Round 1.—On setting-to mischief being meant, little science was displayed between the combatants; Fisher put in a slight body hit. Scroggins reeled in after his usual mode, and both went to work slap bang—some sharp nobbers were exchanged, and, in closing, both down, Scroggy undermost. (“Well done, Fisher!”)
2.—Fisher, full of gaiety, again hit, first on the body, and seemed resolutely determined upon following up his success. They both nobbed each other smartly; and in struggling to obtain the throw, Scroggy, as before, was undermost.
3.—Scroggins, from the effects of lushing, came quite noisy to the scratch, and laughing at Fisher, told him if he could hit no harder than he had done, he must lose it, and he (Scroggins) would soon convince him of that fact. Fisher, not dismayed by this threat, not only fought with his opponent manfully, but threw him completely on his face. (“Go it, Fisher!”)
4.—This was a good round, and Fisher pelted away so sharply, that Scroggy seemed rather sobered by the contact. Ceremony was out of the question, hit for hit was reciprocally given, till Fisher slipped and went down. (Two to one on Scroggy was vociferated by his partisans.)
5.—Fisher came to the scratch in the most lively style, and set-to with as much coolness as if he had been fighting a mere commoner. They soon closed, Fisher undermost.
6.—Nothing but milling was the order of this round; both down.
7.—Scroggins rushed at his opponent with the impetuosity of a bull-dog, and made his one-two tell upon Fisher’s mug: the latter stood to him like bricks, and contended gamely till he found himself undermost in the throw. (This change on the part of Scroggy brought offers forward of four to one in his favour.)
8.—Fisher went to work manfully, and Scroggins slipped down from a hit, but, instantly recovering himself, instead of finishing the round, he rushed at Fisher, when some sharp blows were exchanged till both went down.
9.—Fisher with the utmost ease sent Scroggy down. (“Bravo, Fisher—stick to him, my lad!”)
10.—One of Scroggins’s peepers seemed a little damaged, but his canvas appeared so impenetrable that the claret scorned to make its appearance. Both again down; but Scroggins, while on the knee of his second, gave two or three loud hems, as if to improve his wind.
11.—This was a truly punishing round. Fisher hit Scroggins slightly down—he was up again in a twinkling, and most furiously went in to mill his opponent; he was, however, ultimately sent down.
12.—Fisher put in a good facer; but, in closing, both down.
13.—As yet, nothing was the matter with Fisher, and considering Scroggins was three parts groggy upon commencing the fight, he convinced those around him what a fine constitution he possessed. Fisher was also viewed with admiration—and making allowance for his “greenness” in contending with a pugilist at the top of the tree, he proved himself an ugly customer for this modern Dutch Sam. in this round Fisher had the best decidedly.
14.—Scroggins went down in closing, but the advantage was on his side. When on his second’s knee, he sneeringly observed to Fisher, that “he could not hit hard enough; he had better give it in, as a few more of his hits must finish him.”
15 to 17.—Nothing material on either side.
18.—In this round Scroggy was floored. Great applause to Fisher.
19 to 23.—Though Scroggins was the favourite, yet many present considered the event at this stage of the fight doubtful. (Upon several offers being made, Scroggy observed, “Aye, bet away, gentlemen, I can win it like fun. I lay two to one on myself.”)
24 to 29.—Fisher appeared still fresh, and notwithstanding the desperate rushing forward of Scroggins to take the fight out of him, he never flinched from his man, but fought with Scroggins like a game-cock. At the conclusion of this round, which was in favour of the cove of Stangate, he exclaimed with the utmost confidence, “Who can beat me, alive? I can mill any of ’em!”
30 to 32.—Scroggins had the worst of these rounds. He appeared rather distressed, and from the effects of the grog reeled about. Fisher exchanged many blows to his advantage.
33.—This round was complete hammering. Scroggins wanted to put an end to the fight, and fought his way in with all the determination of a lion. His blows were terrific—and although he went down from a sharp hit, he instantly jumped up again and milled Fisher furiously till he got him down. Carter now offered a guinea to half-a-crown. “Bravo, Scroggy—he is an astonishing fellow!” was the general cry.
34 to 36.—Well contested on both sides: but in the latter round Fisher missed putting in a blow, that might have materially turned the fight in his favour. He had hit Scroggins away from him twice, near the corner of the room, that laid him open, and instead of following up the chance, he retreated and got sent down. Scroggins again loudly hemmed, upon his second’s knee, for wind.
37.—Scroggins sent down Fisher in a twinkling. This blow was on the face, and from its tremendous severity, his countenance changed. Scroggins shouted with glee, and offered to bet anything.
38.—Fisher again went down from a slight hit. Scroggins, with much contempt and confidence, “What do you think of that? I’ll bet a hundred to one, I’ll win it.”
