The attentions of our hero had hitherto been paid to Mars and Bacchus; in fact, so exclusively, that Venus and Cupid were determined to resent the insult and contempt offered to their power, through the person of Miss Katty Flynn. Miss Katty was of true Hibernian genealogy; her father was a dairyman, and the fair daddles of Katty, it is said, were often employed in churning of butter.
and so it appeared with poor Katty. Amongst her numerous elegant customers was the funny, joking, gay Jack Langan. Katty endeavoured to smother the unruly flame, but all-powerful love prevailed, and upon every succeeding visit at Jack’s crib it increased like an oil-fed blaze. The cream of her dairy was continually offered as a present to our hero to embellish his tea tackle; in addition to which, lots of new-laid eggs, lumps of butter, and oceans of milk; a dietary, according to Lord Byron, of the most dangerous excitement to amatory ideas. Jack’s counsel urged in his defence, that instead of being the seducer, he was the seduced: and it would be a perversion of justice if he was not placed as the payee, instead of the payer, for endeavouring to impart comfort and consolation to the love-stricken damsel. But despite the sophistry of his learned counsel, the jury were ungallant enough to award damages against him of One Hundred Pounds. This circumstance, combined with the treachery of a friend, compelled Jack once more to quit Ireland, and try his luck in England. A few fleeting hours enabled our hero to lose sight of the Pigeon-house, and the charms of Miss Katty Flynn, and he landed in a whole skin at Liverpool, where he was not long before he found himself seated snugly in Bob Gregson’s hostelrie.
Under this friendly roof he rested himself for a few days. Jack then started for Manchester, in which place Pat Crawley had the honour of entertaining the aspiring Irish hero, at the Three Tuns Tavern. At Oldham Jack followed the occupation of a sawyer, and Tom Reynolds, like the celebrated Peter Pindar, who discovered Opie in a saw-pit, found Langan in a similar situation. “Come up, Jack,” says Tom, “and I’ll soon make a top-sawyer of you.” Langan obeyed the summons; and after comparing notes together, and having a small wet, Reynolds and Langan became inseparable friends, setting-to together, both in private and public, for their mutual advantage. Things went on in this way for a few months, when Matthew Vipond, alias Weeping, a Manchester man, well known as a good bit of stuff, entered the lists with the Irish Champion, on Wednesday, April 30, 1823. The celebrity of the pugilists drew together five thousand persons. The battle was fought between Buxton and Bakewell, in a field called Lydia’s Island, and certainly a better place could not be wished for—it was a perfect amphitheatre, and every person was near enough to the ring to have a distinct view of the men, when seated on the ridges of the surrounding eminences. The ring, which was a roped one of twenty-four feet square, being formed, Vipond first entered it, and threw up his golgotha; a few minutes after Langan made his entrée, and hoisted his also in the air. The Manchester man was seconded by two amateurs, the Irishman by Reynolds and Halton. Ned Turner and Bob Purcell also attended. About two o’clock the men peeled, shook each other by the fives, and the mill commenced.
Round 1.—The men came to the scratch with good humour painted on their mugs, and after gathering up and breaking ground for a few seconds, Vipond made play, but was stopped and hit in a style by no means expected. Vipond got in at last, closed, and gave the Hibernian his first welcome to English ground by a sort of cross-buttock.
2.—Vipond came up, bleeding from the left ogle, not quite so confident, but nothing loth, and wishing to pay with interest the favour received; but, alas! he was not the first man disappointed in good intentions, for he was met in so tremendous a manner by Pat’s right hand on the temple, that he was sent to the ground as if kicked by a horse. (Ten to one on Pat.)
3.—The Patlanders in the last and in this round seemed frantic with joy; hats went up in the air, and all roaring out for the darling boy. Bob Purcell called out to Reynolds, “Blow my dickey, Tom, if you don’t keep the Murphy back he will kill his man, and you’ll get lagged.” This had no effect on Tom, for he sent Langan in to Vipond, who was staggering from the effects of the blow in the last round. Paddy brought him to his recollection by a blow at the victualling office, and following it up with another for the box of knowledge, Matthew went down before he received, and Langan fell also from over-reaching himself.
4.—Vipond came to the scratch with far different spirits to those he started with: he was nervous in the extreme, and a person might easily guess that if he had known as much before as he did then he would have left Mr. Irishman for somebody else. Vipond’s ivory box was visited by Pat’s left mawley; by a ditto from the right, on the old sore on the temple, he went down, and the amateurs thought he would not come again. Langan during this round, and, in fact, all the others, was laughing.
5.—It was astonishing how willingly Vipond came to the scratch; but though he made some excellent hits, none of them told, they were so well stopped. Unfortunately for Matthew there was a kind of magnetic attraction between Paddy’s left hand and the Lancashire man’s frontispiece, which kept the claret continually streaming, and before the round was half over, Matthew seemed as if sprinkled by a mop. This was the busiest and the longest round in the fight; it ended by their getting entangled at the ropes, and both were down in a struggle for the throw.
6.—Vipond toed his mark, but in such a manner that any odds might be had against him. The only surprise was that he came at all, for he had had enough to satisfy an out-and-outer, without the slightest chance of winning. Langan, in commencing this round, nobbed him two or three times, and then let go a good one at the mark, but as the hit was going in, Vipond struck Langan’s wrist downwards, which caused the blow to fall below the waistband. This the seconds thought to take some advantage of, by saying the blow was below the line prescribed by the laws of fighting, and a complete stand-still took place, until the umpires declared they saw nothing unfair, and desired the fight to proceed.
