Round 1.—Short sparring, each man looking out for an opening, and both cautious. At last Crawley, anxious to begin, went in and hit out ineffectually with his left. Ward was awake, stopped him with his right, countered with great cleverness with his left in return, and catching him severely on the right eye, dropped him as if he had been shot, amidst the cheers of his friends. The blow produced first blood at the corner of Crawley’s eye, and thus decided at once the bets on the first two events. The Wardites were in extasies. (Odds three to one.)

2.—On coming to the scratch the effects of the blow on Crawley’s ogle were clear, the flesh being a good deal puffed: still he was cheerful and prepared for mischief. The men again sparred for the first hit, when Crawley threw out his right, but was stopped. Ward then went in and hit right and left at Crawley’s canister, but did not make any impression. More caution. Ward again made play, but Crawley was awake, stopped his left with great precision, and smiled confidently. Crawley then commenced fighting; but Ward threw up his right and left, and got away in beautiful style. More sparring and mutual caution. At last Crawley saw a vulnerable point, pushed in, and delivering a thundering hit with his right on Ward’s forehead, just above the eye, dropped him in turn. (Loud cheers, and exclamations of “Peter, it’s all your own.”)

3.—On Ward’s being lifted on his second’s knee he looked wild, and was evidently suffering from Crawley’s tickler. Josh., however, shook him, and brought him to the scratch ripe for action, although a little posed. After some sparring and admirable stops on both sides, evincing the superior science of the men, Ward hit short with his right at the body. Crawley smiled, and collecting himself up for work, threw out his right and caught Ward slightly on his nob. Ward, in endeavouring to get away, fell upon his hands and knees. Crawley was about to strike him jocularly on the part that was uppermost, when Ward jumped up, and both went to their seconds.

4.—More good stops on both sides, when a tremendous rally commenced, in which the deliveries right and left excited the loudest applause. Ward retreated towards the ropes, and Crawley closed with him. In this situation there was some good exchanges, and claret was freely drawn from the conks of each. In the end Ward went staggering down, Crawley upon him. The greatest agitation was here exhibited among the spectators. The outer ring was broken in, and confusion prevailed to the conclusion of the fight, although the pugilistic corps, under the auspices of the Commander-in-Chief, did wonders in endeavouring to preserve order. Many persons got inside the roped ring, and were with difficulty ejected.

5.—Both came up bleeding and a little puffy from their late exertions. After some sparring for time, Crawley hit out with his left, but was stopped, and in turn Ward was stopped by Peter, who had all his senses about him. At last the men came to a rally, and desperate hitting ensued, each countering with great force, and making due impression by their handiwork. Ward, in getting away, repeatedly hit up with his right, but missed his blows. In the end they closed and went down, Crawley uppermost, and both bleeding at the mouth and nose. During this round Josh. repeatedly cheered his man by cries of “Fight, Jem; fight, Jem; fight, my boy!” and Jem bravely, though imprudently, followed his advice, and thereby greatly distressed himself.

6.—A good weaving round, in which Ward caught Crawley round the neck with his right, and as he pulled him across the ring hit him several times with rapidity. Crawley at length closed, and both went down in a scramble, heavily punished and distressed.

7.—The men came up piping, and as if mutually feeling the necessity of recovering their wind, sparred with caution for some seconds. At last Crawley let go his left, but Ward got away. Another short spar, when Ward hit with his left, but was cleverly countered by Crawley’s right. A terrific rally ensued, in which all science seemed to be set aside, and the weaving system went on in a style of manly indifference to the result. Each appeared bent alone on making an impression, and the appearance of their pimples showed that mischief alone was intended. The whole ring was electrified, and a more courageous attack was never witnessed. The Burgundy flowed freely from each. Crawley retreated towards the ropes, Ward still with him, till at length Ward rushed in, and seizing him with the grip of a Hercules, threw him an appalling cross-buttock, which not only shook Peter himself, but the very earth on which he fell. The fall was allowed by Crawley’s seconds to have done him more harm than all his previous punishment; and a good judge who was within the ring rushed out and offered ten to one against him, but found no takers.

8.—Peter came up open-mouthed and greatly distressed. It was thought Ward would have gone immediately to finish, but to the surprise of most he kept out, and only sparred at arm’s length. It was pretty clear, however, that he was himself the worse for wear, and did not consider it politic to throw a chance away. After some time Crawley tried with his left. Ward stopped this intended visitation, and returned with his right. More sparring; when the men having recovered their wind, once more got to work on the weaving system, and the interchanges were sufficient to daunt the stoutest heart; but still both gave and took without shrinking. Their cocoa-nuts echoed again with the quick following blows, till Ward, becoming weak, or desirous of avoiding further compliments, went down on his knees. Crawley went to his second’s knee, and was evidently coming round.