39 to 42.—Fisher fought manfully, but a change had taken place; he showed signs of weakness, and went down in all these rounds. (£250 to £100 on Scroggy, and his partisans roared with delight.)
43.—Scroggins now began to finish in high style, and dealt out some tremendous punishment. (Guinea to a shilling was offered, but not taken.)
44 and last.—Fisher came to the scratch much distressed, and Scroggins again milled him down. On time being called, Fisher could not rise from his second’s knee, being very faint and rather sick, upon which Scroggins was declared the conqueror. The battle lasted forty-one minutes.
Remarks.—Fisher must be pronounced a good man, and had he fought more at the head he might have been able to have given a better account of the battle. His mug was a little battered, but in other respects he did not exhibit severe marks of punishment. He attributed his loss to the very heavy falls he experienced more than to the blows he encountered, and walked from the scene of action without any help. Scroggins fought under disadvantage; but the confidence he possessed was truly astonishing. He urged that he could beat all the light weights, and entertained an idea that six men in the whole kingdom did not exist who could conquer him. He was much inebriated, and the danger he was likely to experience by losing a chance in his ensuing fight with Turner, seemed not in the least to operate on his mind. Though the above conquest was not an easy fight, he was as anxious to bet upon himself as the most interested looker-on, offering terms almost on every round. He was more beaten about the face than his antagonist.
It was now decidedly two to one, and in many instances the odds were still higher throughout the sporting, that Scroggins would add another laurel to his wreath, in his second combat with Turner, on the 10th of June, 1817, at Sawbridgeworth, Hertfordshire, but the smiles of fortune abandoned our hero, and, for the first time in his life, he found himself in defeat. (See p. 377.)
The only consolation Scroggins experienced, after his mind had overcome the shock was attributing his loss to an accidental blow he received upon the throat in the third round, and which swelled so rapidly as almost to deprive him of the power of breathing; nothing could satisfy his wounded feelings but another opportunity to retrieve his lost laurels. Turner, without hesitation, agreed to accommodate him, and Scroggins was so confident of victory, that he put down the principal part of the money himself, to make the stakes £150 a-side, the combat to take place on Tuesday, October 7, 1817. But the charm was broken—the invincibility of Scroggins, in the sporting world, was at an end—no longer a winning man his defects were too prominent to be overlooked. A material falling off was observed at his benefit and he was altogether so much reduced that the odds on the third contest were seven to four against him.
During the time allowed for training, Scroggins, as on a former instance, unmindful of the necessity of paying attention to his health, in an inebriated moment had an accidental turn up with Bob Gregson at Belcher’s. In this skirmish he went down, and sprained one of his legs so severely that he did not recover from its effects for upwards of a month; but, to make amends for this indiscretion, so much did he fancy this match, that he sold his house, quitted the character of a publican, and became a private individual, “in order,” as he observed, “to be more able to keep to his training.”
His third battle with Turner was fought at Shepperton October 7, 1818 (which, as well as the former, will be found under the Memoir of Turner, p. 382). Notwithstanding his professed contempt for regular training, Scroggins appeared in the ring in better condition than his opponent. It was evident to every one present that Scroggy strained every point to win; and it is but common justice to remark, that his character as a boxer rose higher, in every point of view, on that day than in any of his previous battles.
Poor Scroggy’s course was now a downward one. He had survived his fame; and, never heeding the cautions of prudence, he paid the penalty, which men in every profession, pugilism by no means excepted, must pay for disregarding her dictates.
He was successively defeated by Jack Martin, the opponent of Randall, (see p. 398), at Moulsey, on the 18th of December, 1818, after a game fight of sixty-five rounds, in two hours and two minutes; by Josh. Hudson, at the same place, August 24, 1819, in eleven rounds, occupying eighteen minutes; and twice by David Hudson, the first time in May, the second in July, 1820.
Scroggy, however, was still game, and ready for anything. Determined as he himself said, “to lick somebody afore the year was out, pervising he could get backers,” Jack looked in on the 30th of November, 1820, at a “spread” given at Randall’s in Chancery Lane, by sundry patrons of the fistic art. Spring, Purcell, Randall, Turner, Martin, Phil. Sampson, Harry Holt, and others, were among the guests, and the patter turned on battles past and matches to come. A swell observed, that “if he could be got into condition, he should like to see a mill between Holt and the Old Tar, on account of the contrast of their styles.” Holt expressed his approbation of the proposal, and six weeks was mooted as the period. Jack, always rough and ready, replied, “Why, as to that there matter, ’tain’t no match between me and Holt; I can lick him like a babby. I never was so ill with a cold in all my born days; but as to time, why I’ll fight him any time you like, even now, bad as I am.” Holt returned Scroggins thanks for his candour; but, in return, thought Scroggins would have no chance; “however,” concluded Cicero, “far be it from me to aggravate the gentlemanly sort of man’s impatience: I too think, if it can be managed, there’s no time like time present.” “I’m ready,” retorted Scroggins; “but the winner shall have the whole of the purse.” “And I am agreeable,” replied Holt. Ten guineas were quickly posted, and the usual preparations were made for the contest. Turner and Martin seconded Scroggins; Purcell and Sampson were for Holt. Spring was time-keeper. Five to four on Scroggins on one side of the room, and five to four on Holt among the other party.
