to his numerous friends, an acquaintance of Dan’s (a swell bum-bailiff) appeared close to the vehicle, and, in the most gentlemanly manner, told Donnelly he wished to speak to him. “And is it me you mane, Jemmy?” replied Dan; “don’t be after joking with me now!” “Indeed I’m not; here’s the writ for £18,” answered the officer. “And is it possible that you want me at the suit of Carter? I don’t owe the blackguard one single farthing. By de powers, it is the other way; Jack’s indebted to me.” Expostulation, however, was useless. The coachman had his whip in his hand, and the two evils before Dan only allowed him to make a momentary decision. The choice left to him was, either to lose his fare to Liverpool, which had been previously paid, and the advantages to result from an exhibition of his talents at Donnybrook Fair (which admitted of no delay), or to remain in London and be screwed up in a sponging house. Donnelly, in a great rage, as the preferable alternative, instantly discharged the writ and galloped off from the metropolis. It is true Dan went off loaded with fame, but it is an equally undeniable fact that he had only a £2 note left in his pocket-book, after all his great success in London, to provide for him and Mrs. Donnelly on their route to the land of Erin.

Thousands of persons assembled on the beach to hail the arrival of the Irish champion on his native shore. Dan had scarcely shown his merry mug, when his warm-hearted countrymen gave him one of the primest fil-le-lus ever heard, and “Donnelly for ever!” resounded from one extremity of the beach to the other. A horse was in readiness to carry him, as so great a personage as “Sir Dan Donnelly” (who, it was currently reported, had been knighted by the Prince Regent for his bravery) could not be suffered to walk. The knight of the fives was attended by the populace through all the principal districts of Dublin, till he arrived at his house in Townshend Street. Dan took his leave gratefully of the multitude, and after flourishing the symbol of the above Order, for the honour of Ireland, and drinking their healths in a “noggin of whiskey,” the crowd retired, highly gratified at the dignified reception which the Irish milling chief had experienced on setting his foot once more on the turf of Ould Ireland.

The sports of Donnybrook Fair, on August 27, 1819, were considerably heightened by the presence of Donnelly, Cooper, and Gregson. They were thus described in a contemporary Dublin newspaper, Carrick’s Evening Post:—“Upon no former occasion have we witnessed more enticement to eye or palate: booths of a superior and extensive nature were erected, in which equestrian voltigeur tumbling, sleight of hand, serious and comic singing, and other performances were exhibited. Donnelly, for some reason we cannot account for, has no tent; but he has a booth, wherein Cooper, Gregson, and the Irish champion exhibited sparring, to the great amusement of an admiring audience. This booth was but hastily prepared, but the persons who obtained admittance appeared much pleased with the scientific display of these celebrated pugilists. An amateur of great eminence from Liverpool, at a late hour in the evening, ascended the platform (a ten feet enclosed ring), and encountered Gregson with the gloves. He was evidently no novice in the milling school, and was much applauded. Cooper exhibited superior science, and Gregson displayed the remnant powers of a once first-rate superior man. Dan was thought by the amateurs present to be much improved, but gave himself little trouble else than to show how things ‘might be done;’ he was cheerful and laughing during each ‘set-to.’ The whole passed off in the most regular and quiet manner. The persons present seemed anxious to accord with the expressed wish of the pugilists, that the public peace should be rigidly preserved.” On Tuesday the crowds were greater than upon any previous occasion. The itinerant vocalists were not wanting to contribute their portion of harmony. A variety of songs were circulated, from which we select the following crambonian lyric:—

The dispute between Carter and Donnelly, respecting the arrest of the latter (whether right or wrong), was not calculated to do Carter good, even in the eyes of the sporting world in England; but in Ireland, it was certain to prejudice the character of the Lancashire hero in the opinion of the fancy, Donnelly being their avowed hero, and so great a favourite. However, with more courage than prudence, or conscious that he had done nothing wrong, Carter^[24] almost immediately followed Donnelly to Dublin, and lost no time in parading Donnybrook Fair, going from booth to booth.

In consequence of this, the Irish amateurs wishing not only to witness their champion again exhibit his finishing talents on the Curragh, but also to show they would not suffer him to be brow-beaten upon his own soil, a meeting took place between the friends of both parties. Owing, however, to some trifling delay in making the match, the following challenge, answer, and articles of agreement appeared in the Dublin Journal:—

“I beg leave, through the medium of your paper, to intimate that I am ready and willing to fight Daniel Donnelly for £200, to be lodged in proper hands, and I am induced to give him this public challenge, in consequence of his having hitherto declined to give a decided answer on a late occasion, when I staked 10 guineas in the hands of a friend of his, who has neither covered nor returned the money, nor given me any satisfaction whether he is willing to fight me or not.

