BUCKHORSE (John Smith), 1732–1746.
After an Etching by William Hogarth.
“Buckhorse, whose real name is said to have been John Smith, first saw the light in the house of a sinner, in that part of London known by the name of Lewkner’s Lane, a place notorious in the extreme for the eccentricity of the characters it contained: here the disciples of Bamfylde Moore Carew were to be found in crowds, and cadgers of all descriptions resorted to regale themselves upon the good things of this life, laughing at the credulity of the public in being so easily duped by their impositions; and here the juvenile prig was soon taught to become an adept in the profession, by taking out a handkerchief or a snuff-box, from the pocket of a coat covered with bells, without ringing any of them. In these slums the finished thief roosted from the prying eyes of society, and laid plans for his future depredations.
“It appears, then, that few places could boast of more originality of character than that from which Buckhorse sprang; and, from the variety of talents here displayed, there is little doubt he did not remain long a novice. As we have never been troubled with any account to what good-natured personage he owed his origin, we cannot determine; but suffice it to observe, that little Buckhorse and his mother were turned out upon the wide world, long before he knew its slippery qualities, by the cruel publican, their landlord, which inhuman circumstance took place about the year 1720.
“This freak of nature, it would seem, was indebted to his mother for what little instruction he received, the principal of which was an extraordinary volubility of speech; and from his early acquaintance with the streets he picked up the rest of his qualifications.
“Buckhorse’s composition, however rude and unsightly, was not without harmony; and although his fist might not appear musical to his antagonist by its potent touch, yet when applied to his own chin, was capable of producing a variety of popular tunes, to the astonishment of all those who heard and saw him, and by which peculiar trait he mostly subsisted, added to selling little switches for a halfpenny a-piece, his cry of which was so singular, that Shuter, the celebrated comedian, among his other imitations, was more than successful in his mimicry of Buckhorse, which was repeatedly called for a second time.
“As a pugilist, Buckhorse ranked high for strength and endurance among the boxers of the day, and displayed great muscular power in the battles he contested.”
“Boxiana” says, under date 1742, after the fight of Smallwood and Willis, “About this time the noted Buckhorse fought Harry Gray, when the latter got severely punished by this ugly customer.” It is true that this battle took place in 1742, but if Mr. Egan had read Fig’s bill, which he prints at p. 44, vol. i., he would have seen there that, ten years previous (Sept. 18, 1732), it is announced that “Buckhorse and several other pugilists will show the art of boxing.” Unless the infant was eight years old in 1720, he must have been “noted” enough to be specially underlined in capital letters at twelve years old! Fig died in 1734 (see p. 12, ante). Buckhorse continues, too, it will be seen, in Broughton’s bill for his “New Amphitheatre,” on the 13th of March, 1743 (p. 24, ante), and is there advertised, not for a match among the eight men specially named as to be paired, but in a singular manner, indicative of a mêlée rather than a boxing match. Thus: “N.B. There will be a battle royal by the Noted Buckhorse and seven or eight others, after which there will be several bye-battles with others.” Buckhorse seems to have fought previously in these bye-battles, e.g., that with Harry Gray (who here appears among the men to be matched), two years previously (23rd Nov., 1741), after Tom Smallwood had defeated Harris. (See ante, p. 38.)
There is something truly Hogarthian in the portrait handed down to us; and as he was a contemporary of “the valiant Fig,” it is no strained supposition that it came originally from the great English master’s pencil, as well as that of the champion himself.
“As ugly as Buckhorse” was for a long time the uncomplimentary expression for a remarkably ugly man. This singular being is said to have been in the custom of allowing himself to be knocked down for a trifling gratuity by any one who might fancy a trial of the strength of his own arm.
TOM FAULKNER, THE CRICKETER—1758–1791.
One of the best men of his day, and who divided his attention between the two great English games, cricket and boxing, both, in a scientific form, nearly contemporaneous, was Tom Faulkner. Twice, fired with the ambition of holding the champion’s title, did he enter the lists with the renowned George Taylor, and twice, after a good fight, he succumbed to his master in skill. But Tom feared not an uphill game. He felt that he had the key to the secret of his former defeats, and a third time, in 1758, challenged Taylor to the field. Taylor had now retired, and, as already stated, kept the Fountain at Deptford. The “old ’un” accepted the challenge without hesitation, and in Hertfordshire, one mile and a half from St. Alban’s, on the 13th of August, 1758, the heroes met, the stakes being 200 guineas and the door money. Faulkner, it is said, with the odds of three to one against him, risked all he possessed upon the event. Faulkner, knowing his man, determined to keep him to fighting. “He began the attack with astonishing courage, amounting almost to ferocity. For several of the earlier rounds Faulkner was either knocked down or thrown. About the fifteenth, Taylor was blowing, but in a rally each put in a dozen hard blows before Faulkner levelled his opponent. Taylor now began to shift, and several times fell without a blow.[26] This created much disapprobation and confusion, but Faulkner easily consented to proceed. Afterwards they set to more resolutely, if possible, than before, when after a severe contest of one hour and a quarter, Taylor acknowledged himself beaten. They were both carried off the ground, and it was the general opinion that more skill and courage never was displayed by any pugilist in this country. Taylor’s loss of an eye and a blow at the close of the fight on the other were the aiding excuses of his defeat.”