9.—This round commenced with distant sparring. Ward attempted a blow at Peter’s mark, but hit short. Peter laughed, and kept out. A few seconds were occupied in this light play, when another terrific rally took place. Both men again went to work, putting science aside, and rattling away at each other’s nobs with downright good will. Hit followed hit with the rapidity of lightning; neither would give an inch, but stood to each other with as much sang froid as if sparring with the gloves. Nothing could exceed the fearless execution of this rally, and the shouts of the multitude bore testimony to the determined game of the men. Ward, who repeatedly hit up, was met by Crawley’s left, who preserved his self-possession and never lost sight of his object. At length, as a sort of climax to terrific weaving in all parts of the ring, Crawley retreated to the ropes, where a close took place, and both fell, Crawley uppermost. Both were much distressed, and evidently fast approaching the close; but Ward was still the favourite, and two to one was bet upon him by one who professed to be a good judge.

10.—Notwithstanding the severe exertion in the last round, Crawley came up smiling. Sparring was continued for a short time, when another most desperate rally commenced: it was clearly a most powerful effort on both sides to bring the fight to a close. Nothing could exceed the resolution which both men displayed. They followed each other from place to place, hitting with unprecedented game and courage, Ward repeatedly having recourse to his under hits. In this extraordinary way did the conflict continue, till both men, on approaching the ropes, were so exhausted as to be incapable of lifting their hands or striking another blow, and at length both went down, unable longer to stand, although supported for some time against the ropes. A more terrible encounter was never witnessed in the prize ring, and the repeated jobbing of Crawley’s left produced the most fearful effects on Ward’s face.

11 and last.—Such was the state of the combatants on coming up at the commencement of this round, that it was impossible to form an opinion of the probable issue. Both were piping, and in painful distress, but Crawley appeared to stand best on his legs. Very little time was lost in consideration, and Ward, open-mouthed, attempted to go in. Crawley, as if aware that this round must terminate the fight, collected all his strength, struck out lightly with his left, and then drawing back a short step, he rushed in, and catching Ward a severe job with his left on the mouth, dropped him to rise no more. He fell flat on his back, and drawing his hands up towards his stomach, became to all appearance senseless. Josh. lifted him from the ground, and placed him on Martin’s knee, but he was no longer “himself:” he was deaf to the call of his friends and admirers, and, with the battle, lost his claim to the championship. Crawley stood looking at him, satisfied that his labours were at an end. He endeavoured to shake hands with his fallen foe, but poor Ward was insensible to this noble conduct, and Peter walked to his chaise. Ward was shortly after carried out of the ring, and from thence to his inn, in a state of insensibility. All was surprise and confusion. The multitude collected en masse in the centre of the ring, and the congratulations of some, and the complaints of others, were scarcely less astounding than the confusion of tongues in the Tower of Babel. It was too true, however, the champion was stripped of his laurels, and the bold Peter was borne off in triumph, one of his backers declaring that he had won £530 by the issue. How many followed his example we know not; but it is certain many thousands changed hands.

Remarks.—In taking a review of the whole of this fight, it would be impossible not to say that both men exhibited courage and game of the most unquestionable description; in fact, a better battle had not been fought for many years. Independent of patience under severe punishment, great skill and science were displayed. The stopping of both men, under trying circumstances, was admirable. Neither flinched from his duty, and, with the exception of Ward’s slipping down on his knees in the early part of the battle, there was not a suspicion that he was not as game a man as ever peeled. In the second round Josh. Hudson described Ward as having been nearly blinded by the force of the blow on his head, but he very soon recovered his presence of mind; and in the last round there were not wanting some who were disposed to think that he might have come again. Judging impartially, however, from all that passed before us, we should say there was not a shadow of ground for complaining of Ward’s conduct in the ring, or for doubting the sincerity of his intention to win throughout. His deliveries were severe, although their effect might not have been so decisive as we had anticipated. It was clear that he tried his utmost to gain the ascendancy, and in this endeavour he reduced himself, in the tenth round, as well as his antagonist, to a state of complete helplessness, hitting with all his force, until both fell without the power of striking another blow. Had his object been other than honest, this never would have been the case. In plain truth, however, he had been over-rated, whilst the probable improvement which Crawley might have obtained in two years was altogether lost sight of. In point of length, and weight, and bodily strength, we may also say Ward was overmatched, while in science he was fully equalled; for although Crawley’s style of setting-to may not be so elegant, nor his stops so frequent, still the severity and quickness of his counter-hitting, and the rapidity of his motions, added to his calm reception of punishment, gave him on this occasion equal advantage; added to which, Peter, in having Tom Belcher for his second, had at least two points in his favour, for a better second never entered the ring, nor a man whose knowledge of the art better qualifies him to give good advice. We must admit that we have seen Ward fight in better style, and make a better use of his acquirements. We do not say this with a view of disparaging his good qualities; but had he exercised a better judgment, we think he would not have rushed into desperate rallies, intent only on administering punishment, without regard to the consequences which might follow to himself, but would rather have availed himself of his tact of hitting and getting away, and only going in when an opportunity occurred of closing for the fall—and his superiority in throwing has been repeatedly established. In the present instance he seemed to have lost his usual caution, and to have forgotten that in fighting against superior weight and strength he was completely giving a chance away by standing to be hit in close quarters. Such another fall as that he gave Crawley in the seventh round must have decided the battle, but the opportunity when offered was neglected, and having at length become weak, he was unable to keep his right hand sufficiently high, and thus lay exposed to the terrific jobbing of Crawley’s left. We have no doubt his seconds acted to the best of their knowledge; but situated as Ward was towards the close of the fight, it was anything but good advice to incite him to go in to rally: he should rather have played round his opponent, and kept at a distance till his wind was restored, and fresh opportunities were afforded for bringing his scientific and wrestling powers into play. With so vigorous an opponent as Crawley, it was clear he must have the worst of in-fighting; and that this was the case the result of the conflict has shown. These are points which naturally strike an observer, but which a man in the heat of combat, and unassisted by a cool and dispassionate counsellor, may not duly appreciate. It is certain that Ward never had so good a man to deal with before, and, barring the few remarks we have felt it our duty to make, it was impossible for him to have done more to attain the ends of his backers. In falling, he has fallen nobly, and must only hope for better luck another time. We may add that he has still few equals in the ring. We cannot close these remarks without stating that, in losing Tom Oliver as a second, Ward may be said to have lost his battle; for Tom’s prudence and good sense would have taught him the folly of bustling with superior weight. The fight lasted twenty-six minutes.

