Round 1.—On stripping, both combatants appeared in the highest condition. Martin was as fine as the human frame could be trained; true, he looked big, but there was nothing gross about him; his form, however, seemed more calculated for a successful pedestrian than a pugilist, in consequence of the heavier half of him being from his hips to his feet. Turner was all that could be wished; indeed, he was never in such good trim before, and, excepting the weakness of his knee, there was not the slightest uneasiness by his friends as to the result. Much cautious sparring for an opening occurred before a blow was struck. Martin kept retreating a little, but at length he made a hit, which was stopped cleanly by Turner. Another pause, when Turner made a slight hit, and Martin kept getting away. Turner cool, and on the look-out, with his left hand felt for the body of his opponent, and, in returning, Martin threw his blow away. The latter seemed rather tired with holding up his hands, and on his looking down to the ground, the good generalship of Turner was visible to all the ring, as he immediately let fly on Martin’s nob. The baker, however, disengaged himself from a short rally, but in this spirt one of his ogles got severely damaged, and the claret was oozing out of the corner. Martin retreated from the attacks of his opponent to the corner of the ring, when some blows were exchanged, and, on Martin’s going down, he thought he had been hit improperly, as he exclaimed, “Isn’t that foul?”
2.—Turner soon put in a bodier, and repeated it without any return, but on attempting it a third time Martin stopped him. Turner, with much dexterity, put in a severe facer with his left hand, and also a winder, but Martin made some of his blows tell, and, in a severe struggle for the throw, both went down.
3.—Martin did not attempt to hit first, or to smash, as was anticipated, but kept retreating till he was compelled to hit as it were in his own defence. He again got into the corner of the ring, pursued by his opponent; but, unlike the Nonpareil, when in this perilous situation, he did not appear to know how to extricate himself, and went down from a hit.
4.—This was a manly round, and Martin made an exchange of hits, and also endeavoured to fib Turner. It was a sharp struggle, and both down, but Turner undermost. “Well done, Martin;” and the floury coves took a little courage, and sported a dead man or two, as they thought upon the improved suit.
5.—This round was a most mischievous one to Martin, and materially reduced his strength. He received a dreadful jobber right on his nose, and some other ugly hits, and, after a severe struggle, in going down Turner fell heavily upon him.
6.—Martin came up to the scratch distressed, but he commenced fighting, and hit Turner on the nob. The latter received it with the most perfect sang froid, and soon after put in a throttler that almost deprived the baker of breath. Turner followed it up by a bodier. Martin tried to make a return but without effect; and, in getting away from his opponent, he staggered and fell from weakness.
7.—Martin made a good stop, but he soon went down quite exhausted.
8.—The baker, with much courage, endeavoured to plant two good hits, but Turner stopped them with scientific excellence. Martin was very weak, and kept getting away, till he got a facer that sent him down, and his head rolled about like a top. Twenty to five was now offered.
9.—Martin came staggering to the scratch, and it was not long before he again found himself upon the ground.
10.—The fine stopping of Turner put all the well-meant efforts of Martin at defiance. This was a good round, and Martin fought manfully till he was fibbed down by Turner, who walked away.
11 to 15.—Martin was getting better in the last round, and threw his opponent.
16.—Turner not only had the best of the hitting, but fell heavily upon Martin.
17 and 18.—Turner put in a severe blow on the chest, and, in struggling for the throw, he slung Martin round and round till he went down.
19.—The science of Turner, in stopping nearly all the blows of Martin, convinced the good judges that, without an accident, he was winning cleverly. Martin, however, got Turner down in this round, and it was a bad fall for the latter.
20.—This was a sharp round, but nothing could keep Martin from retreating to the corner of the ring. Randall ordered the bottles to be moved, and both of them went down from a sharp struggle.
21 to 23.—It is true Martin was much better, but he could not take the lead. Turner, however, showed symptoms of weakness, and a little brandy was given him to recruit. Both down in all these rounds.
24 to 26.—The friends of Martin thought his chance improved; and in the last round, in throwing Turner, the bad knee of the latter narrowly escaped the post as his leg came in contact with it.
27 to 30.—Turner still fought cautiously, put in a good one now and then, reducing the strength of his opponent with ease to himself, and certainty as to the event. The majority of these rounds were in favour of Turner.
31.—Martin put in a sharp nobber, and also a body blow, and had altogether the best of this round, till they both went down.