In the next year (1759) Tom Faulkner was in turn challenged by Joe James. Joe came of a fighting family, and his brother Jack James, “the bruiser at Broughton’s Amphitheatre,” with his father, “old Jockey James, of Newmarket,” seconded young Joe. The battle came off at Putney, Surrey, on April 8, 1759, for 100 guineas. “A stage was erected near the White Lion Inn, and they set-to about two o’clock. Before a blow was struck the odds were two to one (they betted preposterously tempting odds in those green and early days) in favour of James, and after the third round five to one. Joe knocked Faulkner down several times (here was piling up the agony), when, in the last round, which was not more than ten minutes from the commencement of the contest, Faulkner, by a well-aimed blow, brought down James (!), on which, though apparently not hurt or even fatigued, he gave in.” We should think so: it would have been mere tempting fortune to go on. The chronicler adds, “the indignation of the spectators was very highly expressed by their hissing him off the ground,”[27] which did not, it seems, prevent the bets going with the battle-money. Verily, as Bildad the Shuhite said of the man of Uz, so may we say of this ancient ring-scribe, “Behold, he is yet in his greenness.” “Old Jockey James” seems to have known when to give “the office” that the “book was full.”
Tom appears now to have betaken himself to attacking his opponents’ stumps, and bowling them out with “underhand twisters,” for as yet the hand above the elbow was not, the curve-bladed bat was like a butter-knife, and two stumps with a cross-piece gave every chance that a straight ball would go harmlessly through the wicket. Yet were there skill and enjoyment in those days of our forefathers, and the village green and its May-pole were institutions of “Merrie England.” The May-pole is as extinct as the megatherium, and what has modern science given us in its place? Among those who—
Tom Faulkner was long remembered. Yet does his name again occur in 1789. The bruisers of Birmingham challenged those of the best note in London. Isaac Perrins challenged Tom Johnson, the champion (See life of Johnson, post.) Jacombs challenged Bryan (Big Ben); Pickard, George Ingleston, the brewer; and these fights came off, as we shall see, in favour of the metropolis. Fired with the idea, Tom Faulkner (at 53 years of age!) challenged Watson, and Thornhill threw down the gauntlet to Hooper, the tinman. These two last matches went off; a proof, we think, that the Birmingham backers were not without judgment, though they did lose the first three events.
Tom Faulkner was certainly an evergreen of amazing sap and pith. Early in 1791 he was challenged by Thornhill (called in the report “the Warwickshire bruiser”), who had been disappointed in his match with Hooper, the tinman. The veteran Tom accepted the cartel, and they met at Studley, in Warwickshire, March 21, 1791. “Ryan seconded Faulkner, and Williams was his bottleholder. Jack Lea waited upon Thornhill, with Biggs his bottleholder.” We copy the report. “At two o’clock the combatants set-to, and throughout the battle Tom’s superiority in judgment and distance was manifestly evident. Thornhill was much the stronger man, and only fell by one knock-down blow during the contest, except the last, which Tom struck him in the neck, too forcibly to be withstood, and Thornhill gave in. The conflict was extremely severe, and lasted fifty minutes. The door money amounted to upwards of £80, two-thirds of which became the property of the winner, and the remainder to the unsuccessful combatant.” Faulkner was one of those lucky men who closed a career of exceptional length with the garland of victory on his grey head. Tom was living in 1798.
BILL DARTS (CHAMPION)—1764–1771.
Among the boxers of his day, Bill Darts, the dyer, held a high reputation for steady courage and hard hitting, and by no means a contemptible amount of science. One of the most remarkable of his battles was with Tom Juchau,[28] at Guildford, Surrey, in May, 1766. It was a famous fight for forty minutes, when Juchau was beaten out of time. The stakes were 1,000 guineas.
Dogget, the West Country Bargeman, had secured so high a name among the “twoads” that an invite was given to Bill Darts to come down to Marlborough to be thrashed. With the first part of the invitation Bill complied; the second he not only declined, but, per contra, gave Mr. Dogget such a thrashing, that he carried off the honours of the day and the irate countryman’s 100 guineas staked upon the event.
Swansey, the butcher, found friends to back him for 50 guineas, and he and Darts met, Oct. 13, 1767, on Epping Forest. The butcher was soon knocked down and thoroughly cut up.
Bill Darts now invited all comers for the championship, which he had held for five years, when Lyons,[29] a waterman of Kingston-upon-Thames, disputed his title. They met, and Darts, for the first time, was defeated in forty-five minutes, on the 27th of June, 1769.
Bill Darts next entered the lists with a competitor of formidable name—Death (Stephen Oliver). Oliver was certainly “stale,” as he had been one of Broughton’s favourite pupils. (See Death.) It was a well-contested fight, Oliver proving extremely game and skilful; but the superior strength and weight of Darts’ hits overcame the darts of Death, and the namesake of the universal conqueror fell before Bill’s victorious arm. This battle was fought at Putney, on a stage, March 25th, 1770. “Boxiana” has not given a single date to any of Darts’ fights; accordingly, “Fights for the Championship,” 1855, informs its readers that, “the dates of these battles,” as well as those of George Meggs, Millsom, etc., “are not recorded!”