Ward was conveyed in a state of unconsciousness to the Red Lion, at Royston, and was immediately put to bed between warm blankets. A surgeon was then sent for, who found his pulse scarcely perceptible; he, however, took proper precautions, and by six o’clock he recognised those about him. He complained very much of his head, where he received the knock-down blow in the second round, and said that such was the effect of that hit that four rounds elapsed before he had recovered himself. Ward arrived in London on the following Wednesday, much cut up in mind, but still determined to put in a claim for another trial to recover his laurels. He declared he had lost the fight by holding Crawley’s abilities as a boxer too cheap, and had resorted to an attempt to fight him down, in which he had exhausted his strength and his power of hitting. He considered, too, his chances in milling Crawley as greatly increased from the fact of the latter having hernia. This would seem without good foundation. It is a singular fact that Joe Grimaldi—than whom, in his pantomimic exertions, no man encountered more violent exercise—had been ruptured from his youth, but never experienced inconvenience in his labours.

On the 4th of January, 1827, two days after Peter’s victory, the Tennis Court was crowded for the joint benefit of Harry Holt and Ned Baldwin, and to get a peep at the heroes who were admitted to “show.” Ward, on mounting the stage, was loudly applauded. His nob was covered with a handkerchief, and his face exhibited marks of severe punishment. The “Cicero of the ring” (in buff) addressed his patrons for Ward. He said, “Ward had lost the battle, and, what was dearer to him, his proud position; but still it was cheering to him to think that he had not lost his honour. (‘True,’ and applause.) It was not in man to command success, but he had done all that a brave man could do to win the battle. One must lose, and Crawley was the conqueror. By every person who had seen the battle it was admitted that Ward had established his character as a game man, and he had no doubt, by such conduct, he would never want friends. (Approbation.) He was sorry to observe the subscription on the ground was trifling indeed (25s.); but he well knew the generosity of the fancy would be displayed to him in town. For himself, he would subscribe a sovereign; and he was perfectly satisfied other persons would subscribe their mite.” (“Bravo, Harry!”)

Jem’s backer presented himself, and said he would back Ward, without any hesitation, against Crawley, or any other man in the kingdom, for from £100 to £1,000. (Great applause.)

The hero of the tale, Peter Crawley, now mounted the stage, and was welcomed by loud plaudits. His face was rather damaged, but not so much as his opponent’s. With considerable modesty Peter stated, “He had been a winning man, but he had never been opposed to a better one than Ward; in fact, he thought him as good a man as himself. He had been lucky, and gained the fight; and he felt proud he had obtained that honour, because Ward had been considered the best man in England. It was impossible, therefore, that he could have got more honour, or gained a higher conquest. (‘Well done, Peter; you are a liberal, brave fellow.’) He was determined not to accept any challenge, and he had also made up his mind to give up all pretensions to prize-fighting, and, to please the King of England, he would not again enter the ring. He meant no disrespect to the patrons of the art of self-defence; but if he were to fight for seven years, he could not have obtained a higher place in the fancy. Fame was his object, and not money; he therefore left the championship open for those who wished to fight for it, and gave up all pretensions to that high milling honour. He hoped Ward would be dealt with according to his merits; and, as a losing man in general stood in need of support, he should give him two sovereigns.” (Cheers.) Peter made his bow amid loud applause.

Peter, acting upon the adage that “all’s well that ends well,” and having obtained a most brilliant conquest in the eyes of the sporting world, sensibly made up his mind to leave the P.R. for aspiring heroes to bustle in, and commenced publican. He therefore, without delay, opened the Queen’s Head and French Horn, in Duke Street, West Smithfield, and the fancy in general gave Peter their support.

Crawley’s “free and easy,” aided by the musical talents of his father, brought overflowing houses. Mr. Crawley, senior, was a first-rate chaunter, and, as a room singer, his voice in “Tom Moody,” “The Sapling Oak,” etc., was the delight, again and again, of admiring audiences.