7.—The time-keepers called time, but Vipond seemed to hang fire. The moment he got on his legs, Reynolds sent Langan to him, and Matthew went to grass.
8.—Matthew, to tell the truth, did not like the suit; and we must say he had no reason. When his second lifted him up to take him to the scratch, he declared he had been struck foul in the sixth round, and disregarding the direction of the umpires, declined fighting any more. Time was called, but Matthew slipped under the ropes and left the ring. Victory was then proclaimed for Langan in a shout that rent the skies.
Remarks.—This fight excited more interest in Lancashire and the surrounding counties, than anything of the kind that has happened in the recollection of the oldest man. It was a kind of duel between England and Ireland—the English free in backing Vipond, the Irish almost offended if any doubt was expressed against Paddy. Langan stood five feet ten inches; Matthew, five feet eleven inches and three-quarters, about ten pounds the heavier, and a most powerful man. It was, as long as it lasted, a lively fight; but Vipond certainly had no chance of winning. The Irishman was (a wonder for that nation) cool and deliberate. Independent of that, he was quick on his legs, hit hard, and used both hands. As a proof of the inequality of the men, Pat had not the slightest visible mark of injury about him when the contest ended. At the time the row ensued, and Vipond had left the ring, a man called Rough Robin, about fifteen stone, entered the ropes, and challenged Pat for any money. Langan offered to fight that instant for £5, or anything else; but simple as Robin looked, he had good sense enough to take a second thought, and said he would train first. At the conclusion, Langan was exultingly carried by the boys of Shillelah on their shoulders to his carriage, and left the ground. The following certificate of the umpires was considered sufficient to satisfy all parties as to any doubt which they might have at the time respecting the alleged foul blow:—
“This is to certify that Messrs. Swiney and Cope, being appointed umpires in the fight between Langan and Vipond, declare that the fight was fairly won by Langan.
Langan, after his conquest over Vipond, left Lancashire for the Emerald Isle, to exonerate his bail; honesty being at all times his polar star. He had scarcely landed in Dublin, when he was compelled to spend his time in the Marshalsea, in consequence of not being able to raise the sum of money necessary to repair Miss Katty’s damages. Langan ultimately got out of his love adventure by the adverse party not opposing his discharge at the Insolvent Court; nevertheless, this bit of a love affair made great havoc in his cash account. Shortly after our hero’s liberation from durance vile, he received a letter from Tom Reynolds, informing Jack that Rough Robin could be backed against him in Manchester. He lost no time in obeying the summons; but to his great regret, he found out it was “no go”—the Rough One did not appear at the scratch. Langan issued a challenge to all the Lancashire boys, but without the desired effect, and the Irish Champion could not pick up a customer. A sporting friend recommended Langan to visit Ned Painter, at Norwich, and under his auspices to enter the P.R. Jack would readily have availed himself of his advice, but Tom Reynolds, under whose guidance he was at that time, wished Langan to have a shy with Josh Hudson, at Doncaster Races, for a subscription purse—the John Bull Fighter having announced himself ready to meet any boxer at that sporting town. Many slips, however, happen between the cup and the lip; the manager of the Manchester Theatre had engaged Spring and Cribb for a sparring exhibition; the placards announced Spring as the Champion of England, and stated, at the same time, that the latter celebrated pugilist was ready to fight any man in the world. Langan conceived that the validity of Spring’s title to the championship at least demanded a trial, and therefore, without hesitation, challenged Tom Spring for £100. This, in the first instance, was refused by Spring, but after several negotiations upon the subject, a match was made for six hundred sovereigns, and the battle took place at Worcester, on Wednesday, January 7, 1824, as may be seen detailed in the preceding chapter.
Langan, accompanied by Reynolds, appeared in London a few days after his defeat at Worcester, and exhibited the art of self-defence at the Surrey Theatre. He was warmly received by the Sporting World.
Thinking he was not fairly treated in his fight at Worcester, Langan entered into a second match for 1,000 sovereigns.
For the details of this gallant contest we must also refer to the memoir of the victor. To the minutiæ there given we must here add a few proofs from contemporary publications of the deservedly high position in which Langan’s gallant conduct placed him with the public at large and sporting men generally.
Spring, it cannot be denied, received considerably more punishment in this battle than in any of his previous contests. This speaks for itself, and refutes the imputation of Langan being a bad fighter. The hero of the black fogle hit hard at a greater distance than most boxers. Mr. Jackson went round the ring and collected several pounds for Langan; and in the course of a few minutes, as a proof of how high the Irish Champion stood in the opinion of the amateurs, Pierce Egan collected on the stage, from a few gentlemen, £12 16s., of which sum Mr. Gully subscribed five sovereigns. The following letter from John Badcock (the Jon Bee of Sporting Literature) forms a fitting accompaniment to the appended verses in praise of Langan:—
“Well, sir, there is redemption in Gath, and the Philistines are discomfited, the Puritans overthrown, the Parliament of the Barebones dissolved, the opponents of the fancy defeated in their designs, the impugners of manhood laughed into scorn. There have now been no beaks, no x x’s, like clouds and storms upon the pugilistic hemisphere; we have had a noble, manly, fair British fight—the flag of the P.R. is again triumphant, and the colours of both the combatants covered with glory. The conqueror has reaped new laurels, the conquered has renewed and refreshed his: Spring has been truly triumphant, but Langan is not disgraced—as the old Major says, ‘quite the contrary.’