Round 1.—The attitude of Holt was elegant, and he appeared also difficult to be got at. Scroggins was not long in commencing his favourite rush, and he bored in upon his opponent till he absolutely ran down Holt in the corner, and fell upon him.
2.—This round was all fighting; and the wisty-castors flew about till both went down, but Holt undermost.
3.—The fine science of Holt here told; and he planted two nobbers with his left hand without any return. Scroggins, however, went in upon the old tack when, after some exchanges, Holt got him down.
4.—After some exchanges of blows upon their nobs, the combatants closed, and Holt weaved his opponent in the Randall style. Scroggins got the throw, and Holt was undermost.
5.—The left hand of Holt told severely, and Scroggins went away with the force of the hits. Both down.
6.—Scroggins rushed in on Holt, but in making a hit he missed his opponent, and fell. He immediately got up, and said, “Gentlemen, I beg your pardon; I could not help it.”
7 and 8.—Nothing else but fighting—giving and taking without flinching, till both went down. “Bravo!” from the Pinks, “it’s an excellent fight. Both are good men; and Jack’s as good as his master.” Scroggins seemed rather touched in the wind, and he gave a loud hem.
9.—Holt, in this round, was everything. He gave Scroggy three facers without any return, and also hit him down. “Scroggy, he’ll spoil your beautiful mug, if you don’t take care.”
10 and 11.—Two slashing rounds. In the last, Scroggy went down from a slip. Ten minutes had elapsed.
12.—Holt, after making a slight blow, slipped down. Six to four on Holt.
13 to 15.—The blows of Holt were not effective enough to take the fight out of Scroggins. It was hard milling in all these rounds. Scroggins said to his seconds, “Don’t water me so much; it’s all right; I can’t lose it.”
16.—Holt’s left eye was rather damaged, and the claret had made its appearance on his mug. This was a tremendous round, and Scroggins threw Holt; but he behaved handsomely to his fallen opponent,—instead of falling upon him, as he might have done, he walked away. “Bravo; you are a good little fellow.”
17.—Scroggins’s nob was a little changed, and he again received two facers. Scroggins also went down.
18.—After an exchange of blows, Scroggins laughingly observed to Holt, “If you don’t hit harder, my boy, you can never win it.” Both down.—Twenty minutes.
19.—Sharp fighting; but Scroggins went down. Here Randall took some brandy to Holt, and gave him advice. “How many seconds are there to be?” said an amateur. “If there are forty it will make no odds,” observed Scroggins.
20.—In this round, Scroggins received a severe hit on his throat; two facers were also added to it; but he would not be denied, and scrambled his way in, till they both went down.
21.—Scroggins now began to wink, and he was as much distressed as an old, worn out, broken winded post prad; he, however, got Holt down.
22 and 23.—“Go along, Harry, it’s all your own; he’ll not come above two more rounds.” The left hand of Holt did some execution, and Scroggins had now the worst of it.
24.—This was a tremendous round. Scroggins went to work like a blacksmith hammering at a forge, and bored Holt into a corner. Hit for hit was exchanged, till they both went down; but Holt was undermost, and the back part of his head came in contact with the window-seat. “It’s all up;” and Martin offered fifteen to ten.
25.—Holt was quite an altered man, and he seemed stupefied from the effects of the fall. The whole of the falls throughout the fight were heavy indeed. When time was called, Holt came to the scratch with great difficulty. Scroggins down and undermost.
26.—The science of Holt was much admired; and, although terribly distressed, he put in two facers before he went down. “He’s nothing else but a game man,” from all the swells.
27.—Holt got better, and Scroggins, in going down, was undermost.
28.—It was not yet safe to Scroggins. Both down.
29.—This round was severely contested; but the heavy fall Holt received shook him all to pieces. Ten to five on Scroggins.
30.—Holt was game to the last; he exerted himself, and got Scroggins down.
31.—Scroggins was very much exhausted, but the fight was not out of him, and he came up first to the scratch. Both down. Ten to three.
32.—It was evident Holt could not win, and he was sent down in an instant. Ten to one.