32.—The baker felt elated with his success, and went sharply to work, and put in another heavy facer, and also some hits, till Turner went down weak.
33.—Turner let fly on setting-to, and a dreadful blow under the ear seemed almost to deprive Martin of his recollection. He, however, got away, and, upon endeavouring to make a stand, he fell down exhausted.
34.—This round might be termed the quietus. Some blows were exchanged, when Turner hooked his opponent round the neck and hit him in the body, ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto, and ditto, and in struggling for the throw, while going down, Martin received another heavy body blow. “Well done, Turner,” and loud applause.
35.—The excellence displayed by Turner was of the highest order. He was never seen to such advantage before; and Angelo, in the best of his days, could not have shown greater skill in fencing than Turner did in parrying off the attacks of his opponent. The knee of Turner failed him in this round, and he slipped down from a slight hit.
36.—This was a good round, and the hitting was sharp on both sides. Martin exerted his last effort, and put in some heavy blows, till Turner slipped and went down.
37.—It was all up with Martin, and he was so exhausted, that, in endeavouring to get away from the punishment of Turner, it was said he fell without a blow.
38.—This was a similar round, when Turner said, “Jack, if I am to be beat, stand up and win it like a man.” Martin was in such a state of stupor as not to be able to reply.
39.—Martin was here so dead-beat that he again fell down without a blow. Some murmurings occurred, when the umpire said, “Martin, recollect this is to be a stand-up fight.”
40 and last.—Martin endeavoured to put in a blow, and went down from a slight hit. On the baker being put upon his second’s knee, and time called, Cribb said, “I believe we may say it’s all over.”
Remarks.—Martin was very much punished about the throat, but particularly about his chest and body, yet scarcely any claret was spilt on this occasion. It was urged by some persons present that it was not a good fight, and that Martin did not show any pretensions to pugilism. It should, however, be recollected that Martin was opposed to one of the first boxers of the day, and that all his efforts were stopped by the superior skill of his opponent. Turner also exhibited great improvement, and fought well with his right hand. He showed himself a complete general, for although he lost the toss, he seldom failed by his manœuvres in the round to place his adversary with his face to the sun. The coolness of Turner was also greatly in his favour; he can receive without being put out of his course. The Nonpareil has now left the Ring, but it may be said that Turner is also a Nonpareil. It was urged that could Turner have trusted to his knee, the fight would have been over in fifty minutes instead of one hour and seven (the time it lasted). He retired from the contest almost without a scratch upon his face, and it should be taken into the scale of calculation that Martin is not to be got at so very easy, as he is tall, and leans very backward on setting-to. Turner was considerably under eleven stone, and Martin eleven stone four pounds.
Martin, it appears, was by no means satisfied with his defeat at the hands of Turner, but he resolved to have a little more experience in the prize ring before he essayed another match with that clever boxer.
Tom Belcher, when Bacchi plenis, at Cy. Davis’s opening dinner at the Bear and Ragged Staff, Smithfield, Wednesday, August 9, 1820, made a foolish challenge to Turner, and also Randall, to fight each for £500 a side, and articles were drawn and a deposit made. On the following Saturday, the fumes of the wine having evaporated, all parties shook hands in friendship, Belcher acknowledging it was the liquor that was speaking, and the affair, exaggerated into importance by “the historian” ended in smoke.
In the interim Martin had defeated, as we have already noted in the Life of Randall, ante, p. 351, Josh. Hudson, Cabbage, Phil. Simpson, and Dav. Hudson, and now challenged Turner to a second contest for £100 a-side. Ned could not in honour refuse, and on the 5th of June, 1821, our hero was defeated, as will be seen at length in the Life of Martin in the next chapter.
The success of Martin brought forward another old opponent. Cy. Davis, having beaten J. Bushell at Moulsey, and feeling mortified at his defeat by Turner, addressed a letter to Turner, and shortly after they met. Six to four was betted upon Davis, and the result justified the odds. The gallant Ned was out of condition, and fell before the strength and freshness of his youthful antagonist. See Cy. Davis, in Appendix to this Period.
A new candidate for fistic honours, Peace Inglis, having beaten one Hamilton, a waterman, at Moulsey (in 1822), then Deaf Davis at Harpenden (in February, 1823), and lastly George Curtis, brother of the Pet (in August of the same year), was matched against Turner for £100. The battle took place, April 20, 1824, and the brave Ned again succumbed to youth and stamina.