“You have acted, and you have written nobly, sir, about the discomfited son of Erin: you have rendered unto Cæsar Cæsar’s goods. I am an Englishman, and I love, I reverence, the land of mawleys and roast beef; but I can respect our brethren of the Union, and speak well of the country of shillelahs and potatoes. The hero of the sable banner shall yet be a conqueror—‘quoit it down, Bardolph!’—and so, my jolly Daffs, let us have a stave for the Black Fogle.
Langan took a benefit at the Fives Court on Thursday, July 1, 1824, when that popular place of amusement was crowded to suffocation, and numbers went away disappointed, not being able to procure admittance. Hundreds of amateurs were quite satisfied at getting a short peep now and then at the stage, and a great number of persons left the Court without being able, with all their efforts, to obtain a single glimpse of the sparring; indeed, it was such an overflow as almost to render the safety of the spectators doubtful. The sets-to were generally good.
Loud cheers greeted the appearance of Spring, and also Langan, upon the stage. Neither of the heroes had yet recovered from the effects of their then recent contest. The set-to was a fac-simile of the battle in Chichester, the length of Spring giving him the advantage; it, however, gave general satisfaction. At the conclusion Langan addressed the audience in the following words:
“Gentlemen.—The first wish nearest my heart, is to return thanks for the kindness and attention I have received in this country. I trust you will believe me, when I say, that I do not appear here in anything like a national point of view. There is no man loves Ireland and her sons better than I do. My pretensions are to show as a man among pugilists, and to contend for the Championship of England. I will contend with honour, and that shall be my pride, or I should be undeserving of that patronage which you so liberally bestowed upon me. When I met the Champion of England at Manchester, my friends backed me for the sum which was asked, £300. I would be proud to have my name enrolled in history amongst those brave champions, Jem Belcher, Pearce (the Game Chicken), John Gully, Cribb, and Tom Spring. I am now willing to accept a challenge to fight any man in England—to fight for that proud and enviable title, for the sum asked of me by Spring—£300.”
Jem Ward then mounted the stage, and said he was willing to fight Langan for 200 sovereigns.
Langan—I’ll accept your challenge if you’ll make it 300, but I’ll not fight for less—it would be beneath the dignity of the distinction at which I aim, to fight for a smaller sum.
Ward—I am willing to fight for £300 if my friends will make up the sum.
Here the matter ended, and nothing decisive was done.
The Irish hero arrived in Bristol, on his way to Dublin, on the 11th of July, 1824, but the packet not being ready to sail, he immediately set off by the steam-boat for Tenby, in Wales, in order to meet with the steam-packet for Waterford. In his journey through Pembroke and Milford he met with a very kind reception from the Welsh people. Langan put up at the Nelson’s Hotel, in Milford. Crowds of people surrounded the house during his stay; and the sailors, who were wind-bound, came on shore, along with the crews of two revenue cutters, just to get a peep at the Irish milling cove. The inhabitants of Tenby wished him to spar for a benefit, and some gentlemen amateurs offered him their assistance, but Langan refused to accept their kind offer, on account of his father’s illness. He sailed in the Ivanhoe steam-packet for Waterford, on the 14th.
In the second fight with Spring, our hero, during one of his severe falls on the stage, injured his shoulder so seriously, that upon Langan’s application to Mr. Cline, the celebrated surgeon, the latter gentleman informed him he must not fight for a twelvemonth. In consequence of this advice, Langan kept aloof from the prize ring, and went on a sparring tour, in various parts of England, with Spring; paid a visit to Dublin, Cork, and various other parts of Ireland, with great success, and likewise went on a similar expedition with Peter Crawley to Liverpool, Manchester, etc. Jack improved considerably during his practice with the late ponderous host of the French Horn.
Lots of letter-writing passed between Langan and Shelton on the subject of a fight, but it all ended in smoke. Ward and our hero had also a few words on the subject of a mill, but no battle was the result. For several months after Langan’s fight with Spring, the pain in his shoulder operated as a great drawback to his exertions in setting-to. Jack could not hit out with effect.
We copy the following letter from a Dublin journal, to show the feelings of our hero upon the subject of a challenge:
“May I request you will contradict a statement which appeared in your paper of Saturday, in a letter signed ‘Paul Spencer,’ in which it is stated that during my stay in Cork I was challenged to fight an English soldier for £150, and that I did not accept the challenge. I have not been challenged by any person whatsoever, and therefore the statement in the letter signed ‘Paul Spencer’ is utterly without foundation. There are certain persons in Dublin with whom I would not associate, and who, in consequence, have felt a soreness that fully accounts for the occasional squibs which now and then appear in print to my prejudice, and which I hold in the utmost contempt.
For some months Langan was completely lost sight of by the London Fancy; at length he was heard of as the proprietor of a snug public-house in Liverpool. Here his lively disposition, civility of demeanour, industry, and attention gained him hosts of friends. Langan sang a tolerably good song, and told a story well. He was the first to prevent a brawl, the last to provoke any one, or to suffer any one to be insulted in his house, and ever ready to lend a hand to any one in distress—colour, country, or profession disregarded. He gained the esteem of all who knew him; he accumulated money, and took an hotel, which he termed St. Patrick’s, at Clarence Dock, from whence he after some years retired with an ample fortune. At his house he had a large room; in this place he nightly placed beds of clean straw, rugs, etc.; it was a nightly refuge for every Irishman that chose to apply. Let the tongue be but tipped with a bit of the brogue, “Come in and welcome,” said Langan, “only, lads, let me take away your reaping hooks and shillelahs—there is a clean bed, a warm rug, and lashings of potatoes, for the honour of the land we all come from.” This Langan did, unaided by any subscription, for years. Such a fact needs no comment. We could enumerate a hundred acts of his charity—he did not wait to be asked.