33 and last.—Holt was sent down, and his second could scarcely get him on his knee. When time was called, the Birmingham Youth said he should not fight any more. Scroggins immediately came up to Holt, and said, “Harry, give us your hand; you are a good fellow, and here’s a guinea for you!” Great applause from the swells, and “Jack, you shall lose nothing by your generosity and feeling.”
Remarks.—For two men out of condition, nay, both unwell, particularly Scroggins, it was a much better fight than has frequently been seen when boxers have been in regular training. Scroggins had still some tremendous points about him, and the old tar’s rumbling, hardy mode of boring in, told severely at close quarters. It was a gallant battle on both sides; but the blows of Holt were not hard enough to stop the rush of Scroggins. The accident Holt received in the twenty-fourth round perhaps lost him the fight; he also complained of a sprained thumb before he commenced the battle. In a ring some of the amateurs thought Holt might have stood a better chance. The smiles of victory, which had not been familiar to Scroggins in his last six battles, seemed to give him new life. It was an out-and-out concern altogether; and the patrons of the science, manliness, and true game had a treat.
This flush of success was followed by another gleam of sunshine. Scroggins found backers, and was pitted against Joe Parish, the Waterman, who having beaten Davis, Harry Holt, and Lashbrook, was thought a promising plant, in spite of his having fallen beneath the all-conquering arm of the Nonpareil, Jack Randall. Banstead Downs, in Surrey, on Saturday, March 3, 1831, were the spot and time, and fifty guineas the sum; it was the second fight on the above day. The rain was pouring down in torrents when Scroggins appeared and threw his hat into the ring, attended by Randall and Paddington Jones as his seconds. Parish showed soon afterwards, followed by Spring and Harmer. Both men appeared in excellent condition. For one hour and a quarter, the rival pugilists exerted themselves in the highest style of courage to obtain the victory. The changes were frequent indeed; two to one on Scroggins—three to one on Parish—three to one again on Scroggins—then other changes. In the fifty-second round, from the distressed state of Parish, Randall threw up his hat, as it did not appear that Parish would be again able to appear at the scratch. He, however, recovered, and fought till the sixty-ninth round; but in the last three rounds, it was a hundred pounds to a farthing in favour of Scroggins. The latter behaved extremely well, was remarkably steady, and reminded the spectator of his best days. He was, however, terribly punished. The greatest anxiety prevailed among the old fanciers, who were more than friendly in their good wishes towards their old favourite. In the second round, Scroggins fell with his shoulder against one of the stakes (which circumstance was not known to the spectators, and operated as a great drawback to his exertions). Had not this accident happened, Scroggins thought he could have won it in much less time. Parish was punished but little about the head; yet he remained in a state of stupor a short time after the fight was over; and Spring carried him in his arms out of the ring. Parish displayed a great deal of game, and suffered very severely from heavy falls. If Parish had gone in to fight first, he might have given a better account of the battle. Spring this day convinced the amateurs he was entitled to their praise, not only as a most attentive second, but as a most active one; and it would not be doing common justice to the anxiety and exertions he displayed to make “ould Jack” win, to pass them over without notice.
On the Thursday after the above fight, at Josh. Hudson’s benefit, Parish addressed the Court, observing, “that although he had been defeated by Scroggins, he was not satisfied, and was ready to have another trial.” Scroggins, in reply, said, “from the advice of his friends, he had not intended to have fought any more; but as how he was too much of a gentleman not to accommodate Mr. Parish, who was also a gentlemanly sort of a man; so he would give him another trial.” A guinea a-side was deposited; but on the arrival of the night to make the stakes good, Parish did not make his appearance, and the guinea, of course, was forfeited.
This sunshine, however, was evanescent, and the course of Scroggins’s history tends henceforth downwards. In April, 1822, as related in the life of Tom Belcher, p. 165 ante, the hardy hero came in contact with the scientific Tom; on this occasion if Tom was stale Scroggy assuredly was but a shadow of his former self, and he was moreover in that state of lush which had now become almost habitual to him. Still, however, “ould Jack,” as he was already called, haunted the ring at every mill of note, unable to quit the arena of his many triumphs. The milling “spirit strong within him,” was shown on the 12th of June, 1822, at Moulsey Hurst. On that occasion the fights between Ward and Acton, and Burke and Marshall, having gone off unsatisfactorily to the patrons of boxing there and then present, a brace of countrymen offered themselves for a purse, and had actually “peeled,” when Scroggy roared out, “Gentlemen, as you’ve had but little fun to-day, suppose I fight the Gipsy, that will produce sport?” Cooper instantly replied that he was ready; and the extemporaneous mill quickly commenced. Scroggins was seconded by Harry Harmer and Bill Eales; Abbot and Turner picked up the Gipsy. In this battle the rash and hardy little Tar showed the folly of entering the ring out of condition. He was full of oranges, ginger beer, and heavy wet, taken as antidotes to the heat of the day, and as unfit to fight as a stall-fed ox; nevertheless he came up to be set down for twenty-five minutes, during which seventeen rounds were fought; Scroggins was at length persuaded to leave off. He afterwards observed, “he could not win, but he wasn’t half-licked.” This was our hero’s last appearance in the P. R.