At the Queen’s Head and French Horn, soon after Crawley became landlord of the house, he was visited by a blade of the name of Grays, and with that respect and civility which always marked the conduct of our hero, he invited Mr. Grays into his bar, to drink his wine and crack his walnuts. But before the bottle was finished, and during the short absence of our hero, who was waiting upon his customers in various parts of his house, Mr. Grays made free with the character of Peter to Mrs. Crawley, or, to use the vulgar phrase, he was nosing upon the inconstancy of our hero, and his amours out of doors, and boasting that he was a better man at any price than the host of the Queen’s Head and French Horn. On Crawley becoming acquainted with his conduct, he told Mr. Grays that he had not conducted himself like a man or a gentleman, when Grays repeated the insult, that he was a better man in every point of view. “That shall soon be decided,” said Peter, with a contemptuous sneer. An appeal to arms was the result, and, in the course of two short rounds, Mr. Grays so napped it for his impertinence that he staggered about like a man overcome with liquor, and the boaster, as he lay sprawling on the ground, gladly acknowledged, to prevent further punishment, that he had been egregiously deceived in his estimate of his own prowess, and promised Peter the next time he took wine and walnuts, not to crack jokes at his expense behind his back, and to keep his tongue within proper bounds.

Although Peter was one of the mildest and most inoffensive of men, the lion slumbered within him. We will cite a small specimen of this. When Harry Broome fought the Tipton Slasher, at Mildenhall, in September, 1851, there were strong misgivings of a wrangle, and the writer and others firmly declined the thankless office of referee. It looked as though there would be no fight, for the Tipton’s friends rejected several gentlemen nominated, as being backers of Broome. Johnny Broome rode up, and proposed to fight “without a referee.” This was very properly declined; but at last Peter Crawley was agreed to by both sides as an impartial arbiter. The details of the fight will be found under the Life of Harry Broome, in the Seventh Period. Suffice it to say, the Tipton hit Harry foul, and Peter gave it against “the Tipton.” Remonstrance did not shake Peter’s decision, and the Slasher, who thought himself hardly dealt by, used disparaging language to Peter. Fired at the imputation on his honesty, Peter proceeded to uncase his huge carcass, declaring he was “good for a few rounds,” and nothing but the gentle violence of his friends, and those of the Slasher, who separated them, prevented the brave Peter from there and then having a turn-up with the well-trained Tipton for “love and a bellyful.” We have seen other instances of Peter’s readiness to resent insult, though the most placable of men if an apology was offered.

From the period he retired he held but one house, the Duke’s Head and French Horn, in Duke Street, West Smithfield, a house interesting for years to “country cousins,” the fancy, and those who wished a “wrinkle” upon sporting topics. As a teacher of the art of self-defence Peter acquitted himself with great credit, being perfectly master of the science. Several of his Guardsmen pupils have shown their acquaintance that they can hit, stop, and get away with the best of glove amateurs. Peter died, generally respected, on the 12th of March, 1865, in the 66th year of his age. Peace to his manes!

For a short time the name of the hardy Tom Cannon was a word of strength in the annals of the ring. Tom, however, came out too late in life as a public exhibitor of the art pugilistic; his first great victory being over Josh. Hudson, in June, 1824, his last a defeat by Ned Neale, in February, 1827; a career of little more than two-and-a-half years, throwing out his victory over Dolly Smith, in 1817.

Eton, renowned for its College and the classic memories which surround it, gave birth to our hero, but it does not appear that Master Tommy profited much in the literæ humaniores by the accident of his birth under the shadows of the pinnacles of “Henry’s Sacred Fane.” On the contrary, the son of a “Windsor Bargee,” he grew up an athletic uncultivated young colt, distinguished for his speed as a runner, his activity as a jumper, his strength as a wrestler, and was known as “a lad who could box a bit.” The only parts of Gray’s “Ode” which could apply to the young Cannon being, that he could—

Indeed, his rowing and cricketing qualifications endeared him to the youngsters who practised on the silver Thames and verdant Brocas; as a quoit thrower and a single-stick player, at “the Revel” in Bachelor’s Acre, young Cannon distinguished himself, and was known throughout the neighbourhood as “good at any game.” Tom followed alternately the calling of a fisherman and a “bargee,” or rather mixed them both, more majorum suum, and “the Merry Wives of Windsor” often relied on Tom’s net or tackle for the delicacies of speckled trout, glittering umber, or slippery eel, from “Thames’ silvery flood.” Apropos of this, we find from contemporary records that Tom, acting in the spirit of Charles Dibdin’s song,

forgot one night—if ever he knew them—the privileges of the corporation of Windsor. He was detected, with a companion, fishing, contrary to Act of Parliament, within the preserved waters of the corporation, whereby a fine of £5 to “our Lord the King” was incurred. Tom demurred to swelling the royal exchequer by impoverishing his own: he put in “leg-bail,” and for a time migrated from ungrateful Windsor to live an exile at Newbury, whither he does not appear to have been pursued, for he was here known as the “milling bargee.” This was in 1814. We will therefore “hark back.”