“The committee of friends and supporters of Donnelly, the Irish champion, have observed, with much surprise and regret, an advertisement in the Dublin Evening Post and Correspondent of Saturday last, signed ‘John Carter.’ Their surprise was excited by the statement of a public challenge to Donnelly, when, in fact, a challenge had been previously exchanged and ratified. They regret that any person placing himself before the public should so pervert facts. As to the deposits and binding of the contract, the friends of Donnelly have produced, and are still anxious to lodge, £200 in his support. They have repeatedly signified this intention, and appointed places for interview, at which neither Carter nor his friends (if he has any) have attended. If the object of Carter’s advertisement is to retract and regain his deposit (a pretty good proof that no public challenge was necessary), although the sporting world would decide against the refunding of the 10 guineas in question, he shall cheerfully have it. The public will judge of his motives; but if Carter, previous to his projected immediate trip to Scotland, is not determined to shy the combat, Donnelly’s friends are ready to lodge the £200 required, and only desire that Carter may be serious and determined. The determination of Donnelly’s friends is to support him to the extent his opponents require, or to the amount of the original agreement, which was to fight for £500 in six weeks, at the Curragh.

“Committee Room, 20, Fownes’ Street, September 20, 1819.”

A match between the above pugilists was at length made, and the following were the articles:—

“Mr. W. Dowling, on the one part, and Mr. L. Byrne, on the other part. Mr. Dowling deposits £20 sterling, on behalf of John Carter, and Mr. L. Byrne deposits, on the part of Daniel Donnelly, £20 sterling, into the hands of Mr. John Dooly; the parties to meet at No. 20, Fownes Street, Dublin, on the 5th of October next, at two o’clock on the said day precisely, to make the above sum £50 each. The combatants to meet within thirty miles of Dublin, on the 25th of November next, and then fight, at twelve o’clock in the day, the place to be hereafter tossed for and named, for the sum of £200 sterling a-side. The whole of the stakes to be made good on the 23rd of November, two days previous to fighting, when the place will be appointed, or the £50 deposit money to be forfeited. To be a fair stand-up fight, half-minute time, in a twenty-four feet ring. Also, if the parties, or money for the said parties, according to this article, do not meet on the 5th of October next, the present £20 stake must also be forfeited.

To the mortification of the fancy, this match went off upon a frivolous dispute as to the appointment of a stakeholder. Donnelly, in a discussion with Cooper’s backers, said fairly, addressing himself to Cooper, “When I defeated you, George, upon the Curragh, you got more money than I did; but when I fought Oliver in England, upon proving the conqueror, the whole of the money, 100 guineas, was presented to me. If this plan is adopted in Ireland I have no objection to fight Carter.” This proposition, however, from motives it is now impossible to discover, was refused by Carter’s friends.

Donnelly’s public-house in Pill Lane was generally crowded. Carter also took a house in Barrack Street, in opposition to the Irish champion; and Bob Gregson opened a punch-house in Moor Street, Dublin. Milling topics were, therefore, the order of the day in the “sweet city.”

Dan seemed now at the apex of popularity, with a prospect, backed by common prudence, of attaining permanent prosperity. His house was overflowing nightly with company, the blunt pouring rapidly into his treasury, and his milling fame on the highest eminence; but, in the midst of this laughing scene, the ugliest customer Dan had ever met with introduced himself. Without any preliminary articles, or agreeing as to time; nay, without even shaking fists, the Universal Leveller gave the stout Sir Daniel such a body blow that all the wind was knocked out of him in a twinkling; the “scratch” disappeared from his darkened optics, and he went “to sleep” to wake only to the last call of “time!” In plain prose, this renowned knight of fistic frays took sudden leave of his friends, family, and the P.R., on the 18th of February, 1820, in consequence of taking a copious draught of cold water, while in a state of perspiration after an active game at “fives.” He was in the thirty-second year of his age, and not a few of his best friends declare that whiskey-punch, by over-heating his blood, hastened the catastrophe. We shall here introduce a few random anecdotes from “Boxiana.”