On the 18th of May, 1771, during Epsom races, Bill Darts fought Peter Corcoran, an Irish bruiser of vast pretensions, about whom Pierce Egan has indited his usual amount of rhodomontade, which we shall correct under his name. The match was made for £100 aside, by the notorious black-leg and bully, Captain O’Kelly, the lucky owner of Eclipse, who, “before the fight gave Bill Darts 100 guineas to play cross.”[30] The rest of this nefarious swindle we will give, according to our plan, under the notice of the so-called victor Corcoran. Bill had now sold his reputation, and was a lost man; his seducer, the greater scoundrel, fared, like woman’s seducer, none the worse
Perhaps one of the funniest pieces of historical perversion on record is Pierce Egan’s account (without a date) of this scandalous affair. It would be injustice to mutilate it. “The famous Bill Darts now mounted the stage with Corcoran for £200, to give additional sport to Epsom races. The set-to commenced with cautious sparring on the part of Darts, who soon discovered that he could not win (!), and in a short time gave in. A singular report crept into circulation, accounting for Darts losing the battle, that Colonel O’Kelly (one of the most celebrated sportsmen on the turf) backed his countryman to a large amount; but to make his bets dead sure, on the night previous to the fight, he presented Darts with £100 not to win the battle, but positively to lose it. Surely no thoroughbred sportsman could commit so barefaced a robbery!” This is rather modest, considering the Colonel’s character; what follows, however, distances it by lengths. “And upon the best information, we are assured that Darts in his prime was never half man enough for Peter Corcoran!” The notes of admiration are Pierce’s: we have omitted his emphasised italics and small capitals. The reader may form his own conclusion by reading Corcoran’s actual battles.
Darts appears several times as a second during 1771 and the following years; notedly in a fight between Sam Peters, of Birmingham, and Rossemus Gregory, an Irishman, in which Darts seconded the Hibernian, but behaved so unfairly to save his man that Peters refused to fight on. The result will be found under Peters.
PETER CORCORAN
We may as well here dispatch Peter Corcoran, to whom Pierce Egan has devoted several pages of fabrication in honour of “ould Ireland.” First he thrashed all the potato diggers in the vicinity of his father’s mud edifice; then he, and perhaps another, beat an English butcher who refused to let him and a friend have a shoulder of mutton at their own price: Pierce almost hints they had no money. It seems that Paddy not only thrashed the butcher “Master Steel” in a few minutes, but “shortly afterwards enjoyed his mutton (is the reader or the mutton roasted?) with as keen an appetite as if nothing had happened (which we suppose was the case), and next day pursued his journey to London.”[31] At Portsmouth, after a trip to sea, he performed a number of feats of strength; one among them was “beating a whole press gang, and breaking the lieutenant’s sword over his head.” Here’s a scene for a new “Black-eyed Susan.” The promotion of Billy Taylor’s sweetheart did not, however, fall to the lot of Peter, and “on leaving the navy, he came to London,” etc.
The first authenticated notice of his name we find under the date of,
“Sept. 4th (1769). A boxing match was decided between Turner, a pugilist who had beaten Bill Stevens, and Peter Corcoran, an Irishman, for £20 aside, which was won by the former.” The battle took place in Hyde Park, and is correctly given in “Fistiana,” though without a date. Now let us turn to “Boxiana,” p. 59, vol. i. “Peter beat one Turner, who fought him for £20, and although the latter had beaten the Nailer, yet, in the hands of Corcoran, he was soon disposed of.” Three others, “good men,” Dalton and Davis and “Smiler, the bricklayer,” were also, according to the same veracious chronicler, “beaten dreadfully.” These exploits bring us to Corcoran’s two “crosses” and his final thrashing. That with Bill Darts we have said enough about. Of this we read in a contemporary print—“After a little sparring, Corcoran gave Darts a blow on the side of the head, which drove him against the rail of the stage, when he immediately gave in. It was said that Darts had played booty, and none of the sporting men would afterwards back him; thus by one dirty action Darts lost all the fame he had been for so many years acquiring.” This reflection has a peculiar moral squint, as we have already said. “What about the Colonel who bought the poor fellow?”
Whether his next battle with Peters was a victory we will just leave to the reader of the report. “The long expected match between Sam Peters and Peter Corcoran took place at Waltham Abbey, Essex, in June, 1774. At setting-to the bets were three to one in favour of Peters (this, we should say, was a good thing), who, though he maintained the superiority, gave in without any apparent cause at the expiry of fifteen minutes, greatly to the disappointment of the sporting ones.” We should think so. Here is the account from “Boxiana,” p. 86, “Sam Peters was the best man, according to Corcoran’s account, that ever set-to with him. It was a complete hammering fight (!), and at the expiration of ten minutes Peters declared he was satisfied, and Corcoran’s body for several days afterwards was entirely black, the bruises being extremely severe.” Heavy work on both sides for ten minutes. The fastest moderns cannot go this pace. The account of Corcoran’s battle with Harry Sellers, October 16th, 1776, will be found under Harry Sellers. As Peter was thrashed, it was of course “a sell,” though it looks like a victory on its merits, and “Boxiana” “points a moral,” which is applicable to this as to all other cases of betrayal of backers by pugilists, who should never forget—
but “do more, deserve it,” is very good—if the case warranted it.
The favourable notice in “Pancratia,” whence Pierce drew the staple he has spun out so absurdly, thus speaks of Corcoran: “Peter, as a pugilist of his period, stands first rank as a fair fighter; being generally engaged with powerful pugilists, he was unfortunate in the events of his contests, and indeed he had little reason to triumph when victorious, for as he never shifted or fell, unless accidentally, without a blow, he seldom escaped a severe drubbing.” These are the words of truth and soberness, and place Corcoran’s courage and game on a fair footing, despite the extravagant eulogies of his compatriot. Perhaps, however, Mr. Vincent Dowling, in his “Fistiana,” has exercised the wisest discretion; finding the accounts too discrepant for reconciling, he has left the name of Corcoran out of the letter C altogether.