Here, for many years, he lived honoured, respected, and prosperous; but latterly his health failed, and he retired from the bustle of business to a house at Five Lanes End, Cheshire, where, on the 17th of March (St. Patrick’s Day), in the year 1846, he departed this life, aged forty-seven.
It was with deep regret that we heard of the demise of the brave, the good Jack Langan. Brave he was, as his conduct in conflict showed; good he was, as perpetual acts of benevolence proved. He was a boxer, a prize-fighter—no matter, a profession never yet disgraced a man, if he took care not to disgrace the profession. Langan, though poorly educated was a man of superior mind; he was, to speak of them generally, better educated than the class with whom his name was associated; and in power of observation, acuteness of reasoning, was, in fact, far above many who walk in higher places.
The sun never rose on a braver or a better man; and hundreds of poor Irishmen have cause to bless his memory. One of those domestic afflictions that are utterly beyond remedy increased the maladies to which he had been long subject, and we fear we may, to use a common but expressive phrase, say that he died of a broken heart.
CHAPTER III.
NED PAINTER—1813–1820.
Edward Painter was known to the past and to not a few of the present generation, as a worthy specimen of the English boxer—a race of men, we fear, well-nigh extinct. To the first, as one of the gamest of pugilists that ever pulled off a shirt; to the second, as a respectable and worthy tradesman resident in Norwich, but ever and anon visiting his old friends and patrons in the great metropolis, when some “event” occurred, in which those he knew in former days required a hand; or when some public or charitable object could be assisted by “Old Ned’s” showing with Tom Spring, Peter Crawley, Jem Ward, one or other of the distinguished “big ’uns,” who were contemporary with his ring career.
NED PAINTER, of Norwich.
From a Drawing by George Sharples, 1824.
Ned Painter was born at Stratford, Lancashire, within four miles of Manchester, in March, 1797, and, as a young man, followed the calling of a brewer. His connexions were respectable, and young Ned bore the character of a well-behaved, civil fellow. A difference with a big fellow in the brewery, one Wilkins, led to a blow from that personage, and its return by the youthful Ned. A cartel from Wilkins was boldly answered by Painter, and they met in due form in the yard of the Swan Inn, Manchester, when Ned so quickly polished off the “big one” that he gave in after a very few minutes. Ned’s master, who was a spectator of the affair, complimented him for his courage and skill, and, as Ned himself said, gave him the idea of his own boxing qualities. Accordingly, when Jack Carter, “The Lancashire Champion,” as he vauntingly called himself, was exhibiting in Manchester, in 1811, Painter, at the solicitation of his friends, was induced to offer himself for a set-to. The specimen he gave with the gloves confirmed their good opinion that he was the “right stuff,” but required a little more polish to spar with a full-blown “professional.” Painter, at this time, was in his twenty-fourth year, his weight thirteen stone, his height five feet nine inches and three-quarters, and his bust, when stripped, an anatomical study for symmetry and strength. Few men, at this time, or in after years, could throw half a hundred-weight near to the distance to which Painter could sling it with comparative ease. Our hero, thus qualified, presented himself to his fellow countryman, Bob Gregson, at the Castle, as an aspirant for fistic fame. Bob, at this time, was a sort of Mæcenas of millers, as boxers were then termed, and his house the mart for match-making. He welcomed the arrival of this promising young Lancastrian, and soon found him an opponent in one Coyne,[16] an Irish boxer from Kilkenny, six feet in height, and fourteen stone in weight, who also ambitioned a name. The articles fixed 40 guineas a-side as the stake, and the men met at St. Nicholas, near Margate (in the same ring as Harmer and Ford), August 23, 1813. Painter was attended by his friend Bob Gregson, and Joe Clark; Coyne was esquired by Joe Ward and Hall. The men lost little time in preliminary sparring, and, considering the size of the Hibernian, Painter’s confidence was more conspicuous than his science. He went up to the head of Paddy, and put in one two, but got it heavily in return, and as the rally went on the weight and length of Coyne bored him gradually back on to the ropes, where he escaped cleverly, and “upper-cut” his opponent amidst some applause. Another rally and both napped it heavily; the round ending in Painter down, but the larger share of punishment certainly to Coyne, whose appearance excited much amusement. His arms were unusually long and lathy, and his face long also, with sharp-cut features and a prominent “cut-water;” indeed, after a little of Painter’s painting, it is compared by the reporter to that of the Knight of La Mancha—he of “the woeful countenance;” the swinging of his arms, too, resembled that of the windmill sails so unsuccessfully attacked by Cervantes’ hero. The mill, however, went on merrily, Painter receiving far more than he need have received, but for his eagerness to “polish off” his man triumphantly. Paddy was game as a pebble; but Painter, by his skill, gradually obtained a decided lead, and ended each round by milling poor Coyne to grass. After forty minutes, during the latter part of which time Coyne acted as “receiver-general,” Painter was hailed the conqueror.