Soon after Dan’s arrival in London, he met Cooper and Hall one evening at the Castle Tavern, when, after inquiring after their health, he facetiously asked them if they should like a little of Mr. Donnelly in England, as they had stated fair play was not allowed to them in Ireland. Silence got rid of the inquiry.

A General, well known in the sporting circles, in order to try the milling capabilities of Donnelly (his countryman), soon after his arrival in England, invited the Irish champion to his house, where he set-to with a gentleman amateur, distinguished for his superior knowledge of the art of self-defence. After some active manœuvring, Donnelly put in such a tremendous facer, that for several minutes the gentleman was in a state of stupor, whereon General B—— became a firm backer of Sir Dan.

Pierce Egan finds fun in his hero’s worst failing. He tells us gleefully that the severity of training did not accord with Donnelly’s disposition. It was insufferable restraint to him. In fact, he did not like going into training at all, and some difficulty occurred, nay, he was almost coaxed to leave the metropolis. During his stay at Riddlesdown, while training to fight Oliver, he was at table with some gentlemen, when green peas were among the vegetables at dinner. One of the company, distinguished for his knowledge of training, observed Donnelly helping himself to the peas, and immediately stated to him that peas were improper for a person training. Donnelly laughed heartily, exclaiming, “And sure is it a pae that will hurt me? no, nor a drop of the cratur neither,” tossing off a glass of brandy. He also enjoyed himself during the afternoon in the same manner as the rest of the company, till the time arrived for his going to work, i.e., walking the distance of six miles. Donnelly on starting, said, “Now you shall soon see how I’ll take the paes and liquor out of me!” and ascended with great rapidity the high, steep hill in front of Wheeler’s door without apparent fatigue. He returned to the company in a short time in a violent state of perspiration, having performed the distance. Solitude, however, was far from Dan’s delight: company was his passion. While his friends remained with him at Riddlesdown it was all right; but when they departed, it is said, he took a small drop of “stuff” with him to bed, to prevent his lying awake. At other times he stole out in the dark to poach for petticoats, and the preserves of Croydon, it seems, supplied even more than his wants. This circumstance will, in a great degree, account for his distressed and blown state during the battle with Oliver.

It is a well-known fact that, immediately after his battle with Oliver, it was not only discovered, but he acknowledged, that he had unfortunately contracted a disease in the promiscuousness of his amours. It is usual for pugilists during their training to have a companion to look after them. It was not so with Donnelly; but if he had had such a person, it would have been of little, if any, use, as Dan was beyond control. It was, however, truly astonishing to view Donnelly’s fine appearance on entering the ring to meet Cooper. When the Irish champion fought Cooper on the Curragh of Kildare, it appears he had been trained up to the highest pitch of excellence by Captain Kelly, and was strong as a giant and active as a rope dancer. To the Captain, Donnelly yielded implicit obedience; but he would not be dictated to by his equals—indeed, he was totally unmanageable.

Donnelly was extremely fond of a joke; and upon a porter coming to him, soon after his arrival in England, late one evening, at the Castle Tavern, Holborn, informing Dan that his wife would be glad to see him at the White Horse in Fetter Lane, as soon as possible, Donnelly asked, with great eagerness, “What sort of a woman she was?” The porter, surprised at the singularity of such a question, enquired, “What, sir, don’t you know your own Wife?” The champion, smiling, replied, “Is she a big woman? Well, never mind; tell her I’ll come and look, just to see if I know her.”^[25]

It should seem that Donnelly had a great aversion to be looked upon as a prize-fighter. In the course of two or three evenings after his battle with Oliver, Dignam’s long room was crowded with his countrymen, anxious to congratulate him on his recent victory. Donnelly, who was dining with some swells above stairs, was informed of the circumstance, and solicited to go down and to walk through the room. To which Donnelly replied, “Sure, now, do they take me for a baste, to be made a show of? I’m no fighting man, and I won’t make a staring stock of myself to plase anybody.” This was spoken angrily, and it required the utmost persuasions of his friend Dignam to induce him to comply with so reasonable a request. Dan at length conceded, and upon entering the room he was received with the loudest cheers.