Thus, in his early manhood, our jolly bargeman lived a life of labour, independence, and humble competency, and like

Tom’s earlier practice with his bunch of fives appears to have been at wake, fair, race, or revel, with the military always abounding at Windsor and its vicinity, and with such “rough chawbacons” as, feeling strong in the spirit of fight, might offer themselves to his notice.

Tom’s first recorded engagement was with one Tom Anslow, a grenadier belonging to the Staffordshire militia, in the year 1809. Anslow was the crack boxer of his regiment, and the audacity of young “bargee” (Tom was nineteen years of age) was laughed at by the red-coats, for Anslow was fourteen stone in weight, and all six feet in height. The battle-money was three guineas a-side. Cannon, on the day, was a little under twelve stone, and stood five feet nine inches and a half. It was a desperate battle for thirty-two minutes, when the soldier gave in, and Cannon was carried off in triumph by his fellow-townsmen. “Boxiana” fills some pages with notices of casual fights with nameless men, on Eton Brocas, at Maidenhead, at Egham Races, and elsewhere, embellished with the usual lively skimble-skamble of the inventive author. The first time Cannon had to do with a “professional” was in this wise. At a raffle in Peascod Street, Windsor, Dolly Smith,^[41] of Hammersmith, was present, and threatened to chastise Cannon for interfering in a dispute. “Although I know you’re a fighting man,” said Tom, “I will not be frightened into submission.” Dolly threw off his coat, and they adjourned to the street. After a smart turn-up, in which Cannon claimed best, they were interrupted. This led to a match for twenty guineas a-side, which came off in a field contiguous to Shirley Common, near Windsor, May 6, 1817. The battle proved a most determined one. The swell stage-coachmen—for Dolly was a horse-keeper, known on the Great Western road—sported their gold freely on their man, though there was a remarkable disparity in size and weight. Smith, who was a round-built sturdy fellow, measured only five feet five inches, and weighed eleven stone four pounds. Cannon stood five feet ten inches, and weighed thirteen stone. The men were in the ring as early as eleven o’clock, Dolly being esquired by the veteran Caleb Baldwin and Dick Whale; Cannon attended by a couple of stout countrymen. The battle was half-minute time. Six to four on Smith offered.

Round 1.—Neither combatant seemed disposed to waste much time in sparring, and they went to work sans cérémonie. Cannon from his height, length, and strength, seemed completely to overshadow his opponent, but “Dolly,” not in the least dismayed, planted two heavy body hits, and fought at half-arm gaily, till in closing both were down.

2.—Both on their mettle, and some sharp blows exchanged. Dolly manœuvred cleverly till he hit up through Cannon’s guard, and gave him such a teazer on the side of the head, that it seemed to electrify the “bargee’s” upper works. He seemed confused for a few seconds, then went in a rattler, and fought till both were down, Dolly first to earth.

3 to 17.—During the whole of these rounds the combatants were far from being idle, and much severity of milling occurred. The claret had long made its appearance upon both their nobs, and their mugs had undergone some little change, from the repeated thumps they had reciprocally and liberally bestowed upon each other. Upon the whole, Dolly as yet might be said to stand forward in the most favourable point of view, and betting continued on him.

18.—In this round Dolly gained great applause, he fought his opponent in the most gallant style, and milled him in all directions, and, by way of finishing, planted such a tremendous hit in Cannon’s “middle piece,” that he went off his pins in such quickness of style, resembling more the celerity of a cannon shot than being floored by the fist of a man. (Loud shouting, and seven to four on Dolly.)

19 to 60 and last.—Punishment was the order of the day in all these rounds. The gaiety of Dolly never forsook him, and he contended against an opponent every way so superior with the most determined courage and manhood. It was a good fight throughout, and both men displayed true resolution. The claret flowed profusely, and both were so equally painted that it was remarked by a spectator they both belonged to one flock of sheep, they were so regularly “ruddled.” Their peepers were nearly obscured, and such a punishing mill has not been witnessed for a long time. One of Dolly’s arms was so much beaten, and his wrist so terribly sprained and puffed up, that he was reluctantly compelled to relinquish the contest at the expiration of an hour and four minutes.

Remarks.—Cannon was so much exhausted that, on his being declared the winner, he was led out of the ring, and upon being lifted into a coach by three men immediately fainted. The battle had scarcely finished one minute when a magistrate appeared to put an end to the sports; but his worship was politely informed there was no necessity for his functions then to be brought into action, as it was all over for that day. A great number of sporting men from the neighbouring counties and from London witnessed the encounter, and much money changed hands.

As this is not a record of sack-jumping, quoits, foot-racing, jumping, and cricket playing, we shall omit the contents of some pages of “Boxiana,” with the remark that Tom, who was good at all these, has numerous victories for small sums placed to his account during the seven years between 1810 and the mill with Dolly Smith just reported. For several years Cannon remained a spectator of prize battles, until fired with pugilistic ambition on witnessing the fight between Josh. Hudson and Jem Ward (November 11, 1823), he publicly announced his readiness to enter the ring with either of those boxers. The “John Bull Fighter” hearing of the circumstance, on meeting Cannon, asked him if the report was true. Tom replied in the affirmative, when Josh. instantly produced a “fiver,” which was covered by Cannon, to make a match for £200. At this period Mr. Hayne (known by the sobriquet of “Pea-green,” and his breach of promise with Miss Foote, Dowager Countess of Harrington) had just returned from the “grand tour,” and recollecting the numerous sporting feats of Cannon during the time he, the “Pea-green,” was one of the alumni of Eton, he became Tom’s patron and backer. Articles were drawn up at Mr. Clode’s New Inn, Windsor, April 26, 1824, in which Cannon agreed to fight Josh. for £100 a-side, on Wednesday, June 23, 1824, within forty miles of London. The match was laughed at by the fancy, as “a good thing” for Hudson, and the £100 looked upon as a “sweetener” to “keep his hand in” till he should grasp the championship.