HARRY SELLERS (CHAMPION)—1776–1785.
Harry Sellers, a west country boxer of deserved provincial reputation, was chosen by some friends as a likely young fellow to reduce the braggadocia of Corcoran, whose challenges were of the true Hibernian cut of some hedge-schoolmaster transplanted to the Seven Dials. The match was made for 100 guineas “and a bet of £500 or £600 on the event,”—we do not profess to know what the last phrase means—and the combatants met at the Crown Inn, Staines, October 10, 1776. The attendance appears to have been remarkably good. Corcoran, with the “gift of the gab,” was the landlord of the Blakeney’s Head, St. Giles’s, and was a sort of “Stunning Joe Banks” of his day: what he was good for as a pugilist we cannot say. “At the first onset,” says the report, “Corcoran gave his antagonist a violent blow, which threw him to the farthest end of the stage, and the odds increased from three to four to one in Peter’s favour. Sellers now fought very shy for about eighteen minutes, in order to wind his antagonist, which having accomplished, he advanced boldly and beat him by straight-forward hitting in ten minutes.” Did any one ever read a more “plain unvarnished tale” of how a natural fighter and good boxer beat a bounceable publican? What need of the farrago we find at pages 86, 87, 88, vol. i. of “Boxiana,” to explain that which needs no explanation? Corcoran was thrashed, and, we believe, couldn’t help it. Pierce tells us a story of his house in St. Giles’s flowing with “all sorts of spirits, plenty of new pots, etc., inside and outside painted, and got up in superior style to what it was ever witnessed before,” etc. Moreover—and here is the detail that clinches it—“Peter was playing skittles next morning with all the activity and cheerfulness of a man who had never been engaged in pugilism.”
As Pierce about this period was a Dublin “gossoon,” he must have had an exact knowledge of the decorations, interior and exterior, of Peter’s hostelrie, and a reliable tradition of his morning’s amusements. For ourselves, a much more careful search than that of the inventor of “Boxiana” (who made none, by the way), fails to tell us more than we have hereinbefore set down.
On the 4th of June, 1777, at Ascot Heath races, Joe Hood,[32] a hardy and successful boxer, fought Harry Sellers for 50 guineas aside. Joe fought with great courage and skill, but the science and activity of Sellers secured the victory. Hood fought Sellers again, four weeks afterwards (June 2), and was again beaten.
In June, 1778, Harry Sellers met the once formidable champion, Bill Stevens, the Nailer. It was a one-sided affair. Stevens, still courageous, could not stand against the rapidity, skill, and freshness of Harry, and was defeated. The stake was but £25, which shows how the mighty Stevens had fallen.
The Crown, at Slough, a favourite rendezvous of the swell patrons of pugilism, was the scene, on the 25th of September, 1780, of a boxing match between Harry Sellers and Duggan Fearns, an Irish boatswain (called Jack Fearns in “Boxiana”). The accounts read very like a cross, though we can hardly say that there is clear evidence. “The battle lasted one minute and a half, when victory was declared in favour of Duggan.” We are not told how the event was brought about, but the reporter adds his own opinion: “the amateurs were swindled to a large amount,” and certainly very clumsily.
On the 7th of June (1785), we find that Harry Sellers contested a battle with William Harvey, an Irishman, in the Ass Field, near Holywell Mount, Grays Inn Road, “in which, notwithstanding he exerted himself to the utmost, he was conquered by dint of the Irishman’s strength in twenty minutes.” The reader will observe the date is the 7th of June. This may give him sufficient insight to value accordingly the story of “St. Patrick’s evening” (17th March), the “insult to Mr. Harvey’s shamrock in his hat,” the “leg of mutton and trimmings,” offered by Sellers to be let off a thrashing, and the wretched rubbish in “Boxiana,” pp. 88, 89, “for the greater glory of ould Ireland.” The red hot ire of Mr. Harvey remained to cool from March 17th to the 7th of the following June, if there be any truth in the periodical contemporary press.
The appearance of Humphries, Big Ben (Brain), and the rise of the great Tom Johnson, seem to have quite extinguished the minor pugilistic stars, and so occupied the whole attention of the patrons and historians of the ring, that Sellers disappears from the scene. In “Pancratia,” p. 63, we read, “It has been reported that Sellers actually died with grief, on account of his friends refusing to match him with the celebrated pugilist Tom Johnson when first he rose into fame.” This proves, at any rate, that Sellers was what the west countrymen call “a good woolled one:” there was no deficiency in breed, whatever there might be in his probity or judgment.
STEPHEN OLIVER (NICKNAMED DEATH).—1770–1788.