In short, poor Dan was a creature of the moment. He was most excellent company, creating mirth and laughter all around him. His sayings were droll in the extreme, and his behaviour was always decorous. Forethought was no ingredient in his composition; “to-morrow,” with him, might or might not be provided for: that never created any uneasiness in his mind, and was left entirely to chance, or, as Dan would express it, “Divil may care!” Such was the character of Donnelly. He was an Irishman every inch of him—generous, good-natured, and highly grateful. As a pugilist, it is true, he did not raise himself in the estimation of the English amateurs by his battle with Oliver; nor did the Irish fancy in London think so much of his capabilities as they had anticipated; indeed, those gentlemen who came from Ireland to witness the battle expressed themselves surprised at the deficiency of boxing talent displayed by their favourite. This, however, will astonish no one who has perused the few preceding paragraphs of his heedless conduct and neglect of training. He was declared to be unlike the same man who defeated Cooper. The fact is, that our Hibernian friends either undervalue or thoughtlessly neglect those precautions, without which strength, pluck, and skill must succumb to more ordinary physical qualifications, if backed by temperance. In fact, the fight was won by Donnelly by his wrestling superiority, rather than his hitting.

We now quit the living Sir Dan to note the public and literary honours bestowed upon his decease. Foremost amongst these comes Blackwood’s Magazine, for May, 1820, wherein twenty closely printed pages are devoted to a most amusing collection of “solemn dirges,” letters of condolence, lamentations, plaintive ballads, odes and songs, an eloquent funeral oration, etc., and scraps of Hebrew, Greek, and Latin poems in honour of the heroic deceased. The scholar will be delighted, and the general reader amused, by the genuine humour and erudite pleasantry therein displayed. Our space forbids us more than a selection of a few of these serio-comic effusions of Christopher North and his coadjutors.

On Sunday, February 27, 1820, the remains of this celebrated character were borne, with all due pomp and solemnity, from his family residence in Greek Street to the last asylum at Bully’s Acre, where his ancestors lie quietly inurned. An immense concourse, some in carriages and some on horseback, moving in slow and measured pace, formed part of the procession. There was a strong muster of the fancy. The gloves were carried on a cushion in front of the hearse, from which the horses had been unyoked by the crowd, and multitudes contended for the honour of assisting in drawing it. The procession took its route through the leading streets of the city, and the numbers, as it passed, increased until the body of the champion was lodged in its last resting-place. It is for posterity to do justice to the prowess of Sir Daniel Donnelly. Not the least remarkable feature in his eventful history is, that he was the last person who received the honour of knighthood during the regency: there might have been, and probably were, worse men among those who received that honour before him. Although last, he did not deserve to be held as least, among the knights of our day.

To the Blackwood collection we again resort for the proposed inscription for an obelisk to Sir Daniel’s memory:—

The reputation of Jack Carter as a pugilist suffered unduly from two causes. First, from ridiculously exaggerated press flourishes about his prowess, skill, and formidable qualities by partizan scribes; and, secondly, by a factious band of provincial supporters and adherents, who spoilt their man by their indiscriminate support and attempts, by clamour and intimidation, to carry their protégé to the topmost position, in despite of the interposition of better men. Poor Carter, too, an unstable, self-conceited, and, when excited, an offensive and bullying rough, was spoilt for his calling as well as for decent society, by his injudicious “following.” Pierce Egan, who prematurely dubs him in his first volume “the Lancashire hero(?)” furnishes us with the only account of the early life of Bob Gregson’s protégé, which, its magniloquence notwithstanding, reveals the secret that Jack Carter was a mere “Lancashire rough,” and not a whit too courageous; nor, for that matter, commonly honest; though Shakespeare says, “to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.” In his second and third volumes (for Carter figures in each) stubborn facts reduce Carter’s dimensions and character as “a champion(?);” and in the last Pierce prefaces his jeremiad over this perverted “navvy” by misusing the Miltonic motto, “How are the mighty fallen!” though when or how Carter was “mighty” is a puzzler. This he follows with an array of gasconading advertisements, challenges, and thrasonical handbills. Here, with some pruning of redundances, is the story of Jack’s early days as detailed in “Boxiana”:—