Alexander, known as “The Gamekeeper,” who had, a short time before, defeated the game Jack Ford, at Hayes Common, now challenged Painter, and the match was made for 60 guineas a-side. The Fancy betted two to one on Alexander! The battle came off at Moulsey Hurst, on Saturday, the 20th of November, 1813. Gregson and Tom Owen were the knowing seconds to Painter; Old Joe Ward and the veteran Paddington Jones attended to the Gamekeeper. At one o’clock the men stood up, there being scarcely a point to choose, in height, weight, or length of arm.
Round 1.—Painter gave evidence of improvement, and immediately went to work with both hands. The Gamekeeper, equally on the alert, hit Painter on the head. Some blows were exchanged, when Alexander went down, from a slip on his knee.
2.—Some caution before blows were exchanged. Alexander did not show himself off in the superior style which had been anticipated. Painter proved himself an equal, if not a superior fighter to his opponent. They fought their way into a close, and in going down, the Gamekeeper was undermost. (Five to two now vanished, and level betting was the truth.)
3.—Both on their mettle. Heavy exchanges occurred in a sharp rally. Painter was thrown.
4.—Milling, without ceremony, hit for hit. This was the evenest and best contested round in the fight. The Gamekeeper planted a desperate blow on Painter’s ear that staggered him. Both their nobs, from heavy punishment, were metamorphosed. The claret was first seen on Alexander’s face. Painter went down from a slip. Great applause.
5.—Both distressed at the scratch. The efforts of the last round had winded them. Alexander was soon down. (Betting now took a turn, and Painter was the favourite.)
6.—The superiority was now decidedly on the part of Painter. Alexander endeavoured to keep pace with his opponent, but had the worst of it at every move. In closing the Gamekeeper was thrown.
7.—Alexander took the lead in this round. He nobbed Painter twice under the ear, without return. Both down.
8.—Both combatants appeared to have out-fought themselves, and sparred for wind. In closing, both down, but Painter uppermost.
9.—It was now a blinking concern, both their peepers being materially damaged. The Gamekeeper’s right hand appeared to have given way, and he made his blows at random. Painter took the lead in fine style, and finished the round by flooring his adversary. This was the first knock-down blow.
10.—Painter still kept the advantage, but in closing both down.
11.—Alexander contested his ground ably, but Painter had the best of the hitting. In struggling to obtain the throw the latter experienced a severe cross-buttock.
12.—It was altogether a sporting fight; another change had taken place, and the Gamekeeper appeared the freshest man. Alexander commenced play with increased spirit. A desperate rally took place, in which Painter received a severe blow again under his ear, and he was ultimately thrown.
13.—The Gamekeeper kept the advantage, and also brought into play his left hand, which had hitherto been neglected. Painter exhibited great weakness, and Alexander improved this opportunity with considerable skill by putting in some good blows, and ultimately obtained the throw. Alexander was again the favourite in point of betting.
14.—One of Painter’s eyes was completely closed, and the Gamekeeper did everything in his power to put the other into a state of darkness, but in this attempt he was floored so severely by Painter that he went down nob foremost.
15.—In favour of Painter; but both down, and Alexander undermost.
16 to 20.—These rounds were in favour of Alexander, who fought with his left hand at Painter’s half-closed eye. The latter stood up manfully to his opponent, but seemed incapable of hitting effectively. Alexander was best in wind and strength, and was booked as the winning man. (Three to one was boldly offered in his favour).
21 and last.—Such is the uncertainty of war, that although victory seemed within the grasp of Alexander, yet from a straight well-directed hit at the “mark,” Painter was announced the conqueror in a twinkling. It positively electrified the “knowing ones” (who had just before sported the odds against Painter), to see Alexander stagger away from his opponent. The Gamekeeper fell heavily and could not be brought to time. The battle continued for near forty minutes.
Remarks.—This was a proud day for the Lancashire fancy, and Bob Gregson felt considerable exultation in having produced a hero who bid fair to obtain a high place on the roll of fame. Painter was brought home to the Castle Tavern with the honours of a triumphal entry.
Painter, from this conquest, was deemed a match for Tom Oliver; but here the smiles of conquest deserted our hero, who experienced a most gallant defeat. For an account of this memorable battle, see Life of Oliver, Chapter IV.
For a purse of 50 guineas, without training, Painter entered the lists with Shaw, the life-guardsman, at Hounslow Heath, on April 18, 1815. Nothing but true courage could have induced Painter to contend with an opponent so much his superior in every point. Shaw was upwards of six feet in height, and above fifteen stone in weight. Having the advantages, also, of military exercise every day, a good knowledge of pugilistic science, frequent practice with the gloves, and so confident of success, that he had challenged all England. Painter, on the contrary, was a debtor in the Fleet, and had only obtained a day-rule. The odds, in consequence, were two to one on the life-guardsman. Cribb and Oliver seconded Painter. The latter set-to with great gaiety, and the soldier did not appear to have much the best of him, but the length and weight of Shaw ultimately prevailed, and numerous terrible hits were exchanged. It was piteous to view the punishment Painter received, and the game he exhibited astonished every one present. The long arms of Shaw were truly formidable, and he stood over Ned, planting his blows with confidence. Painter received ten knock-down blows in succession; and, although requested to resign the battle, not the slightest chance appearing in his favour, he refused to quit the ring till nature was exhausted. The battle lasted twenty-eight minutes.