Poor Scroggins now became a mere hanger-on of pothouses: a droll, diverting vagabond, occasionally picking up a few shillings as a second, or receiving precarious assistance from those who had known him in more prosperous days. Among these Cribb was long his friend, and “wittles” (for which Jack had an inordinate penchant, until brilliant Juniper utterly destroyed his digestion) were often set before him from the larder of the generous host of the Union Arms. Occasionally too, Jack would get in office as a waiter at one or other of the Sporting Houses; but his invincible love of liquor soon lost him these temporary asylums. The editor of Bell’s Life in London (V. G. Dowling, Esq.), by frequent generous appeals, and taking Jack’s name as the comic pseudonyme for innumerable admirable burlesque poems on public affairs, political and pugilistic, kept the once formidable pugilist, now the poor pothouse buffoon, from actual starvation.
May the example of John Palmer have its proper weight with every man whose physical capabilities lead him to adopt pugilism as a profession; and enforce the truth, that no constitution, however good, no strength, however superior to that of ordinary men, no amount of courage no degree of determination, can supply the want of caution, of attention to training, of prudence, of moderation; in short, of steadiness of conduct and becoming behaviour in and out of the ring. This is the deduction which every attentive reader of this history cannot fail to draw from a perusal of the lives of our most eminent boxers—that in the ring, as in every other pursuit, honesty of purpose, self-denial, and sobriety are indispensable—at least while engaged in struggles to attain distinction.
Scroggins departed this life on the 1st of November, 1836, in extreme poverty, having not quite completed his 49th year.
In Bell’s Life in London of November 6, appeared a “monody” of great length, and on the 13th the subjoined—
A History of Boxing without mention of Captain Barclay would be incomplete. As a thoroughbred sportsman, who practised what he studied, and achieved what he attempted, his name will be long preserved. Whether following the hounds after fox or deer, labouring to improve the system of agriculture, displaying his extraordinary feats of pedestrianism, exercising his judgment in training men for foot races and pugilistic combats, or in his encouragement of Highland sports and pastimes, Captain Barclay was always foremost. His knowledge of the capabilities of the human frame was complete, and his researches and practical experiments to ascertain the physical powers of man would have reflected credit on our most enlightened and persevering physiologists. The sporting pursuits of Captain Barclay were scientific, and his plans so well matured that his judgment generally proved successful.
Robert Barclay, Allardyce of Ury, succeeded his father in the eighteenth year of his age. He was born in August, 1779; and, at eight years of age, was sent to England to receive his education. He remained four years at Richmond School, and three years at Brixton Causeway. His academical studies were completed at Cambridge.
The Captain’s favourite pursuits were, the art of agriculture as the serious business of his life, and manly sports as his amusement. The improvement of his estates occupied much of his attention, and, by pursuing the plan adopted by his immediate predecessor, the value of his property was greatly augmented. His love of athletic exercises was seconded by the strong conformation of his body and great muscular strength. His usual rate of travelling on foot was six miles an hour, and to walk from twenty to thirty miles before breakfast was a favourite amusement. His style of walking was to bend forward the body, and throw its weight on the knees; his step short, and his feet raised only a few inches from the ground. Any person trying this plan will find his pace quickened, and he will walk with more ease to himself, and be better able to endure the fatigue of a long journey than by walking perfectly erect, which throws too much weight of the body on the ankle joints. With sound sense Captain Barclay tells us he always wore thick shoes and lambs’-wool stockings, to preserve the feet from injury, and impart a lightness and activity when for a time a lighter shoe is adopted. The Captain possessed uncommon strength in his arms. In April, 1806, while in Suffolk with the 23rd regiment, he offered a bet of 1,000 guineas that he would lift from the ground the weight of half a ton. He tried the experiment, and lifted twenty-one half hundred weights. He afterwards, with a straight arm, threw a half hundred weight the distance of eight yards, and over his head the same weight a distance of five yards.
The following list contains the most prominent public and private pedestrian exploits performed by Captain Barclay.
The Captain, when seventeen years of age, entered into a match with a gentleman in London, in the month of August, 1796, to walk six miles within an hour, fair toe and heel, for 100 guineas, which he accomplished on the Croydon Road.
In 1798 he performed the distance of seventy miles in fourteen hours, beating Fergusson, the celebrated walking clerk, by several miles.