Before the curtain finally falls upon the pugilistic career of Turner, we have a closing scene of triumph to redeem by a bright ray his setting sun. Challenged by Inglis, Ned at first declined to fight for less than £200, but was at last prevailed upon to make it £100, and Tuesday, November 9, 1824, being appointed, the former antagonists met at Colnbrook. The counter attraction of Lord Mayor’s Day, for it was then a pageant and a general city festival, thinned the road a little; but the regular ring-goers were there, and the old fanciers evinced high interest that the once glorious veteran should repair his recent reverses. His veteran daddy, “the sage of the East” (Tom Owen), who had been his companion for the last fortnight, keeping a watchful eye over Turner’s training at Walton, unfortunately met with an accident, and sprained his ankle, which prevented him from filling the position of second to his “darling boy.” Inglis looked well, and was confident of success, and, from his known bravery, was a fancy article, although the odds were against him. Turner first showed, attended by Tom Shelton and Harry Holt, and threw his hat into the ring. Inglis soon followed, but his castor (absit omen) fell outside of the ropes. Jem Ward and Ned Neale were his seconds. A brave fight was anticipated.
Round 1.—On peeling, the ould one looked like a new man. The renovating air of the Welsh mountains appeared to have had the desired effect upon the frame of Turner. He looked steadily at his opponent, and made himself up to do mischief, but Inglis avoided close quarters. After some little dodging, an exchange of blows, but nothing the matter. Inglis got out of the corner well, but, in the middle of the ring, he napped a hit, which gave him the staggers. “Beautiful!” exclaimed the boys from Bermondsey. Turner, on going in, received a heavy right-handed blow between the ogles that made him wink again, filling his eyes with water, but no tears! This blow rather alarmed his backers, and the face of Jack Randall betrayed a serious aspect for the safety of his friend. Turner missed an upper-cut blow, which, in all probability, might have shortened the battle. Inglis was very quick upon his legs, but, although he made several motions to do summut, the position of Turner was so difficult that he could not get at him. Turner at length planted a nobber, and Inglis fell on one knee. (Huzzas, roars, and clapping of hands, expressive of the joy felt by the Bermondseyites at the success of Turner.)
2.—Turner was determined not to give another chance away; and the hint, “He’s coming with his right hand,” roared out by the eloquent Holt, kept Turner awake. Inglis bobbed his head once or twice; and it was lucky he did so, as a chancery slice was in readiness for him. Some heavy blows were exchanged, with this difference, Turner stopped them, while Inglis received. The latter got a severe nose-ender, which not only uncorked the claret, but left a stupefying quality behind it. “Bravo, Turner; the ould one is a little bit stronger than he was last time.” In a scuffle, two little drops of blood appeared on Turner’s cheek. In closing, both down.
3.—This was a short round. Ned was the hero of the tale at this early part of the fight; but “hopes and fears” were expressed as to his strength. “If he can but last,” said a knowing one, “it is as safe as the Bank.” The stops of Turner were truly excellent; but Inglis bored him to the ropes, and fell on him.
4.—Inglis got away from several rum ones; but he never took the lead to do any mischief. Turner planted in succession two heavy hits—stupefiers; Inglis never flinched. Turner got Inglis down, amidst most uproarious thunders of applause.
5.—This round added considerably to the odds in favour of Turner. After two or three movements of no effect, the ould one caught Inglis with a cutting-up, or rather a cutting-down, blow, and Inglis was floored. An artillery salute, and seven to four offered freely.
6.—Inglis again napped a staggering blow, and twirled round in a confused state; nevertheless, he recovered himself, and fought like a good one, till both went down, Inglis undermost.
7.—The goodness of Inglis was never doubted, but there was nothing like winning about his exertions, provided Turner’s strength did not leave him. Inglis napped it on the mouth, succeeded by two severe facers. This was a long round. Inglis planted a slight body blow, but he received three blows for one, till Ned slipped accidentally down.
8.—The young one was piping a little, and the ould one was none the worse for a pause. Sparring for wind. In a struggle both went down, but the feather-bed maker was undermost.
9.—This round booked it almost to a certainty for Bermondsey. Two facers once more put Inglis’s nob into chancery. The young one, however, as good as gold, not only stopped, but countered well. The nose of Inglis, however, was at the service of Ned, and the claret followed as pure as any sample from the bins of Charley Wright, of the Haymarket. The eyes of Inglis lost their fire, and his countenance bore the marks of his mind being abroad. The latter hit anyhow, till he was floored by a nobber. (Cheers, noise, and applause. Two and three to one offered on Turner.)