At Carter’s benefit, at the Fives Court, on Tuesday, March 11, 1816, Oliver and Painter set-to; the latter boxer was considered to have rather the best of it, and, in one instance, Painter hit Oliver away from him with such violence against the rail of the stage, that it was broken. This circumstance occasioned considerable conversation among the amateurs; and, at a sporting dinner which occurred soon after at Belcher’s, the friends of Painter, in order that he might have a chance to recover his lost laurels, subscribed £100 towards a second combat. It was generally thought that Painter was much improved from frequent practice with Carter, in their sparring tour in various parts of England and Ireland, and it was argued that it was during his “noviciate” he was defeated by Oliver. The following challenge was, in consequence, sent by Painter:—
“E. Painter’s compliments to Mr. T. Oliver, and challenges him to fight, on Thursday, the 22nd day of May next, in a twenty-four feet ring, half-minute time between each round, a fair stand-up fight, for one hundred guineas a-side. The place to be appointed by and stakes deposited with Mr. Jackson, who, Mr. Painter understands, is willing to contribute a purse of twenty-five guineas to make up the one hundred. An early answer is requested.”
The following answer was returned:—
“Tom Oliver, with compliments to Mr. Painter, informs him he has received his most welcome challenge to fight him. Oliver certainly cannot refuse to fight him on the day appointed, but requests it to be understood, he will not fight for a smaller stake than £100 a-side, independent of the purse which may be thought proper to be given by the Club.
“Oliver also begs leave to inform Mr. Painter, he agrees to his own proposal, that is, to make it a stand-up fight, in a twenty-four feet ring, at half-minute time between each round; and also the place to be appointed by Mr. Jackson; and, if it meets his pleasure (which it does his most unexceptionably) to deposit the whole stakes in his hands. Your early answer to the above terms is requested, in order that he may apprise his friends to come and make a deposit. They will either meet you at my house, or he will meet you and them at Mr. Thomas Belcher’s, in Holborn, at his.”
“Peter P. Weston—22nd March, 1817.”
“Mr. Painter has to inform Mr. Oliver, that having waited upon Mr. Jackson with the above reply, it is contrary to the rules of the Pugilistic Club to give a purse of twenty-five guineas when the battle-money amounts to £100.
“Castle Tavern, March 24, 1817.”
The following articles were, at length, most amicably agreed to:—
“Thomas Oliver and Edward Painter agree to fight, on the 19th of May next, for 100 guineas a-side, in a twenty-four foot ring, a fair stand-up fight, half-minute time. The fight not to take place within twenty-five miles of London. Twenty guineas are deposited in the hands of Mr. Belcher, which deposit is to be forfeited, if the whole of the money is not made good on the 2nd May, at T. Oliver’s, Great Peter-street, Westminster. The men to be in the ring precisely at one o’clock.
The stakes were made good as stipulated, and the odds were six to four on Oliver. The sporting world, however, experienced great disappointment from the unexpected interruption of the fight. Oliver, from an information laid against him at Worship Street, Moorfields, was brought from Riddlesdown, where he was in training, to the above police-office, and bound over to keep the peace for a twelvemonth, himself in £200, and two sureties in £100 each. Both combatants felt equally mortified in being thus defeated without a blow. A trip to Calais was talked of among the swells, as the only safe mode of evading this untoward circumstance. Oliver and Painter were both eager for the fray, and “Mossoo” might be treated to an opportunity of witnessing le boxe Anglaise.
To keep the game alive, a match was proposed between Painter and Sutton, a strong, bony, long-armed, man of colour, aged twenty-seven years, who made a début in the ring, on the casual offer of a purse, at Coombe Warren, on May 28, 1816, with an old black man. From his sets-to, soon afterwards, with Cooper and Oliver, at the Fives Court, it was thought he displayed capabilities; and his fight with Robinson, at Doncaster, not only confirmed this opinion, but produced him numerous patrons. He also fought a man of the name of Dunn, for an hour and seven minutes, at Deptford, with success. Sutton was well known to be a desperate punisher, without fear, possessing great strength, a penetrating eye to direct his efforts, and tolerably well thought of by the milling fraternity. He and Painter met on Wednesday, the 23rd of July, 1817, at Moulsey Hurst, and boxing annals do not record a greater exhibition of pugilistic heroism. Painter was finally defeated, after a battle of forty-eight minutes, which was “anybody’s fight” up to the last round. Painter strained every nerve to turn the chance in his favour, but in vain. He fought till nature refused to second his will; and more sincere regrets were never expressed at the defeat of any pugilist, for Ned had earned hosts of friends by his inoffensive disposition and respectful demeanour in society.
It was not to be expected that so courageous a boxer as Ned Painter had proved himself to be should “rest and be thankful” under the dark shade of this black defeat. Accordingly he at once demanded of his sable victor another trial, which Harry Sutton most cheerfully granted, nothing doubting to score another win. Bungay, in Suffolk, was the spot pitched upon, and the stake 100 guineas. On the morning of the 7th of August, 1818, the rendezvous being the ancient city of Norwich, whence Painter was backed, the amateurs were in motion, and not a coach, chaise, cart, or any sort of vehicle whatever, could be had, all having been previously engaged for the mill. Notwithstanding the rainy state of the weather, myriads of pedestrians were pouring in from all parts of the county, and by twelve o’clock not less than 15,000 persons had assembled upon Bungay Common. The ring was formed in a superior style to those made at Moulsey or Shepperton. Besides the enclosed quadrangle of twenty-four feet for the combatants to engage in, an outer roped ring was placed, leaving a clear space of twenty yards for those persons connected with the fighting men to walk round without confusion. Outside this stood the pedestrians several rows deep; and three circles of wagons surrounded the whole, giving the ring the appearance of an amphitheatre. Every person could see with the utmost ease, and all was conducted with good order. The spectators were unusually silent for such an occasion, though the combatants were much applauded upon entering the ring. Painter was seconded by Tom Belcher and Harry Harmer; Sutton attended by Tom Owen and Richmond. About ten minutes after one the men shook hands and set-to. Five and six to four upon Sutton.