“Carter was born at Manchester, September 13, 1789, of respectable parents, who apprenticed him to a shoemaker, but being a strong, healthy lad, and not liking the confinement of the trade, left it to give a lending hand towards the improvement of his country, by commencing navigator, and working upon the canals in that neighbourhood. It was among those rough-hewn, hardy sons of the creation, that Carter began to exhibit his feats of strength by milling several of the best considered men in their whole phalanx. Jack was in height about five feet ten inches and a half, and weighed about thirteen stone; and it was the following droll and singular circumstance that brought him into notice, both as a pedestrian and a pugilist. The navigators, in one of their moments of hilarity, proposed a jackass race, and entered into subscriptions for that purpose; the stakes were held by a Mr. Merryman, belonging to a mountebank, who was then gammoning the flats in that part of the country. Mr. Merryman was a good tumbler, full of fun, and could fight a bit, and had rendered himself an attractive personage to the numerous Johnny Raws by whom he was surrounded. Upon the day arriving for the race to take place, no neddy was entered to run for the stakes, except one belonging to Mr. Merryman. This circumstance created surprise; in fact, much disappointment. Jack Carter instantly entered himself as a jackass. At first, some little argument took place as to the oddness of the attempt, but at length it was logically determined that Carter was a jackass, and that he should be entered as such, upon which they started. Away went neddy with all the fleetness of a prime donkey, kicking and snorting over the ground; and the jackass set out in fine style, amidst the shouts and laughs of the multitude, who now began to bet in all manner of shapes—Christian against donkey, and neddy against jackass. The distance was four miles, producing considerable wagers and much diversion among the spectators. The jackass possessing rather more knowledge than the neddy, made the best of his way, leaving the donkey behind him, came in first and claimed the stakes. No jackass was ever so much caressed before for winning a race. But Mr. Merryman now treated it as only a joke, observing that he only let Carter run to increase the sport, and disputed his claim as a jackass. It was certain that all the words in Johnson’s Dictionary would not have satisfactorily explained this knotty point; and there not being logicians enough present to place the question in a proper point of view, a nearer road was taken to settle the matter. Carter gave Mr. Merryman to understand that, if he did not instantly hand over the stakes, that it should be milled out of his carcass. Merryman received this threat with a smile of contempt, entertaining an idea that as this jackass had been running four miles, his wind could not be good for much, and agreed that the fist should decide it. A ring being formed, Merryman was soon made to laugh on the wrong side of his mouth; and he who had hitherto tumbled for the pleasure of the crowd, was now, in spite of his antics, knocked down often, and punished so severely that he was compelled, not only to give in, but to give up the money.”

Carter’s fame as a boxer and racer was soon spread abroad, and he entered the lists in a short time afterwards with a heavy strong man, a navigator, at Preston, who had gained some good battles in his time. It was a truly severe conflict, and occasioned considerable conversation in Lancashire. He was matched in several races, in one of which he beat the celebrated Abraham Wood, though, from Pierce Egan’s own showing, in another page, this seems to have been not only after his coming to London, but subsequently to his first fight with Boone, the soldier.

It was while working at the Highgate Tunnel that Bob Gregson first met Carter. He was a Lancashire man, and that was enough to recommend him to Bob, who we have proof sufficient was neither a good fighter himself nor much of a judge of what constitutes one, like his modern double, Ben Caunt. “Upon inquiry,” adds “Boxiana,” “it was found that Carter had proved himself a trump!” and says, “all that he wanted was experience, science(!), and introduction.” “He shall have that,” cried Bob, and instantly, at his own expense, took care of Carter, and placed him under the “Rolands” (whose distinguished skill in fencing and as pugilistic teachers was then in its zenith). Pierce continues, “It is but justice to Carter to observe that, under such tuition, he soon made considerable progress in the art, and when it was judged a proper time to give publicity to his attempt, Bob introduced him at the Fives Court.” Carter’s appearance is thus flatteringly described in the Morning Advertiser of Wednesday, July 29, 1812:—

“Sparring.—The last sparring exhibition took place yesterday at the Fives Court, for the benefit of Power, a pugilist, who, as a professor of the science, is inferior to none on the boxing list, but his exhibitions have been rare. The greatest novelty on this occasion was an exhibition between a trial-man of Gregson’s, named Carter, from Lancashire, a candidate of first-rate weight for fighting fame, and Fuller, a scientific pupil of Richmond’s. A ruffianing match took place, and, not to give superiority to either, it was a match which afforded much diversion, and it will cause a considerable sensation in the sporting world. Gregson’s man, who is under the best tuition, will prove a tremendous teazer, if he be gifted with the best of pugilistic favours—game—which remains to be tried. He is a fine weighty left-handed hitter, and, if game be in him, he can beat anything now on the list.”