Of Stephen Oliver, whose singular sobriquet, “Death,” had a less terrible derivation than it might suggest, we have but scant contemporary notices, yet these have been neglected, and “Boxiana” dismisses him with an incidental mention in the notice under Darts (see p. 45, ante), and four lines in reference to his battle with Small. Oliver seems, by general consent of the best judges, to have been a remarkably skilful, steady, and formidable boxer. The deadly paleness of his visage during his pugilistic contests procured him the nickname of “Death.” Oliver, as one of Broughton’s pupils, stood high on the list of his favourites. The veteran often commended him as the best teacher and exponent of his system. “He was a well made man, and light (as they reckoned it then), never exceeding twelve stone; he did not possess great strength, but this he fully compensated by his astonishing agility. Oliver fought more battles than any man in England, and though frequently overmatched, often conquered against odds. But his sparring,” adds the author of “Historical Sketches,”[33] “notwithstanding it was thought excellent some years back, is now equalled by any pupil of Mendoza and Humphries. This indisputably shows we moderns have improved in science.”
We pass over a long interval of Stephen Oliver’s performances to come to his great fight with Bill Darts, March 25, 1770, wherein he was defeated by youth, length, weight, and strength.
Six years afterwards, July 3rd, 1776, Death fought a short battle at Barnet for £20 with a butcher of the name of William Small, a name by no means corresponding with his bulk. A diurnal print tried a small piece of wit in the form of what it called “an epigram.” Here it is—
The renowned Tom Johnson, of whom anon, had already beaten several commoners, and especially Jarvis, “the fighting carman.” Stephen accepted his general challenge, and, though stale and old, made a creditable fight, at Blackheath, in 1784. (See Johnson, post.) Though Jack Towers (brother of William, the bricklayer) is called the “conqueror of the celebrated Death,” we cannot find the record of his victory.
Oliver still lingered on the stage till 1788, in which year, on April 17th, “he fought one Elisha Crabbe,[34] a Jew, on the turf, at Blackheath.” It was observed in the course of the contest that Death had the lead in fair boxing, but that Crabbe got the best in closing, when he was generally successful in flinging his adversary so as to pitch him on his head. Although Crabbe had received many sharp blows, they did not impair his strength, but Death was wounded badly in the face by a fall, and had a severe gash over his right eyebrow. This obstructed his sight, and very much contributed to lose him the battle. At the end of thirty-five minutes Crabbe succeeded in giving Death a knock-down blow, and the Jew was declared the conqueror. (“Pancratia,” p. 78.) The Prince of Wales (afterwards George IV.), Colonel Hanger (Lord Coleraine), and the leading patrons of the ring, were present on this occasion. A bye-battle between Doyle, a well known pugilist, and a sawyer from Deptford, which followed, ended in the anonymous sawyer beating the professional in twenty minutes.
SAM PETERS, OF BIRMINGHAM—1771–1774.
Sam Peters, of Birmingham, is one of the second rates demanding notice previous to closing this chapter. After many victories in Warwickshire and the midland counties, Sam made his way to the metropolis, and was backed for £20 against Trainer, a stalwart Irish chairman. They met at Epping Forest, June 7, 1771, but Sam was so overmatched that, after a clever fight of thirty-seven minutes, he fell before the heavier metal of his antagonist.
The next month, on the 13th of July, Sam entered the ring at Fair Mead Bottom, near Epping, with Rossemus Gregory, another Hibernian pugilist. Bill Darts seconded Gregory, and Peters gave in on the ground of Darts interfering unfairly in favour of his man. Another match was accordingly made, and came off in the Riding School at the Three Hats, Islington.[35] Here Master Gregory found he had better not have “bitten his thumb” at Sam, for he got a most undeniable thrashing in half an hour. Sam Peters’ “sell” with Corcoran, in 1774, has been already commented on. From this time he ceased to find backers.
JOE HOOD—1773–1780.
Joe Hood, a weaver, fought some good battles between 1773 and 1780. His first important contest was with the noted Jem Parrot, on the 9th of November, 1773, in White Conduit Fields, Islington, for a stake of 20 guineas. Rossemus Gregory (see Sam Peters, of Birmingham, ante) seconded Parrot, and Sam Peters attended upon Joe Hood. The fight was obstinately contested for thirty-five minutes, when a dispute arose between the seconds as to a foul blow. Rossy Gregory would not allow his man to fight longer, and Parrot left the ground, refusing to return. The battle, upon a reference, was awarded to Hood.
On the 31st of March, 1775, Joe Hood met and conquered Dennis Kellyhorn, “a famous Irish bruiser.” The battle was for 50 guineas, and took place at Chingford Hatch, Essex.
Macdonald, a sawyer, of great strength and stature, issued a challenge to Joe for £10. The set-to is described by the reporter as “furious on the part of Macdonald.” Joe fought on the defensive for half an hour, when the rush of Macdonald having slackened, Joe completely turned the tables, and milled the sawyer all over the ring. Macdonald fought obstinately: “he was beaten so dreadfully before he gave in, that both eyes were closed, and it was found that his jaw was broken.”
Joe’s next battle with the champion, Harry Sellers, June 4, 1777, ended in a defeat, though “Hood displayed astonishing judgment and bottom.” This important battle is not mentioned in “Boxiana” (Joe Hood, p. 81), nor in “Fistiana,” under Hood (p. 58, edit. 1864); nor does Hood’s second defeat (July 2, 1774) appear under his name in either authority.
A noted Birmingham pugilist (the “Hardware Village” has always been renowned for boxers) hight Joe Higgins, “who had fought fifteen battles, in all of which he had been the conqueror,”[36] challenged Hood. He had miscalculated his skill. They met July 23, 1778, when Hood gave him so severe a beating as, says the authority just quoted, “taught him the proper respect due to a scientific pugilist.”