Round 1.—The fine condition of Painter attracted the attention of every eye, and the formidable bulk of Sutton was equally imposing. Nine minutes elapsed before a hit occurred, during which much science was displayed. The Black, it seems, had undergone some previous rehearsals, and his “cue” was “steady,” which was given to him by his second, Tom Owen, in order not to make the first blow. The attack, however, was begun from Sutton, which Painter returned by a right-handed hit at the Black’s nob. A rally followed, and Painter’s superior skill milled the man of colour most successfully. Painter at length got away, when a second rally occurred, and Sutton was floored by a right-handed hit on his jaw. The first blood was, however, drawn by Sutton, slightly, from Painter’s nose. (Great applause.)
2.—The science of Painter was much admired, and the knowledge of boxing displayed by Sutton far above mediocrity. Painter planted, with much adroitness, a severe bodier, and got away, the Black following; but he received a facer, till Painter made a sudden stand, and again floored the nigger. (Six to four against Sutton.)
3.—The success of Painter rendered it necessary for Sutton to alter his previously planned system; and Owen, upon the alert, like a skilful general, loudly observed to Sutton “to fight his own way!” This hint was enough, and the man of colour went to work without loss of time. He endeavoured to plant a terrible blow with his left hand, which Painter stopped in a scientific manner. The Black now seemed determined on doing some execution, and Painter appeared equally resolute. They stood up to each other as if insensible to the effects of punishment, exchanging hits with all the celerity of blacksmiths striking at an anvil, till they became exhausted, when Painter was thrown in closing. In this round the advantages were considered on the side of Sutton; but the claret run down in a stream from his left eye. The nob of Painter was rather damaged, and one of his ogles slightly marked. (Even betting.)
4.—The man of colour seemed bent on milling, and rallied in a most heroic style. Finer courage or greater resolution could not be witnessed. The gameness of Sutton was the object of admiration from all the spectators, and the true bottom exhibited by Painter equally impressive. It is impossible to particularize the blows that passed between them in this round, more than to observe that they were dreadful indeed. Sutton not only received a severe bodier, but so tremendous a blow on his nob that it was distinctly heard all over the ground. Painter went down easy.
5.—Half a minute was too short apparently for the men to come up to the scratch anything like themselves, and both commenced sparring to recover wind. The Black at length made play, but out of distance, and got again severely nobbed. He, without dismay, fought his way manfully in, although he had the worst of the punishment. One of Painter’s listeners received a heavy hit, and, in closing, he was thrown.
6.—Sutton’s nob, from the milling it had undergone, and the singular contrast of the red streams upon his coal black phiz, would have been a fine subject for the strong imagination of a Fuseli. Some reciprocal hitting occurred, when Painter’s back was accidentally turned for an instant upon his opponent, but he soon righted himself, and in a sharp contested rally planted a good blow on the head of Sutton. In closing, Painter went down.
7.—In this round the superiority of fighting was decidedly on the side of Painter, who, with much skill put in a “winder,” and also planted a severe blow on his opponent’s punished head. The men opposed each other like lions, till Painter fell, rather exhausted from the exertions he had made. Sutton was equally distressed, and staggered like a drunken man. He appeared scarcely to know where he was.
8 to 10.—The fine condition of Painter was manifest in these rounds, and he recovered himself with advantage in all of them. His improved science was evident.
11.—Sutton proved himself a troublesome customer to be got rid of, and in the most manly style he endeavoured to get a change in his favour. The head of the Black, terrific to view, was again punished; but the left ear of Painter received so sharp a hit that the blood ran down his back. In closing, both down. It was evident Sutton was beaten, and Tom Belcher went up and asked the question, but the seconds of the Black reproved him for the interference.
12.—In this round Painter astonished his most intimate friends, from the superiority of science he exhibited. Sutton had no chance left him now but desperation, and he bored in, regardless of the consequences. His nob came in contact with the left hand of Painter, and the claret followed profusely. Still the gameness of Sutton was not to be denied, and he contended bravely. Painter, in getting away from his impetuosity, found himself awkwardly situated against the stakes of the ring, when he fought his way out in the Randall style, and extricated himself from his perilous position cleverly. He also showed the advantage of giving, and the art of not receiving. The Black’s nob was again punished out of all shape, and fibbed so sharply that the claret flowed from his ear. It was a terrible round, and Sutton was all but done.
13.—The Black was nothing else but a “good one,” or he never could have met his man again. In fact he appeared stupid as to scientific movements, but, nevertheless, rushed at his opponent pell mell. Painter, quite collected, stopped the desperation of the Black with the utmost ease, and nobbed him at will. Painter received a chance hit upon his cheek, but in return he floored Sutton. The Black was now so dead beat that he resigned the contest in a whisper to his seconds. He was requested to try two rounds more, which he gamely did, but it was only to add to his punishment. At the end of the fifteenth round he could scarcely articulate in reply to Belcher, who had crossed the ring, “he would fight no more.”