With such a character, though the “if” in respect to his “game” looks very like a misgiving, Carter was matched against Boone, the soldier, for an unknown stake. Boone (made Bone in “Boxiana”) has not a single fight to his credit in “Fistiana,” except that with Crockey, a wretched affair, four years after this exhibition. The battle came off on Friday, September 18, 1812, near Ealing, Middlesex, when, after twelve rounds, in seventeen minutes, Boone gave in. Egan says it was “a severe contest,” and adds, “In this battle Carter’s patrons thought he had made good his pretensions to milling, and looked forward anxiously to place him nearly, if not quite, at the top of the boxing list.” They accordingly matched him against Jack Power. (See Power, in Appendix.) The stake was the handsome sum of 200 guineas, subscribed by Gregson’s friends, and on the 16th of November, 1812, the fight came off at Rickmansworth, Herts. The battle will be found in the Life of Power, who, despite the recent rupture of a blood-vessel, and incapacity for severe training, thrashed Carter in thirty-nine rounds, occupying one hour and five minutes. “Boxiana” says, with edifying naïvete, “Carter attributed the loss of this battle to his second (Isaac Bittoon) placing a Belcher handkerchief over his mouth, which tended rather to deprive him of his wind (query, courage) than to do anything to increase that necessary quality in a boxer.” He adds, “If Carter in his battle with Power did not exhibit those traits of finished elegance which characterise the skilful pugilist, he nevertheless portrayed that he was not ignorant of the principles of boxing, and his patrons were perfectly satisfied with the bottom which he manifested upon the occasion,” which shows they were thankful for very small mercies, as Carter brought youth, weight, length, and strength to the losing side.

After much cavilling a match was made between Carter and Molineaux. Poor Molineaux, having been twice beaten by Cribb, was now on his downward course (see vol. i., pp. 282–285, ante), yet, in this contest, which took place at Remington, Gloucestershire, on Friday, the 2nd of April, 1813, Carter was disgracefully beaten by the once formidable nigger. Of this affair, on which we have commented in the life of Molineaux, a contemporary writes:—“It was the opinion of the most experienced pugilists that such a set-to was never before witnessed; one ‘was afraid, and the other dared not.’ Carter was the best man after the battle began, and continued so throughout the fight. Molineaux was wretched in the extreme, and at one time positively bolted from his second. But to the great astonishment of all the spectators, when Molineaux was dead beat, Carter fainted and dropped his head as he sat on the knee of his second. All the exertions of Richmond could not arouse Carter from his lethargic state, and he thus lost the battle.”

In the next paragraph we find “Boxiana” stating, “as a boxer, and even as a scientific pugilist, Carter was entitled to considerable prominency (whatever that may mean); and, if viewed as a fibber (was the historian unconsciously writing autobiography?), it would be difficult to find a better one. In point of hitting and getting away, he is little inferior, if not equal, to Richmond, and very good and active upon his legs. With his left hand he dealt out severe punishment; and although in his former contests his right hand appeared but of little service to him, yet he seemed to have rather improved in the use of it. One objection which had been warmly argued against Carter by many of the fancy was, that he was soft about the head, afraid of the coming blow, and shrank from punishment; while, on the contrary, it was roundly asserted by the other part that, if he behaved correctly, his game was unimpeachable.”

After his defeat by Molineaux, Carter exhibited the art of self-defence in Ireland, Scotland, and most of the provincial towns in England, with great success; and from his continual practice in those trials of skill, aided by considerable intuitive knowledge upon the subject of boxing, he returned to the metropolis an active and improved fighter. Upon his arrival in London, Carter, without hesitation, declared himself ready to enter the lists with any man in the kingdom; and this public challenge, as might be supposed, was not suffered to remain long unanswered, and Richmond, in consequence, catered a fine, strong, healthy black, of the name of Joseph Stephenson, weighing upwards of fourteen stone, from Havre de Grace, Maryland, in America, as a likely opponent.

The Pugilistic Club gave a purse of twenty-five guineas, and the combatants put down twenty-five also a-side. On Tuesday, February 6, 1816, the above heroes(!) met at Coombe Warren. This battle excited considerable interest throughout the pugilistic circles; and, notwithstanding the torrents of rain that deluged the roads, from seven in the morning till seven at night without intermission, thousands of spectators braved the elements with the utmost nonchalance. The men entered the ring about one o’clock; Cribb and Shelton acting as seconds to Carter, and Richmond and Oliver for Stephenson. Two to one in many instances upon Carter.