In December, 1799, he accomplished one hundred and fifty miles in two days, having walked from Fenchurch Street in London, to Birmingham, round by Cambridge.
The Captain walked sixty-four miles in twelve hours, including the time for refreshment, in November, 1800, as a sort of preparatory trial to a match of walking ninety miles in twenty-one hours and a half, for a bet of 500 guineas, with Mr. Fletcher, of Ballingshoe. In training, the Captain caught cold and gave up the bet. In 1801 he renewed the above match for 2,000 guineas. He accomplished sixty-seven miles in thirteen hours, but, having drank some brandy, he became instantly sick, and unable to proceed. He consequently gave up the bet, and the umpire retired; but, after two hours’ rest, he was so far recovered that he had time enough left to have performed his task.
CAPTAIN ROBERT BARCLAY (Allardyce of Ury).
From a Miniature, 1798. Ætatis 19.
Captain Barclay felt so confident that he could walk ninety miles in twenty-one hours and a half, that he again matched himself for 5,000 guineas. In his training to perform this feat he went one hundred and ten miles in nineteen hours, notwithstanding it rained nearly the whole of the time. This performance may be deemed the greatest on record, being at the rate of upwards of one hundred and thirty-five miles in twenty-four hours.
On the 10th of November, 1801, he started to perform the above match, between York and Hull. The space of ground was a measured mile, and on each side of the road a number of lamps were placed. The Captain was dressed in a flannel shirt, flannel trowsers, and nightcap, lambs’-wool stockings, and thick soled leather shoes. He proceeded till he had gone seventy miles, scarcely varying in regularly performing each round of two miles in twenty-five minutes and a half, taking refreshment at different periods. He commenced at twelve o’clock at night, and performed the whole distance by twenty-two minutes four seconds past eight o’clock on Tuesday evening, being one hour, seven minutes, and fifty-six seconds within the specified time. He could have continued for several hours longer if necessary.
In December the Captain did one hundred miles in nineteen hours, over the worst road in the kingdom. Exclusive of stoppages, the distance was performed in seventeen hours and a half, or at the rate of about five miles and three-quarters each hour on the average.
As an additional instance of the Captain’s strength, he performed a most laborious undertaking, merely for his amusement, in August, 1808. Visiting at Colonel Murray Farquharson’s house in Aberdeenshire, he went out at five in the morning to enjoy the sport of grouse shooting, when he travelled at least thirty miles. He returned to the Colonel’s house by five in the afternoon, and after dinner set off for Ury, a distance of sixty miles, which he walked in eleven hours, without stopping once to refresh. He attended to his ordinary business at home, and in the afternoon walked to Laurencekirk, sixteen miles, where he danced at a ball during the night, and returned to Ury by seven in the morning. He did not yet return to bed, but occupied the day in partridge shooting. He had thus travelled not less than one hundred and thirty miles, supposing him to have gone only eight miles in the course of the day’s shooting at home, and also danced at Laurencekirk, without sleeping, or having been in bed for two nights and nearly three days.
In October, 1808, Captain Barclay made a match with Mr. Webster, a gentleman of great celebrity in the sporting world, by which Captain Barclay engaged himself to go on foot a thousand miles in a thousand successive hours, at the rate of a mile in each and every hour, for a bet of 1,000 guineas, to be performed at Newmarket Heath, and to start on the following 1st of June. In the intermediate time the Captain was in training by Mr. Smith, of Owston, in Yorkshire. To enter into a detail of his matchless performance would be tiresome; suffice to say, he started at twelve o’clock at night on Thursday, the 1st of June, 1809, in good health and high spirits. His dress from the commencement varied with the weather. Sometimes he wore a flannel jacket, sometimes a loose great coat, with strong shoes, and two pairs of coarse stockings, the outer pair boot stockings without feet, to keep his legs dry. He walked in a sort of lounging gait, without any apparent extraordinary exertion, scarcely raising his feet two inches above the ground. During a great part of the time the weather was very rainy, but he felt no inconvenience from it. Indeed, wet weather was favourable to his exertions, as, during dry weather, he found it necessary to have a water-cart to go over the ground to keep it cool, and prevent it becoming too hard. Towards the conclusion of the performance, it was said, Captain Barclay suffered much from a spasmodic affection of his legs, so that he could not walk a mile in less than twenty minutes; he, however, ate and drank well, and bets were two to one and five to two on his completing his journey within the time prescribed. About eight days before he finished, the sinews of his right leg became much better, and he continued to pursue his task in high spirits; consequently bets were ten to one in his favour, in London, at Tattersall’s, and other sporting circles.