10.—The chancery suit had performed the task for Ned, and Inglis was done almost brown. He, however, endeavoured to rally, but another cutting-up hit, added to his, already shakey state, produced extreme grogginess. His game was so good that he stood up like bricks, till a hit, almost severe enough to have knocked a stone out of a wall, again floored the brave but unfortunate feather-bed maker. (“Take him away, he has no chance!”)
11.—It was evident to every spectator that Inglis could not win. He staggered like a drunken man; but his goodness enabled him to show fight, and he made blows with the most determined spirit. The ould one again caught him with an upper-cut, and, as he went down, Ned might have added more punishment, but he nobly disdained taking an advantage, held up his hands, and walked away, amidst loud shouts of approbation. (“Bravo! Ned; that is like an Englishman.” “True courage is always backed by feeling and generosity—first the lion and then the lamb,” said a cove in a rusty black suit, something like a schoolmaster. “Never mind,” said one of the Partiality Club, “it is good doctrine, come from whom it may.”)
12.—Short, but terribly severe. Inglis was floored sans ceremonie by Turner. (“Take the brave fellow away.”)
13.—When time was called, his seconds bustled him up; but Inglis was in a doldrum till they shook him, and, on roaring out in his ear, “Ned’s coming,” he opened his eyes wildly, and, as if by instinct, prepared himself to fight. He rushed towards his opponent, but Turner sent him down.
14.—“His youth will bring him round,” observed a few of his friends. “Not this fight,” said a costermonger; “he’s done brown twice over.” Inglis again down. A hat was thrown up—
15th and last.—But he came again to the scratch. Inglis staggered about for a second or two, when he fell stupefied, Turner merely looking at him. It was over in forty-six minutes.
Remarks.—Science must win, if supported by moderate strength; science will win if a man is out of condition—that is to say, science will get a man out of trouble; it enables a boxer to wait for his man, time him, meet his opponent, bring him down to his weight, and ultimately prove the conqueror. It is not necessary for a long yarn to describe the beauties of the “ould one” in the ring; suffice it to observe, Ned is a master of the art; his stops were interesting to the spectator; his hits were decisive, and he finished off his man like a first-rate artist. Excepting a tremendous right-handed lunge which Ned received between his eyes in the first round, all the other hits did little execution. The method adopted by Turner to lead his opponent into trouble, and then punishing him for his temerity, evinced skill and tactics of the highest order of milling. Inglis proved himself a game man in every point of view; but, valuable a quality as endurance must always be considered in boxing, it is of little use when a man’s head gets into chancery. Inglis was beaten to a stand-still, and ought to have been taken away three rounds before the fight was over. Inglis was a brave, worthy, honest, well-conditioned creature. Turner must have won the battle much sooner had not one of the small bones in his left hand been broken in the early part of the fight.
Poor Ned was highly pleased to take leave of the prize ring in the character of a winner, and dined with his friends at Bill Moss’s, the Crown, in the Borough, on Monday, November 15, 1824. He was surrounded by some capital sporting patrons. On his health being drunk, he said, “It was very likely that he should not fight any more; but if he did alter his mind, he would always behave like a man.”
Turner gradually began to decline in health: he became lame, and, labouring under the effects of an asthma, announced his farewell benefit to take place in April, 1826. His last appearance on any public occasion, was at Hudson’s dinner, on Thursday, March 31, 1826.
Out of respect to an old favourite in the prize ring, the amateurs mustered strongly at the Tennis Court, on Tuesday, April 18, but it was not made known to the visitors that poor Ned had departed this life on Monday (the preceding day) at two minutes before five in the afternoon. The sets-to, generally, were well contested.
Randall and Scroggins mounted the stage, and having made their bows, the former came forward, and spoke as follows:—“Gentlemen, I am requested by the friends of poor Turner to come forward and express their thanks in his behalf, for the kind and liberal manner in which you have this day manifested an interest in his fate. Gentlemen, Ned and I have been opponents in the ring, but we have always been friends in private, and no man feels more for his situation than I do. That we shall be able to see him here at any future time, I think is more than doubtful; but let us hope we may all see him hereafter” (loud applause). Randall appeared much affected. Jack Scroggins followed. “Gemmen,” said he, “Ned was always a gentlemanly sort of a man—he is now gone to his long home, and I hope God will forgive him, as well as everybody else. Let us all live while we can, and when we can’t live no longer, why, I suppose we must die; and I don’t see why a fighting man shouldn’t see eternity as well as anybody else.”