Remarks.—One hour and forty-two minutes had elapsed, and a braver or a more manly battle does not stand recorded in the annals of pugilism. Sutton weighed thirteen stone nine pounds, being two pounds heavier than his opponent; he was also about three inches taller; his arms too were considerably longer than Painter’s. Several of the spectators were so pleased with the manliness displayed by the combatants, that, in the impulse of the moment, they drew Painter and his seconds off the ground in their post-chaises into the town of Bungay, where females were seen waving their handkerchiefs from the windows as he passed through the streets to the inn. From the superior style with which this victory was gained Painter raised himself high in the opinion of the sporting world. True, that to good condition and active and careful training, he was much indebted for conquest, opposed to a man of almost Herculean strength and pluck. His first battle lost with Sutton proceeded greatly from a deficiency of tone in the system, but he was now able to face his man for an hour and forty-two minutes without difficulty; whereas, in his former contest with this sombre hero his distress was so great that he could not lift up his hands. At Bungay he came into the ring so confident in mind and firm in his person that he took the fight out of Sutton at an early part of the battle. It was good training that enabled him to do this. Painter, it was remarked, could have fought much longer had it proved necessary. The advantages of a scientific second were manifest throughout the fight, from the improved system of tactics pursued by Painter upon this occasion. “Gladiator in arena capit consilium,” was said two thousand years ago, and Tom Belcher being at Painter’s elbow, the defensive plan was acted upon with judgment and success; indeed, according to the expressed opinion of many of the best informed, the prompt advice and superior skill of Belcher tended in an eminent degree, in addition to the tractability of disposition and courage of Painter, to ensure victory. Comparison proves the fact. The latter, in his second contest, hit and got away; while in his first battle he went in boldly, opposing strength to strength; hence he was defeated, the length and weight of Sutton overpowering him. In the character of a second, from his experience and practice as a scientific pugilist, Tom Belcher, if not superior, was not excelled by any boxer. The result of this contest completely deceived the knowing ones, as the odds were greatly in favour of Sutton previous to the fight; and Oliver, the conqueror of Painter, backed the Black freely on the ground, so sure was the event considered.
Painter called, the morning after the battle, upon Sutton and left him a douceur. The sporting people of Norfolk, it appears, were highly gratified at the manner in which the battle between Painter and Sutton was conducted. Belcher, Harmer, Richmond, Owen, Oliver, etc., exhibited at the Norwich Theatre in the evening, after the battle, and their efforts to amuse were respectably attended.
We have noticed Painter’s athletic capabilities; he, about this time, proved winner in several foot races. In a trial of strength in a field belonging to the White Hart, Commercial Road, Stepney, March 21, 1817, Painter undertook, for a wager of 10 guineas, a dozen of wine, and a good dinner for twelve, to throw half a hundred-weight against a gentleman of the name of Donovan, of immense Herculean proportions, and renowned for his prodigious strength. Mr. Donovan called on Painter to “set” a throw, which he did (with his coat on). The distance, though unfortunately not recorded, was so great that Mr. Donovan, after every preparation, could not touch it by eighteen inches and a half. “Painter,” adds the report, “has, as yet, beaten every competitor in this feat, from England, Scotland, and Ireland.” A fine athletic young man, called “Spring,” was matched by Scroggins to run the distance of five miles against Painter, for 10 guineas. It was a hasty bet on the part of the latter, and undertaken without training. The race was decided on the 7th of November, 1817, from the four mile stone on the Essex road. Painter merely jogged on before Spring at starting, when the latter took the lead, and kept it for nearly two miles and a half, the distance of running out, Painter keeping close at his elbow, compelling Spring, as it were, to use his best speed. Painter now shot by him like an arrow, touched the handkerchief first, and returned to run the two miles and a half in. Spring was so dead beat, and out of wind, at the corner of White Post Lane, three miles and a half, that he could proceed no farther. Painter continued to run in gallant style, at the rate of ten miles an hour, and arrived at the place of starting at the expiration of thirty-five minutes and a half. This great feat for “a big one” like Painter, was loudly cheered on his touching the winning post.
At this period a young “big one” from Herefordshire, whose career was destined to be of the brightest, had just arrived in the metropolis, determined, as he himself declared, to go in for the Championship. The friends of Painter thought that Ned was the very man to check his aspiring flight, and a match was made for 100 guineas, when Painter was defeated by the future champion, on Mickleham Downs, in thirty-one rounds, occupying eighty-nine minutes, giving reason to many of the “knowing ones” to remember their lack of wisdom on the 1st of April, 1818, as will be found in full under the memoir of Tom Spring, in the first Chapter of this Period.
The friends of Painter were not satisfied that their man was defeated upon his merits, and made another match for 100 guineas a-side so early as April 10, at the Castle Tavern, Holborn, each party depositing 10 guineas. The contest to take place on Friday, the 7th of August, 1818. Tom Belcher took an active part in making this match, feeling confidence in Painter. Nearly four months was allowed him to recover from his accident, and it was also inserted in the articles, that the ring should be made with eight instead of twelve stakes. The betting immediately commenced at six and seven to four on Spring. It also continued in favour of the latter during the time of training. The former backers of Spring betted upon him freely; even many of Painter’s friends changed sides.
The fight took place on a piece of ground called Russia Farm, four or five miles from Kingston, and was well attended. Painter had for his seconds Belcher and Harmer; Spring was waited on by Cribb and Clark.