On Wednesday, July the 12th, Captain Barclay completed his arduous undertaking. He had till four p.m. to finish his task, but he performed the last mile by a quarter of an hour after three in perfect ease and great spirits, amidst an immense crowd of spectators. The influx of company had so much increased on Sunday, it was recommended that the ground should be roped in. To this, however, Captain Barclay objected, saying he did not like such parade. The crowd, however, became so great on Monday, and he had experienced so much interruption, that he was prevailed upon to allow this precaution to be taken. For the last two days he appeared in higher spirits, and performed his last mile with apparently more ease and in a shorter time than he had done for some days past.
With the change of weather he had thrown off his loose great coat, which he wore during the rainy period, and walked in a flannel jacket. He also put on shoes thicker than any which he had used in any previous part of his performance. When asked how he meant to act after he had finished his feat, he said he should that night take a good sound sleep, but that he must have himself awaked twice or thrice in the night to avoid the danger of a too sudden transition from almost constant exertion to a state of long repose. One hundred guineas to one, and indeed any odds whatever, were offered on Wednesday morning; but so strong was the confidence in his success that no bets could be obtained. The multitude who resorted to the scene of action in the course of the concluding days was unprecedented. Not a bed could be procured on Tuesday night at Newmarket, Cambridge, Bury, or any of the towns or villages in the vicinity, and every horse and vehicle were engaged. Among the nobility and gentry who witnessed the conclusion of this extraordinary performance were the Dukes of Argyle and St. Alban’s; Earls Grosvenor, Besborough, and Jersey; Lords Foley, and Somerville; Sir John Lade, Sir F. Standish, etc. The aggregate of the bets is supposed to have amounted to £100,000.
Captain Barclay, as noticed in our memoir of Cribb, gave his training experience to the world in a modest publication. His papers upon agriculture in various magazines published in England and Scotland, were remarkable for their sound sense, plainness, and practical knowledge. That the severity of his athletic feats did not prematurely wear out the animal machine may be inferred from the fact that he enjoyed a green and active old age at Ury, near Stonehaven, Kincardineshire, his patrimonial estate, until his 79th year, respected as strongly in private circles for his kind and gentlemanly demeanour as celebrated for his public exploits, sporting and athletic.
It would indeed be the ignorance which casts away pearls were we to pass unnoticed an illustration of manhood identified with the practice of pugilism, wherein the honoured name of the greatest engineering genius of an engineering age was the prime actor. George Stephenson, therefore, the practical originator of the locomotive, the creator of railways as we now see them, the constructor of the most complete, permanent, and stupendous works on mainland, coast, and sea, that an age of wonders has seen, finds a place in Pugilistica. The facts and text of the narrative of this episode in the early life of George Stephenson are from Smiles’s “Lives of George and Robert Stephenson,” p. 80, edit. 1864. We may observe that George Stephenson (born June 9, 1781) would be twenty years of age in 1801.
“Not long after Stephenson began to work as brakesman at Black Callerton (near Newcastle), he had a quarrel with a pitman named Ned Nelson, a roystering bully, who was the terror of the village. Nelson was a great fighter, and it was therefore considered dangerous to quarrel with him. Stephenson was so unfortunate as not to be able to please this pitman by the way in which he landed him when drawing him out of the pit; and Nelson swore at him grossly for the alleged clumsiness of his ‘brakeing.’ George defended himself, and appealed to the testimony of his fellow-workmen. But Nelson had not been accustomed to George’s style of self-assertion, and, after a torrent of abuse, he threatened to kick the brakesman, who defied him to do so. Nelson ended by challenging Stephenson to fight a pitched battle. The latter coolly accepted the challenge, and a day was fixed on which the fight was to come off.
“Great was the excitement in Black Callerton when it was known that Geordie Stephenson had accepted Nelson’s challenge. Everybody said Nelson would ‘kill him.’ The villagers, the young men, and especially the boys of the village, with whom George was a great favourite, all wished he might beat Nelson, but they scarcely dared to say so. They came about him while he was at work in the engine-house to inquire if it was really true that he was going to fight Nelson? ‘Ay, ay; never fear for me, I’ll fight him,’ replied George coolly. And fight him he did. For some days previous to the appointed day, Nelson went entirely off work for the purpose of training, whereas Stephenson attended to his daily work as usual, for he was always temperate and in good condition, and did not seem in the least disconcerted by the prospect of the battle. So, on the day appointed George went into the Dolly Field, where his already exulting opponent was ready to meet him. George stripped, and went in like a practised pugilist, though it was his first and his last pitched battle. After a few rounds, George’s wiry muscles, sound wind, cool self-possession, and practised strength enabled him so severely to punish his opponent as to secure an easy victory. This circumstance,” concludes Mr. Smiles, “is related in illustration of Stephenson’s pluck and courage; and it was thoroughly characteristic of the man. Yet he was the very reverse of quarrelsome. But he would not be put down by the bully of the colliery, and he fought him. There his pugilism ended. They shook hands, and continued good friends. In after life Stephenson’s mettle was hardly tried, but in a different way; and he did not fail to exhibit the same resolute courage in contending with the bullies of the railway world that he showed in his encounter with Ned Nelson, the ‘fighting pitman,’ of Callerton.”