On the appointed morn the Western road displayed a thick sprinkling of swells and equipages, the place selected being Yateby, in Hampshire, thirty-three and a half miles from London, on the borders of the counties of Berks and Bucks, in a field near Everfield Churchyard. Everything being ready, at a quarter to one Cannon entered the ring, in a dark drab great coat, and threw up his hat, followed by Tom Cribb and White-headed Bob as his seconds. He walked about with the utmost composure, and was loudly cheered by the audience. His legs were decorated with white silk stockings. In a few minutes afterwards Hudson appeared, supported by the President of the Daffy Club and “the Nonpareil,” threw up his “castor,” and rolled himself into the ring. Oliver and Randall were his attendants. During the time the combatants were preparing for action the backers of Hudson went round the ring offering two and a half and three to one; but the friends of Cannon were shy, and no takers were to be found. The colours, pink for Cannon and chocolate for Hudson, were tied to the stakes. The office was then given, and the men set-to.

Round 1.—On peeling, Cannon appeared so highly improved in condition as to excite the astonishment of every person present. He was cool and confident, and looked firm and “all right.” The “John Bull Fighter,” always “big,” in spite of the most rigid rules of training, was now bigger than ever; indeed, to use the words of a wag, who laughingly observed to his companion, “My dear fellow, you are mistaken as to Josh. Hudson going to fight; it’s Sir John Falstaff in buff.” On placing himself in attitude, Josh. smiled at his opponent, but still was cautious. Cannon tried to go to work, and let fly at Hudson’s victualling office, but the latter hero, to prevent a row in the interior, got away. The “Popper,” full of bustle, again tried it on, but, in a counter-hit, received an ogler that made his pimple shake again, and put him on the winking system. Hudson was anxious to administer pepper; but in rushing in he received a slight topper, and slipped down on one knee. Cannon lost no time, convinced the amateurs by his conduct that he was not the novice he had been previously represented, and kept hitting away sans cérémonie. We were surprised that Hudson did not finish the round by going down; as on his getting up he received a severe facer. A short pause. Cannon aimed a tremendous blow at his opponent’s nob, but he missed. (“Never mind that,” said Richmond; “he means to win it, and nothing else.”) Cannon showed he was not destitute of science; he got away from a slogger, but immediately commenced an exchange of blows, and had none the worst of it. Josh. stopped well, and also planted an ear-wigger, that rowed the upper works of Cannon. (A pause.) The bargeman went boldly up to his adversary to commence mischief, when Josh., in retreating, ran against the stake. Both the combatants found their way into the corner of the ring. Here a little fibbing occurred, and Josh., after a desperate struggle, succeeded in placing the Popper on the ground. (The East-enders in high spirits, cheered their hero, and offered five to two.)

2.—Hudson came piping to the scratch; his bad condition was visible to all the ring. He was no longer the smashing hero as to effective quality, and a pause was the result. He was now aware, but too late, that he had treated his adversary too lightly, and also that Cannon was not a novice as to prize milling. But, like a trump, acting upon the good maxim that “dangers retreat when boldly they’re confronted,” he stood up to his man with the true courage of a lion. Cannon, extremely active, endeavoured to take the lead; but Josh. made two good stops. The bargeman received a heavy topper; but he would not be denied. A desperate rally occurred, and the claret first made its appearance on Hudson’s lip. Josh. tried milling on the retreat; but the bargeman rushed upon him, bored Hudson to the ropes, and, after having the best of the hitting, got Josh. down, and fell heavily on his abdomen. (The Windsor folks and Johnny Raws now gave a loud shout for joy. “Why, Cannon, you fell on a soft place, didn’t you? a feather-bed, wasn’t it?”)

3.—The last fall distressed Hudson so much that he appeared scarcely to have a puff of wind left in his body; his face was also covered with claret. The mind of Josh. was eager to administer punishment; but his energy was leaving him fast. Cannon was determined to bustle the John Bull boxer, and attacked him gaily. The bargeman saw the exhausted situation of his opponent, and would not allow Hudson to recover himself. Josh. retreated, but fighting all the time, till he was bored to the ropes, when Cannon obtained the superiority so clearly, that Josh. was fibbed severely down. The East-enders were now on the funk: hopes and fears alternately succeeded; but disinterested spectators were satisfied that Cannon must win.