Turner’s remains were removed on Sunday, April 23, 1826, between the hours of one and two, from the house of his cousin, Mr. Baxter, hat maker, in East Smithfield, and deposited in a deep grave in Aldgate Churchyard. The funeral was of the most respectable description. The hearse was followed by two mourning coaches. In the first coach were Mr. Turner (father of the deceased), Mr. Baxter (a cousin of Ned’s), Mr. Leslie, Tom Owen, and Pierce Egan. In the second mourning coach were Tom Cribb, Josh. Hudson, Jack Randall, Harry Holt, Harry Harmer, and Mr. Price Morris.
“From an early hour in the morning,” says the report, “the house of Mr. Baxter was surrounded by numbers of persons anxious to pay respect to the remains of a man who once stood so high amongst the admirers of the art of self-defence. The church and churchyard also were crowded. We noticed many of the corps pugilistique. Scroggins, for the feeling and respect he paid to the deceased, deserves the highest praise. Forgetting all former differences; nay, more, following the side of the hearse, and dropping a tear over the grave of the man who had proved his conqueror, speaks a volume in his favour, as a generous-minded English boxer. Every person present appeared sorry for the loss of Turner. In all his battles he behaved like an honest, honourable man; in fact, throughout his life he was never known to have committed a dishonourable action—his conduct was always upon the square. His last moments were marked by resignation and Christian-like behaviour; and he expired without a sigh in the arms of his cousin, Mr. Baxter. Turner was in the thirty-fourth year of his age.”
The reporter adds, “Turner was a most difficult boxer to be got at; standing with his right leg first, he proved at all times a truly awkward and dangerous customer. In a set-to with the gloves with Tom Spring, at a benefit in the city of Norwich, previous to the fight between Painter and Oliver, the science of Ned Turner was so much admired, and his blows were so effective, as to produce thunders of applause.
“In point of true courage, Turner was never excelled in or out of the ring. He was a most modest, unassuming fellow, and, notwithstanding his intercourse with various grades of society, he was a ‘bashful’ man. In company he was cheerful and good-natured, always anxious to serve his brethren in the prize ring, and throughout the sporting world he was as much respected for his civility as his high courage.”
Jack Martin, on whom the ring reporters conferred the punning title of “Master of the Rolls,” from his calling as a baker, was born on the 10th of July, 1796, near Kennington Church.
“Boxiana” contains the usual preliminary narrative of a “big coal-heaver,” “a sheriff’s officer, a well-known good man,” “a butcher,” etc., whom Martin disposed of while “a boy.” We shall pass these, and come to young Doughey’s first reported battle, which was with Tom Oliver’s brother George, at Ilford, in Essex, for 20 guineas, on Thursday, July 18, 1816, in a twenty-four feet ring, after the fight between Ford and Harry Lancaster. George Oliver was seconded by his brother Tom and Jack Clark, Martin by Harry Harmer and Bill Richmond. Five to four on Oliver.
Round 1.—The attitude of Martin was free and good; it spoke more of the sparring school than that of his opponent, which was by no means that of a scientific boxer. Martin immediately went to work and nobbed his opponent without ceremony, till they got into a close, when, after hugging and pummelling each other for a few seconds, they broke away, and some hits were exchanged at arm’s length. They again closed and a violent struggle took place against the ropes, when they both went down. This round occupied one minute and a half.
2.—Both full of activity, but the flurried manner of Oliver was evident to every one, and his fists crossed each other with the celerity of a smoke-jack. He presented no security from attack, and his mug got pinked in style. In closing, they both went down.
3.—The Master of the Rolls put in two severe facers, and beat his opponent down against the stakes. On commencing this round Oliver tried to trip up his adversary, but his brother told him it was wrong.
4.—Oliver, although brought into the ring by his brother, really seemed to have no notion of fighting. He hit at random, and did but little execution. The baker again milled his face, and ultimately threw him.
5.—This was a dreadful round for punishment. In closing, some heavy hits passed between them, and they broke away. The blood was running down Oliver’s face; notwithstanding, he fought his way into a desperate rally, in which his nob received a couple of desperate blows. In closing, they both got suspended on the ropes, and a violent struggle took place before they went down.