This stalwart soldier, whose martial exploits and honourable death are recorded in the pages of Sir Walter Scott, Sir W. Napier, and the military annals of his country, bade fair to become a bright star in the pugilistic sphere, had not his career been so speedily terminated in the field of glory.
John Shaw was a native of Woolaston, in Nottinghamshire, and brought up as a farmer until eighteen years of age, when, tired of leading a dull, inglorious life, he enlisted, on the 16th of October, 1807, as a private in the Life-guards. Europe, we need hardly tell the reader, was then involved in the flames of war by the martial spirit and aggressive designs of the French nation and its military Emperor, and young Shaw—
When Shaw was a mere stripling, during the time he was fighting with a man three stone heavier than himself, at Woolaston, and in danger of being defeated, Jem Belcher, who was at Nottingham, suddenly made his appearance in the ring. That experienced hero went up to Shaw, and advised him how to alter his tactics so as to secure success. Shaw, learning that it was the renowned Jem Belcher who thus stepped forward to direct his efforts, felt inspired with fresh courage, acted promptly on the advice given him, and, in the course of a round or two, so turned the battle in his favour that he ultimately gained the victory in great style, and earned the praise of Jem Belcher. From this incident he attached himself to scientific pugilism.
Shaw possessed, in an eminent degree, many requisites for a first-rate pugilist. He was in height six feet and half an inch, weighing, when stripped, close upon fifteen stone; and he derived great advantages from repeated exercise with the dumb-bells, as a part of his military discipline; his continual practice of the broadsword also gave increased strength and elasticity to his wrists and shoulders. Discipline, too, had taught him coolness, in addition to a most excellent natural temper. He was introduced to the Fives Court under the patronage of Colonel Barton. In his first exhibitions he was considered rather slow; but from the frequent use of the gloves, in competition with the most experienced and scientific boxers, he rapidly improved. His height, length, weight, and strength, united with a heart which knew no fear, rendered Shaw a truly formidable antagonist. His public displays were considered far above mediocrity, and he felt great pride in getting the best of the then terrific Molineaux. In a trial set-to at Mr. Jackson’s rooms with Captain Barclay—who never shrunk from punishment, or hesitated in milling his adversary, scorning anything like the delicacy of “light play,”—the latter received such a convincing blow, that a dentist was called in to replace matters in statu quo. The best critics were satisfied he was a thorough-bred one, and it was proved to be very difficult to hit him without being returned on. In retreating he made use of his left hand with much effect, and was thought to fight something after the deliberate manner of Cribb.
In the neighbourhood of Portman Square our hero milled three big fellows in the course of a few minutes with comparative ease, for insulting him on the “stay at home” character of his regiment, at that time a favourite taunt of the vulgar. They were compelled to acknowledge their misconduct, and glad to cry for quarter.
Shaw’s first appearance in the P. R. was on Saturday, July 12, 1812, at Coombe Warren, with Burrows, a sturdy West-countryman, who had fought a good battle of an hour’s length with the tremendous Molineaux, when the athletic powers of the latter hero were undebauched and in full vigour; but, in the hands of Shaw, the West-countryman had not the slightest chance. In the short space of seventeen minutes, in which thirteen rounds were fought, the superior science of Shaw had so nobbed Burrows that he could not see his way, and he was led out of the ring. Burrows never once drew blood from Shaw, who quitted the field without a scratch.
Nearly three years elapsed before Shaw made a second appearance, during which period, it seems, from the considerable practice he had with the gloves, he was materially improved in science. On April 18, 1815, at Hounslow Heath, for a purse of fifty guineas, he entered the lists with one of the bravest of the brave, namely, Ned Painter. Victory again crowned his efforts in twenty-eight minutes, and he retired from the contest little, if any, the worse for wear. See Painter, Vol. II., Chapter III., p. 77.
It is certain Shaw had an eye upon the championship, for he now formally challenged all England. The amateurs were divided in opinion, but Shaw felt confident, in his own mind, that no boxer existed who could conquer him. Six weeks had scarcely elapsed after the above battle, and no time allowed for either Cribb or Oliver (who would not have suffered such a challenge to pass over unnoticed) to have an opportunity of entering the lists with Shaw to decide the point, when the Life-guards were ordered abroad, and Shaw soon found himself, with his comrades, on the plains of Waterloo. His heroism on that memorable occasion has been handed down to posterity in those glowing colours which real courage and love of country merit. Sir Walter Scott has thus sung the fame of Shaw:—