The tide of battle now turned against Hood. On the 8th of September, 1778, after a severe attack of illness, Joe met “the Bristol Boy,” Peter Bath, at Maidenhead races, for £50 a-side. “The bets were two to one in Joe’s favour, notwithstanding his indifferent health.” Joe soon “found himself entirely unable to cope with his opponent, and gave in after fighting twenty minutes, when Bath[37] was hailed the conqueror.”
On the 4th of September, 1779, Hood was again unsuccessful in a pitched battle in Smithfield with William Day, an active and game pugilist. This seems to have been Joe’s last appearance as a principal, his constitution being impaired.
CHAPTER V.
TOM JOHNSON (THOMAS JACKLING). CHAMPION OF ENGLAND—1783–1791.
Tom Johnson, whose real name was Jackling, was a native of Derby, although a general claim of Yorkshire extraction has been made for him, and “Boxiana” so states it; followed, of course, by “Fights for the Championship,” London, 1855. However, as he signs himself “Thomas Jackling, of Derby,” in a printed letter, the point is not worth disputing. He surely could himself have no motive for such a misrepresentation.
Johnson, for we shall retain his popular name, was certainly a hero among heroes; and if Tom was inferior to Broughton in science, he came certainly nearest of any man that had hitherto appeared to that phœnix of pugilistic skill. Nature had endowed him with unusual strength of body, and he was universally admitted to possess a careful and precise style of hitting. His courage was of the highest order, and he possessed a constitutional coolness of disposition and temper. Johnson was born in 1750, the very year that Jack Slack defeated his prototype, the champion Broughton, and at an early age repaired to London, where he followed the laborious occupation of a corn-porter, on a wharf near Old Swan Stairs. His surprising strength was paralleled by his kindness of heart; and while in this employment an anecdote is recorded of him which deserves preservation. Johnson’s fellow porter was taken ill, and being burdened with a wife and a numerous family, dependent on his labour for support, they were likely to be reduced to want, had not Johnson immediately undertaken (unknown to them) to do his fellow porter’s work, as well as his own. The warehouses where the corn was deposited were situated at some distance from the wharf, at the end of a court, denominated, from its steepness, “Labour-in-vain Court,” and to which place Tom carried every journey two sacks of corn instead of one, and gave the money to his family, till his fellow porter was able to return to his work. We would recommend this anecdote for extract in the next number of the “Evangelical Magazine;” it can be much better authenticated than most of the “lose-nothing” benevolences of their portrait-loving “labourers in the vineyard.”
As we prefer truth unadorned to clumsy rhetoric we have here merely paraphrased what we find in contemporaries, and, where advisable, resorted to acknowledged quotations. “After he (Johnson) had assumed the profession of the gymnasium (somewhat pedantic this, but the writer as he goes on becomes more natural), he soon proved the most effective among the whole race of modern athletæ. His strength, science, and astonishing bottom gave him rank superior to all his contemporaries, but his greatest excellence was his surprising coolness and judgment. It may appear somewhat ridiculous to the inconsiderate, and those prejudiced against the art, to attempt panegyric upon the mental gifts of a pugilist, but where such a merit did or does exist, it is a duty incumbent on those who are just and impartial to record it. The natural powers of Johnson’s mind, although not developed by the care of what the schoolmaster calls fostering education, were remarkably extensive and capable of the accomplishment of great difficulties. Unlike many pugilists, who seldom form any rules for their guidance in emergencies until they find themselves on the stage, he invariably, long before, determined on a system of conduct adapted to his own advantage, and calculated to defeat the style of his adversary. To effect this, he calmly balanced the respective abilities of his opponents, their tempers, power, and mode of attack, and particularly noted the constitution and disposition of his opponent. His grand principle in fighting was never unnecessarily to expose himself to danger, nor hazard anything which could be obtained with certainty by waiting. By acting on this plan, he frequently at the conclusion of a battle, was nearly in as good condition as at its commencement; for though confident when first setting-to of an easy conquest, his prudence led him to protract an engagement, which perhaps he could not speedily terminate, unless by endangering himself. He usually, therefore, acted on the defensive, and never made a blow but when confident of getting home. If his opponent was cool, he was cooler; if warm and precipitate, he endeavoured to make him still more so, by using every justifiable measure to disappoint and baffle him; but he never took advantage of his man by unfair manœuvres.”[38] This description, despite a certain stiffness of the old school, is written by a master, and an appreciator of the art.
A few casual turns-up had shown the bent of Johnson’s natural genius for fistic fame; and at 23 years of age, in June, 1783, he met a carman of the name of Jarvis in Lock’s Fields, Walworth. The skill of Johnson, a supposed novice opposed to a practised boxer, astonished the spectators. Jarvis was severely thrashed, and Tom’s fame spread abroad.
A desperate rough, known as “the Croydon Drover,” next challenged Johnson, and they fought on Kennington Common, in March, 1784. The Drover was completely polished off in twenty-seven minutes.
Stephen Oliver (Death), though a decided “ould ’un,” would not believe in Johnson’s vast superiority until he tried him, on Blackheath, in June, 1784, when he had ocular demonstration by being beaten blind in thirty-five minutes.
Johnson now seems to have reposed on his laurels without a competitor till 1786. On the 11th of January in that year, Bill Love,[39] a butcher, fancied Tom for 50 guineas a-side. Johnson disposed of Bill Love’s pretensions in a few minutes.
