire of Sir Hudibras; though he, fortunately, escaped the cudgellings, rotten eggs, and stocks, which in rougher times befell his prototype. In an evil hour the Deaf’un came in contact with this clerical suppressor of “anti-knife” congregations, under the serio-comic circumstances we are about to narrate.
On the 9th of February, 1841, at Holcut, in Bedfordshire, an orderly assemblage surrounded a well-arranged inner-and-outer ring, within the latter of which Ned Adams, of London, and Dick Cain, of Leicester, were contending. At a critical period of the battle, the curate of Broughton, theRev.Joshua Cautley, who was not, as all the “rurals” surrounding the ring well knew, either a magistrate in the commission of the peace, or in any way legally authorised to interfere, appeared at the ring-side in an excess of peace-preserving furor, and not only attempted to take Adams into custody (without any warrant), but cut the ropes with a knife, and behaved otherwise in an outrageous manner. He was afterwards aided by a police constable (John M’Hugh), and by the arrival of theRev.Edward Orlebar Smith, a Justice of the Peace for Bedfordshire, previous to whose appearance on the scene certain of the country people present had certainly ejected Parson Cautley from the ring. TheRev.Justice of the Peace, as it appears, then put his fellow clergyman and himself on the right side of the law by reading—at a distance, and amidst immense confusion and the continuance of the battle—the Riot Act. The result of all this was that the zealous Parson Cautley procured, upon affidavit sworn by himself, the constable, and theRev.Mr. Smith, the indictment of thirteen persons (six of them being his own neighbours) at the ensuing Bedford Quarter Sessions. The pugilists indicted were James Burke, Owen Swift, Edward Adams, and Richard Cain, Thomas Brown (the respected landlord of the “Swan,” at Newport Pagnell, who was there in charge of his post-horses and four-in-hand), Messrs. Mark Cross, William Maley (a solicitor), Joseph Goodwin, George Durham, Edward Dawkes, James Morris the younger, Martin Hughes (who died during the proceedings), and Richard Walter Chetwynd, Viscount Chetwynd, Baron Rathdowne. The indictmentcharged, in its first count, “that they, the defendants aforesaid, on the 9th day of February, 1841, in the parish of Holcut, in the county of Bedford, did then and there, together with other evil-disposed persons, whose names are unknown to the jurors aforesaid, unlawfully, riotously, and tumultuously assault Edward Orlebar Smith, clerk, one of the Justices of the Peace for the said County, and John M’Hugh, one of the constables of the Peace for the said County, and, then and there, did, in contempt of our said Lady the Queen and her laws, to the great terror, alarm, and disturbance of all the liege subjects of our said Lady the Queen thereabouts inhabiting and residing and being, passing and repassing, to the great damage of the said Edward Orlebar Smith and John M’Hugh, and against the peace of our said Lady the Queen her crown and dignity.” The second count in this formidable document, repeating the names and verbiage, included the same charges against the defendants for riot and assault on the person of theRev.Joshua Cautley. The third count varied by specifying James Burke as the assailant of theRev.Edward Orlebar Smith (whom he never touched in any way). The 4th, 5th, 6th, and 7th counts merely varied in the names of the parties assaulted, by substituting “Smith” for “M’Hugh,” and “Cautley” for “Smith,” as the persons on whom “with force and arms,” the same defendants “did then and there beat, wound, and ill-treat, and do other wrong, to the great damage of the said E. O. Smith,”&c., &c., “and against the peace of our said Lady the Queen her crown and dignity.”
Any one not used to the formal wording of legal documents may well share the astonishment of the Deaf’un when this astounding rigmarole, being furnished to his legal advisers (Mr. Vincent Dowling and Mr. Serjeant Dowling), was read and explained to him. His truthful and indignant denials of all the serious delinquencies laid to his charge in this farrago of legal fictions were most amusing. Perhaps the way in which these were thrown into rhyme, by what old Jacob Tonson, the bookseller, used to call “a competent pen,” will convey some idea of the Deaf’un’s objections and denial of the charges:—
ADDRESS OF DEAF BURKE TO THE GRAND AND COMMON JURIES OF BEDFORD.