4.—This was a good round. The blows of Hudson were heavy; and Cannon found out, if not stopped, they were likely to prove dangerous. The bargeman put in a sharp hit in the wind which made Josh. blow again; however, Cannon’s mug showed the handiwork of Josh., and the claret was conspicuous about it. Another rally, hit for hit, but which ended to the advantage of Cannon, who again got Josh down. (The Windsor folks were full of joy, and opened their mouths as wide as barn-doors, vociferating, “You have done the job.”)

5.—Hudson, game as a pebble, stuck to his man like glue, and a terrible rally was the finishing stroke of the round. Both down; by a sudden effort of Hudson he threw Cannon over him.

6.—The bargeman was piping a little, but nothing in comparison to his opponent. Some ugly thumps passed on both sides. In struggling for the throw, Cannon was undermost. (“Well done, Josh.!”)

7.—Cannon found he had his work to do, although his adversary was so fat and out of condition. Josh. stopped his attempts; but Cannon bored in and nobbed Hudson. The latter in turn administered pepper; however, in closing, the strength of the bargeman gave him the best of it. He fibbed Hudson, got him across the ropes, and punished him down. (“Foul, foul!” “Fair, fair!”)

8.—This was a fighting round altogether; but if Josh. put in a heavy blow Cannon planted two for it. The John Bull boxer was punished terribly till down. Twelve minutes and a half.

9.—In this early stage of the fight the backers of Hudson saw, with tears in their ogles, that the chance was against him, therefore they now had only his game to stand upon. In closing, both down.

10.—In all the previous battles of Hudson he was never so roughly handled before, without returning the compliment. Josh. now felt that his own weight was too much for his legs, and he staggered about and missed two well-intended nobbers. Cannon, in a most determined and clever style, floored the John Bull Fighter like a shot. This blow operated like the shock of an earthquake upon the nerves of the backers of Josh.; their peepers seemed too big for their heads, and they stared like stuck pigs. (The odds were dropped, and Cannon decidedly the favourite.)

11.—Hudson had not strength enough to follow up his wishes; indeed, it was Sir John Falstaff in trouble. “Go it, my Joshy; it’s all your own.” “You can lick twenty countrymen yet.” “When you say ‘No,’ it will be a fine treat for Cannon;” and a thousand other things were uttered to inspire the John Bull Fighter with new ardour for conquest. But Josh. seemed to have lost all his chaffing—the customer before him was rather too serious for a joke, and his time was too much occupied to attempt to be funny. Hudson, full of pluck, endeavoured resolutely to take the lead, and certainly was mischievous; but the bargeman was too good: he had the best of it, and threw Josh. across the ropes.

12.—This round was unimportant. Cannon slipped, and fell down while attempting to plant a hit. (“He’s getting weak, Josh.; Cannon will soon cut it.” “Walker,” replied Tom Cribb. “Cut it, indeed; why, he’s won it. But never mind; go on, and you’ll soon find it out.”)

13.—This was a bang-up round on both sides, and Cannon full of mischief. A terrible rally; no favours asked; hit for hit given, till Hudson was almost abroad. In this rally Josh. put in a tremendous facer, that for an instant Cannon seemed almost at a stand-still, and in a state of stupor. He, however, recovered, and got Hudson down. The Windsor folks were now all happiness, laughing at the poor Cockneys and the knowing ones. During the time Cannon was on the ground he also showed great distress; and if Hudson had possessed anything like his strength in former battles, he might have gone in now with a great chance of winning. But poor Josh., on leaving the knee of his second, was twice as much exhausted as Cannon; the chance and betting was now six to four against him.

14.—Nothing else but hammering on both sides. Hudson tried the pepper-box, but the Cayenne was wanting. Josh. retreated from wisty-castors, but Cannon would not be denied. Hudson received a tremendous nobber that made his peepers roll again, and the upper works of Master Cannon were a little disordered. In closing, Hudson got his nob through the ropes, and in this unfortunate situation Cannon played upon it as on a drum till he was tired, and then let him down in a state of distress truly piteous.

15.—The exhausted state of Josh. at this period beggared description. A gasp of breath seemed worth “a hundred” to him, so dreadfully was he distressed. He was like a man almost suffocated with asthma. Yet, anxious for victory, in opposition to the powerful effects of nature against his mind, he came to the scratch full of pluck. Cannon determined to turn everything to good account, again put Josh. on the bustle. He closed with the John Bull Fighter, and fibbed him down till nearly all the wind in his body had deserted him. (Two to one on Cannon.)

16.—The bargeman had taken several good doses, and was a little sickish; but, nevertheless, he was the best man now—a guinea to a shilling. Hudson’s bottom was good to the end of the chapter; but it might be urged he was fighting for breath as well as for glory. It was impossible he could win: he was almost choked with fat. The bargeman planted a nobber that made the John Bull boxer quite abroad; fibbed him till he was tired, and finally floored Josh. with the utmost ease. The bargemen, the yokels, and the Windsor folk united in one general shout for Cannon, and offered any odds. It was Windsor Castle, the Great Park, and all the deer in the bargain, to a potato patch against Hudson, and no chance to win.