Jack Towers, “the celebrated conqueror of Death,” says the reporter, though we have not met with the record, met Johnson (for a stake not stated), at Barnet, in February, 1786, and was soundly beaten without a chance of retrieving his fame.
About this period, 1786, Humphries, Martin, the Bath butcher, and Mendoza appeared. These celebrated men will be found duly chronicled “in their right place.”
Fry, a big, heavy, and powerful man, next challenged Johnson for 50 guineas, and they fought at Kingston, in June, 1786, but in less than half an hour Fry got so much broiled as to be very glad to put an end to the contest; and Tom walked off the ground almost without a scratch.
Johnson, about this period (1787) beat every one that was opposed to him, and the sporting world was almost nonplussed to find a man who might stand something like a chance with him. As the metropolis could produce no such character, Bristol was searched (the parsley-bed of pugilists), when Bill Warr[40] was selected as an article that could be depended upon. He was backed to fight Johnson for 200 guineas, on a stage, at Oakingham, in Berkshire, on January 18, 1787.
In the first round Warr found out he had got a trump to deal with, by receiving a doubler from Johnson. He immediately assumed the defensive. In fact, it was scarcely worthy of being called a fight, and the amateurs were not only disappointed but much displeased. Warr was convinced that he could not beat Johnson by standing up to him, and therefore determined to try whether he could not tire him out by shifting and falling; accordingly, whenever Tom seemed likely to make a blow, Bill Warr was on his knees praying for pluck, à la Tass Parker and Nick Ward of more modern days. This humbugging lasted for nearly an hour and a half, Johnson’s intentions being continually frustrated by Warr’s dropping. At length an ugly hit nailed him as he was falling. He insisted on a “foul!” which not being admitted, he instantly bolted, notwithstanding the remonstrances of his seconds to come back and finish the fight. In the words of the report: “Warr jumped up from his knees, crying ‘foul!’ and jumped from the stage. His second called him several times to return, but he ‘mizzled’ clean off.” Johnson was now firmly established as the champion; his fame ran before him, and it was some months before any person could be found hardy enough to dispute his well-earned title; at length, a brave Hibernian chief, who, like Tom Johnson, had milled all his opponents, came forward, and soon found backers.
How this came about must be told by an episode. On November 22, 1787, a severe contest was decided, in Stepney Fields, between W. Savage and Doyle. Tom Johnson seconded Savage, and Ryan, his countryman Doyle. After a sharp battle of forty-five minutes, Doyle was defeated, and Ryan in some heat challenged Johnson.
Michael Ryan, the Irish champion’s skill and courage stood so high, that the odds were six to four before the fight, which took place at Wradisbury, in Buckinghamshire, on December 19, 1787, for 300 guineas a-side. The seconds were chosen from the first-rate pugilists, Humphries for Johnson, and Dunn for Ryan; and even the bottle-holders were of fistic eminence, being Tom Tring for the latter, and Mendoza for the former. The spectators were numerous. The celebrated Mr. Windham, Sir Richard Symonds, Colonel Hanger, Colonel Hamilton, Mr. Bradyl, General Fitzpatrick, etc., were more than spectators on this occasion.
The contest long hung doubtful, though, at the commencement, the odds were in favour of Ryan. What follows is from “Boxiana.” “After the fight had continued nearly twenty minutes, and at the close of a most tremendous round, Ryan put in a blow upon Johnson’s temple, which so completely stunned him that his arms fell by his side, and was following up this advantage with another hit, which must have decided the contest, when Humphries ran in to save Johnson, and caught Ryan in his arms. Cries of ‘Foul! foul!’ resounded from all parts, and the friends of Ryan instantly demanded the money, by observing that, as long as Johnson had not fallen, it was perfectly fair on the part of Ryan to strike him, and that the latter had won the battle. Here a general clamour took place, during which Ryan, with the warmth peculiar to his country, indignantly told his second, Dunn, that he had not done his duty by him as a man, in suffering such conduct to take place without resenting it, and, had he not been prevented, he would have milled Dunn upon the spot, his rage was so great. Considerable time having now elapsed, Johnson was recovered, and challenged Ryan to renew the combat: the latter, like a man, notwithstanding it was considered there was no necessity for so doing, agreed to it, thinking he could beat Johnson.
“The battle was at length renewed; but it was soon perceived that Ryan’s strength was exhausted by passion, and he now, in about ten minutes, became an easy conquest to Johnson, by giving away the chance. Ryan’s conduct in the battle was so noble, and his manly courage and science so truly apparent, that the amateurs were still left in doubt to decide accurately which was the best man” (“Boxiana,” pp. 94, 95).
In consequence of this opinion, a second battle was determined upon, and fought upon a stage in the Rabbit Dell in Cashiobury Park, near Rickmansworth, in Hertfordshire, for 300 guineas a-side, on February 11, 1789. This was a contest of great anxiety, and the whole sporting world was there, from the Corinthian to the costermonger.
Johnson, who had for his second, Humphries, and Jackson as his bottleholder, mounted the stage at three o’clock, and were immediately followed by Ryan, who was seconded by Mr. Rolfe, a baker, and Nowlan his bottleholder. The set-to was one of the finest ever witnessed, and much science was displayed; the parries and feints eliciting general admiration. At length Ryan put in a severe blow on Johnson’s chest, which floored him.