6.—Some sharp milling; and, in closing, both fell out of the ring.
7.—Oliver displayed no science whatever; his chief aim seemed to be struggling with his opponent; but even in closing he failed, as Martin generally brought Oliver down.
8.—The right hand of Martin again punished Oliver’s nob, and the claret flowed in abundance. In closing, both down.
9.—The hugging system again prevailed. Both down, but Oliver fell completely over the ropes.
10.—Martin went in with great spirit and bored his adversary to the ropes. In closing, both down.
11.—Oliver appeared rather distressed, and came slowly up to the mark. The right hand of the baker was again at work, and Oliver’s mug was getting fast out of shape. Both down.
12.—In this round Martin showed he possessed scientific knowledge, had completely the best of it, and sent his opponent down.
13.—Oliver seemed anxious to do something, and went sharply up to his man, when they closed. In struggling they broke away, and several heavy blows were exchanged. They again closed, and both went down, Oliver bleeding profusely.
14.—The movements, in general, of Martin were scientific, but they were soon lost sight of in the overpowering close of Oliver, who always endeavoured to force his adversary to the ropes, and tire him out by struggling. Both down, and their backs and loins were much marked by their suspension on the ropes.
15.—Martin, upon setting-to, nobbed Oliver with effect, when they again closed, and both fell out of the ring. Oliver required the assistance of his second to get him off the ground.
16.—The strength of Oliver was leaving him fast, and in this round he got dreadfully punished. The baker hit him in every direction; Oliver was thrown completely over the ropes. (Seven to four upon Martin.)
17.—No chance for Oliver, except closing; he caught hold of Martin, and both went down.
18.—More hugging, and both on the ground.
19.—It was all up with Oliver; the fight was taken out of him, and he had not strength to close with his opponent. In fact, he only stood up as a mark for punishment; and the baker put in some severe hits till Oliver dropped like a log.
20.—Oliver could scarcely stagger to the scratch. He immediately went down from a punishing hit.
21 and last.—Oliver had had quite enough of milling, and turned away from his adversary to avoid. The baker lost no time, he saw victory was certain, and with two hits completely finished his opponent. Twenty-nine minutes had elapsed.
Remarks.—Oliver, as a scientific boxer, had no resemblance to his brother except his name. In fact, he was a complete novice in every sense of the word; relied entirely upon main strength for victory, and pulled and hauled his opponent about. It was widely different on the part of Martin: he exhibited those promising traits of science that appear only to want practice to improve, and which, at some future period, may develop themselves in a more conspicuous manner. Martin is in height about five feet nine inches, and eleven stone in weight. He is extremely active, and possesses a decisive mode of hitting.
This promising debut inspirited Martin to issue a challenge at eleven stone, but two years elapsed before he got suited with a customer in “Paddington Johnson,” for 50 guineas a side. The battle came off at Coventry Farm, the Hale, Middlesex, on Tuesday, September 15, 1818. Johnson was well known to the ring, from his conquests over Roe, Harry Lancaster, and Purcell, also as a right-handed hitter, and an acknowledged game man. Martin was better known for theory than in practice, and more as a sparrer than a pugilist. In consequence Johnson was the favourite, six to four. The latter first showed, and threw his hat in the ring, and Martin soon followed the example in a very modest unassuming manner. Johnson was seconded by the veteran Joe Ward and Paddington Jones; Martin was waited upon by Ben Burn and Spring. The Baker, it seems, disdained the ordinary mode of milling in drawers, and appeared in a loose fashionable pair of white trowsers. This change was generally considered an improvement. Five minutes to one o’clock the men set-to.
JACK MARTIN (The “Master of the Rolls”).
From a Drawing by A. Wyvill, 1824.
Round 1.—On stripping, Johnson appeared the rounder and bigger man. His face was full of colour, and he looked well; but the judges of training thought him too bulky; however, he was considered generally to be in excellent condition. Martin, on the contrary, looked pale; but in other respects his canvass was as sleek and as smooth as a thorough-bred greyhound. Upon the combatants taking their attitudes, Johnson exhibited the highest confidence, and made a sort of springing run to mill his opponent in his usual rushing style; but the leariness of Martin stopped him by a slight muzzler. The latter almost instantly surprised Johnson with another header, that not only operated on his vision, but tapped the claret. Johnson endeavoured to feel for the alimentary reservoir of the baker, when a close took place, and Johnson tried to fib his crusty foe without effect. In struggling, Martin appeared the stronger man, as Johnson was undermost on the ground. The “dead men” smiled at this favourable commencement of their hero, but the six to four blades did not half like it.