17 and last.—The exit of the John Bull boxer from the ropes was at hand. He was brought up to the scratch with great difficulty. Hudson still showed fight, but it was little more than putting up his hands. Cannon, very unlike a novice, saw there was no time to lose; he rushed in and administered pepper, then, with a tremendous blow on the side of the head, he floored his opponent. Oliver and Randall picked up Josh., but he was nearly insensible, and when time was called he could not come to the scratch. Some little demur took place, and also some time elapsed in debate between the umpires on the subject; but Spring being appealed to as a referee, decided that Cannon was the conqueror. The bargeman left the ring amidst the shouts of the populace, and was driven off the ground in the barouche of his patron, with the colours flying, etc.

Remarks.—

The John Bull Fighter defeated by an “outside” boxer in twenty minutes and a half. Tell it not in the West! Hear it not in the East! How are the mighty fallen! How will the yokels triumph! and how will the Cockneys get rid of their grief? It is a severe lesson for the John Bull Fighter. Want of condition was the ruin of Broughton. We trust it will not prove the overthrow of Joshua, and hope he will be remembered for what he has done, and have another shy to recover his lost laurel. In the above battle the only thing sound in the John Bull Fighter was his heart; and with all the dilapidating powers of Messrs. Sherry, Black Strap, and Co., added to their immense partnerships and overflowing capital of eau-de-vie, daffy, ginger-beer, heavy-wet, etc., they had not subdued that invaluable article, the heart of the brave but fallen Joshua Hudson. But it should seem that his friends, instead of training the John Bull of the P.R., rather adopted the mode pursued by the members of the Agricultural Society, in fattening prize animals for the Smithfield Show. We were told Hudson had nothing to fight against—a mere novice, a muff, a yokel; in fact, anything but a milling cove. Under this mistaken notion, the heart of Josh. intimated to him it was no matter if he was as big and as full of turtle-soup as an alderman, or possessed the rotundity of abdomen of a Falstaff. He had only to peel in the ring, show his laughing, jolly face, fight a few rounds to put the polish on his adversary, and the battle was his own. Josh. trusted alone to his heart, and if that only had been wanted, his out-and-out true courage doubtless would have brought him through the piece. If the truth can be ascertained, we verily believe he weighed nearly, if not quite, fifteen stone. He is almost twice as big at the present period as at the time he commenced fighting in 1816. It is true, Josh. cannot be compared to, or called a second Daniel Lambert; but it will not be disputed that he bears a great resemblance to George Colman’s “Two Single Gentlemen rolled into One.” In a word, want of condition prevented him from having a chance of winning the battle; but it is the opinion of many judges of prize-fighting that Cannon is too good a man for Josh. under any circumstances. This opinion, of course, remains to be decided. After the first round, it appeared to us that all his former gaiety of manner had left him; and towards the conclusion of the battle he hit completely round, scarcely knowing what he was about, and quite abroad. His fine courage never deserted him, and nature kept up the desire for glory to the last effort. In the ring Hudson did all that a man could perform. His backers have no right to find fault with him for being beaten, however they may feel disposed to quarrel with him for his neglect of training. Josh. was severely punished about the head: but all the milling he received in the battle was a trifle light as air compared to the punishment of his mind. The “Popper,” in reality, proved himself a Cannon, produced a loud report, went off well, hit numbers of persons much harder than they expected, and left the field of battle with the proud title of conqueror affixed to it. No man has been more mistaken in being termed “a novice” than Cannon: his conduct in the ring rather showed him master of the ground than otherwise, and he never let a chance escape him. He will prove an ugly customer for any antagonist. Cannon hits out, and hard too, with his left hand, not inferior to Josh. Hudson. The bargeman ought rather to be praised for his courage and his ambition, as things have turned out, than sneered at for his presumption. Cannon selected Hudson as an opponent, notwithstanding the high-sounding pretensions of the latter, and the great fame he had acquired in the milling circles, as a boxer worthy of his attack. In obtaining the victory, his judgment has proved to be correct. It is worthy of remark, that during the time of the battle between Ward and Hudson, Cannon loudly observed, “If they call this fighting, I think I can lick both of them.” And again, when in training at Virginia Water, he met with Langan, to whom he said, “I wish you was as sure of winning your fight as I am of beating Josh. Hudson.” Cannon is much indebted to his worthy patron, Mr. Hayne, for the high condition in which he entered the ring, and also for some valuable tuition. The veteran Bill Richmond, we believe, endeavoured to put Cannon awake to the movements of the ring; and White-headed Bob, who had him under his care while training, tried to make the bargeman “fly.” It is said Cannon’s ambition is gratified, and that he does not intend again to appear in the P.R.

We may here note that the same week that witnessed the downfal of Josh. Hudson saw the defeat of Barney Aaron by Arthur Matthewson, of Birmingham, and of Phil. Sampson, beaten by Jem Ward, a remarkable series of miscalculations by the knowing ones.

Hudson met Cannon in the spectators’ part of the Fives Court, at Richmond’s benefit (June 29, 1824), when he told the Windsor hero he would fight him in three months for £200 a-side. Cannon replied, “His master had said he should not fight under £500; but for himself, he should not mind fighting Josh. for any sum.” In consequence of this conversation, the following letter appeared in Pierce Egan’s Life in London.