The second round, which continued about two minutes, was terrible beyond description—science seemed forgotten—when Ryan received a knock-down blow. The battle was well sustained on both sides for some time; but Ryan’s passion getting the better of him, he began to lose ground. “Johnson,” says “Pancratia,” p. 83, “stopped Ryan’s blows with the greatest dexterity, and, hitting over his guard, cut him under the eyes.” Ryan’s head and eyes made a dreadful appearance. The contest lasted for thirty-three minutes, when Ryan gave in. A hat, ornamented with blue ribbons was placed upon the conqueror’s head; and Johnson gained a considerable sum of money, as, besides the 300 guineas stakes, and £512 door money, equally divided between the combatants, Mr. Hollingsworth, a cornfactor, and a former master of Johnson, settled £20 a year upon him for life, in consideration of the money he had won by backing him.
Brain, better known as Big Ben (see post), was now considered the only man capable of meeting Johnson, and a match was made for £1,000; but Ben, being taken ill at the appointed time, forfeited the deposit, which was £100.
We now approach one of the most interesting and remarkable contests in the annals of pugilism. The various coloured accounts of more modern writers cannot be excused of exaggerating the incidents of this fight, yet, as our object is rather authenticity than “sensation,” we shall simply transcribe the report from the old Sporting Magazine, for the month of September, 1789.
Birmingham having challenged London to produce its most noted men to meet their best pugilists, the matter has been put in train, and the combatants paired thus:—Isaac Perrins[41] challenges Tom Johnson, the champion; Jacombs will fight Bryan (Big Ben); Pickard, George Ingleston (the brewer); Tom Faulkner (the cricketer), Watson; and Thornhill, Hooper (the tinman). The challenges of the three first heroes were accepted, and the terms proposed by “the bruisers” agreed to.
The meeting of Johnson and Perrins was arranged for the first October meeting at Newmarket, to be fought on the turf, for 250 guineas a-side, and two-thirds of the door money to the winner, one-third to the defeated combatant. We continue from the contemporary report:—
“Perrins was an uncommonly strong man, gigantic in height and weight, with force adapted to his form, and, for his size, of astonishing activity. He stood six feet two inches in his stocking feet, and weighed seventeen stone, three stone heavier than Johnson. Perrins is stated to have lifted eight hundred weight of iron into a waggon, and to have performed other feats of strength almost beyond credibility. He was universally allowed to possess much skill in boxing, and excellent bottom. He had won many battles with ease, beating every competitor in Warwickshire, Staffordshire, and Worcestershire, and undoubtedly thought himself superior to every athlete, as is shown by his advertisement, challenging to fight any man in England for 500 guineas. His Birmingham friends considered him invincible, and backed him in the contest for many thousands of pounds, at two, and even three, to one against Johnson.
“The combatants, however, were not permitted to fight at Newmarket, and Banbury, in Oxfordshire, was then fixed upon, where they accordingly met on the 22nd of October, 1789. The battle was fought on a turfed stage, raised five feet from the ground, twenty-four feet square, and railed in. Johnson’s second was Will Ward (Warr), and his bottle-holder Joe Ward; Pickard seconded Perrins, and his brother was his bottle-holder. Colonel Tarleton was umpire for Johnson, and Mr. Meadows, of Birmingham, for Perrins.
“At a little before one the combatants set-to, and Johnson’s friends, who before had flattered themselves with certain success, when they viewed the wonderful difference of size between the bruisers, began to tremble for the event.
“For five minutes all was anxious expectation; Perrins then with great force aimed a blow, which Johnson very dexterously eluded, and gave the first blow, by which Perrins fell. The three next rounds terminated also in Johnson’s favour, who confused his antagonist by dancing round him, and occasionally planting an unexpected hit. Perrins became excessively irritated at this conduct, and throwing off the caution he had shown at the beginning, followed Johnson with vast resolution, and appearing to treat his manœuvres with contempt, he, despite of several sharp hits, at last got in a successful knock-down blow, which success he followed up for several rounds, in one of which he brought blood by a severe cut on Johnson’s lip.
“Johnson watched his opportunity, and in reply to a taunt from the Birmingham Goliath jumped in, and planting a blow over Perrins’ left eye, cut the eyebrow, and completely closed it up. This blow, and the failure of Perrins’ wind, which was now very visible, raised the bets amazingly in Johnson’s favour; the odds, however, again changed upon Perrins closing one of Johnson’s eyes; after this Johnson began once more to fight cunning, and having skilfully parried a violent attack of Perrins, he caught him so severe and swift a blow in the face as laid his nose completely open. Odds now rose 100 to 10 on Johnson.
“Perrins recovered his breath, and with great vigour and resolution attacked Johnson, who retreated parrying, but Perrins got in a blow over Johnson’s right eye that again brought down the odds, but not to even. Forty rounds of resolute boxing had now taken place.
“In the following round Johnson fell when not struck, and Perrins claimed the victory, but the umpires decided it was allowable,[42] as the articles did not specify to the contrary.” We suspect the Birmingham men, for Perrins was as brave a boxer as ever pulled off a shirt, were trying to “snatch a verdict,” as the day was clearly going against them.
“Perrins, in turn, seemed now to lose much of his strength. He tried to imitate his antagonist’s mode of fighting, with which he was totally unacquainted.[43] He fought low, and had recourse to chopping back-handed strokes, which at first drove back Johnson and disconcerted him, but against which he soon guarded himself very collectedly; often getting home a sharp return.