2.—Martin seemed perfectly prepared for his enemy, with the skill and caution of an experienced tactician. He planted his hits upon the nob of Johnson with as much sang froid as if he had been aiming at a sack of flour. The “Paddington boy,” rather enraged at this sort of treatment, tried again to rush into doughey’s victualling office, but the latter got away, and in return mugged him so severely, that Johnson went half round in a singular style, and in a struggle Johnson was again undermost. The odds were now completely turned, and the Baker was the favourite; in some parts of the ring two to one.
3.—The handywork of Martin upon his opponent’s title-page was now apparent; one of his peepers was already in mourning, and the other had been taken measure of for black drapery, added to the claret trickling down his face. The rushing of Johnson was also stayed, and some long sparring occurred before any work was attempted; the latter, however, tried to body the Baker, but the science of Martin prevented any serious effect; and in return he gave him one, two, severely. In closing, Johnson also napt upon the fibbing system, and, in struggling to obtain the throw, he was compelled to yield to the superior strength of the “Master of the Rolls.” The batch lads were roaring with delight, and “Bravo!” was echoed through the fraternity at the talent displayed by Martin.
4.—This round decided the fight; the execution done by Martin positively made the odds the monument to a bodkin. On setting-to, the Baker gave his opponent three staggering facers. Johnson turned round from the force of the last hit, but his game never deserted him, and he returned to the attack like a trump. Johnson’s right hand told slightly on Martin’s side, but as to anything like punishment he could not administer any. It was a long round, occupying five minutes, without any closing, during which time, notwithstanding Martin hit frequently short, he planted twelve facers with ease and dexterity. Martin followed Johnson so closely up, that he was at length hit down on his knees, and measured his length on the grass quite exhausted. The “dead men” were all upon the qui vive, and, in the pride of the moment, offered to the hitherto confident Westminster and Paddington costermongers, a peck loaf to a halfpenny roll; but the donkey proprietors shied it.
5.—Johnson’s nob now exhibited a Fuseli aspect—it was so changed, as to call forth the observation of “an old friend with a new face.” Martin went to work with both hands so quickly, that his opponent’s sensitive plant rolled about like a humming-top, and he fell out of the ring. (Great shouting, and any odds offered.)
6.—Johnson was quite abroad, gasping for breath. He could not get at Martin; but was compelled to act as receiver-general till he could no longer stand to take it.
7.—Johnson only came up to take, and one, two, and three, were put in so terribly upon his already damaged mug, that he reeled in all directions. He was also punished round the ring, and Martin lost his balance in hitting Johnson as they were both going down. Loud cries of “Foul” and “Fair” took place; but this attempt to create a diversion would not do, and the fight proceeded.
8.—Martin missed several hits, although he nobbed his opponent grievously; Johnson, from a desperate effort, got Martin down. Hats were now thrown up, “Well done, Johnson; now you’ll see him go to work,” etc., and loud applause followed.
9.—This was but a momentary triumph for poor Johnson, who commenced the round with much spirit, and fought away like a truly game man. Martin, however, cautious and collected, put in one, two, straight shoulder-hits upon Johnson’s distracted upper works that must have operated stunningly upon his senses. The Baker broke away from his opponent with surprising agility, and ultimately gave Johnson so tremendous a nobber, that he went down as if shot, and rolled over upon his face. (Twenty to one, but scarcely any person would take it.)
10.—It was all up with Johnson, and he again received so much nobbing that he laid himself down.
11.—Martin, eager to finish the contest, gave Johnson no chance of recovering from his puzzled state, but ran in to him, and floored him sans ceremonie.
12.—Johnson, who had hitherto been cheered with the smiles of conquest, still endeavoured to protract the contest. Martin again nobbed him with scarcely any return, and Johnson went down.
13th and last.—It was expected Johnson would not again show at the scratch; but it appeared that while he could lift up his hands he was determined to fight. He was, however, soon milled down; and, upon being placed upon his second’s knee, it was communicated to Martin he had no longer any foe to contend against. Johnson, with true manliness, shook hands with Martin; when he became so exhausted that he was carried out of the ring, and put into a coach. Martin immediately ran and got into a postchaise, and drove off the ground. It was over in thirty minutes.
Remarks.—No pugilist ever left the ring less punished than did Martin; and, except a trifling mark on the side of his head, there was not the slightest trace that he had been engaged in a prize contest. He won the battle with ease, science, and execution, equal to any boxer upon the list. Johnson had not a shadow of chance with Martin; and, however the admirers of the former may urge that his constitution was broken up, yet in his prime he could never have defeated the baker. It is two to one against any puddling fighter, however game he may be, when opposed to a real scientific two-handed boxer. To judge impartially of Martin’s talents, it was thought that he must be tried with a real good one, where science is opposed to skill, wariness contrasted with caution, and when in the pinch of the game bottom is exhibited to make up the grand climax. The attitude of Martin, in one or two instances, resembled Spring’s; he leant his body too much upon his loins.
The above contest and two others proved a rare day’s sport, and, notwithstanding the torrents of rain, which never ceased during the fights, the amateurs proved themselves game as pebbles, and kept their ground with indifference. Some funning took place amongst a few swell pedestrians, who were induced to marrow bone it, in consequence of the fineness of the weather, chaffing that they were transformed into clodhoppers from the heavy pieces of clay clinging to their feet.
As Martin, it appears, could not get any immediate employment for his fists, he felt determined that his legs should not stand idle, and therefore backed himself in a pugilistic foot race, a few days after this battle. On Monday, September 28, 1818, in Hyde Park, at eight o’clock in the morning, a muster of amateurs assembled to witness a race for a rump and a dozen, between Spring, Ben Burn, Martin, and a novice. The distance 200 yards. The latter declined previous to the time of starting. The race was spiritedly contested, but Martin took the lead, kept it, and came in first. Spring was second at the winning post; Ben Burn, though last, ran in good style, and was but a little distance behind Spring. The 200 yards were run in 25 seconds.
The Master of the Rolls having now made progress towards celebrity in the prize ring, was, from the following unexpected circumstance, again brought before the judgment of the amateurs, in opposition to a boxer who, notwithstanding his defeats by Turner, still stood high in the opinion of the fancy in general. At Parish’s benefit, held in a large room at the Coal Exchange, near Billingsgate, the principal feature of the evening was the bout between Martin and Scroggins, which was interesting as a test of the capabilities of the crusty hero. The length and height of the Master of the Rolls over his opponent was evident to all. Scroggins in this combat proved himself a tragi-comic performer of talent; and, under the mask of fun, he not only produced roars of laughter, made his audience frequently look serious, and worked upon his adversary’s feelings, but concluded by exciting their utmost astonishment. In short, if the conqueror of Johnson did not gammon it, and it was a real thing, the fact then is that neither the length nor the science of the Baker could prevent the boring qualities of Scroggins from doing heavy execution (so well known and felt by all his opponents, except Turner), and ultimately sending Martin down. Upon Scroggins quitting the room, with the best of the bout, “another round” was loudly called for by the partizans of the Baker. Scroggins immediately returned, went to work again without delay, and, as the grand climax, hit Martin down with the celerity of a shot, then turning round, said, with much naiveté, “Gentlemen, are you now satisfied?” “Quite, quite,” were the replies; and the little tar left the room overwhelmed with peals of applause.
Several amateurs were so decidedly in favour of Scroggins, that a deposit was immediately put down to make it a match for £100 a side, and a purse of £50 for the winner. But in consequence of the amateurs withdrawing the purse of £50, this match was off, and the friends of Scroggins forfeited their deposit of £5. However, a few days afterwards a new match was made, and the following articles agreed to:—
“T. Belcher on behalf of Scroggins, and B. Burn on the part of Martin, have deposited £20 a side for the above men to fight on Tuesday, the 8th of December, within thirty miles of London, in a twenty-four feet ring, for £100 a side. To be a fair stand-up fight; half minute time. £50 a side to be made good at Belcher’s on Tuesday, November 24; and the whole of the stakes to be completed at B. Burn’s, the Sun, in Windmill Street, Haymarket, on Thursday, December 3. If not, the above deposit to be forfeited. The £200 to be placed in the hands of Mr. Jackson, who will name the place of fighting. The above deposit of £40 to be lodged in the hands of Mr. Franklin. One umpire to be chosen by each party, and the referee by Mr. Jackson.