“Sir,—In order that Baldwin’s (better known as White-headed Bob) journey may not be delayed an hour on my account, I take the earliest opportunity of acquainting him that it is not my intention to appear again in the Prize Ring at present. As he has declared he will fight no one but a winning man, he must excuse me if I am a little particular upon that point, as I have never been beaten.
“My determination is adopted in deference to the wishes of those of my friends by whom I consider it an honour to be guided, and who possess the strongest claims to my grateful respect. When it is recollected that I have fought and won three battles, besides receiving forfeit, within seven months, I trust the liberal portion of the sporting world will consider me entitled to a cessation from labour for the present.
“Sir,—It was with much surprise I saw a paragraph in the Dispatch of last Sunday stating that Cannon had declared, at Harry Holt’s, his readiness to fight me for five hundred pounds. He probably was not aware that in your paper of the 16th ult. I declared my intention not to appear in the Prize Ring at present; he may, therefore, save himself the trouble of again challenging me in my absence. I believe I may with safety claim the merit of being cool and steady in the ring, and I trust I shall always be firm and consistent out of it; and if I could be induced to change my mind, my late brave and manly antagonist, Baldwin, certainly claims the preference.
“If, however, Cannon is particularly anxious to fight me, and is not in a hurry, I am ready and willing to make a match with him for three hundred pounds, to be decided the first week in the next year, and shall be happy to meet him at any time or place, and put down a deposit of fifty pounds. If I hesitate to meet his terms, it is because I think five hundred pounds too great a sum to call upon my backers for, to contend against a man so much my superior in weight and height, and particularly one who aspires to the Championship of England—a title which, I believe, is a considerable distance from both of us. If, however, the chance of war should place the laurel upon his brow this year, I will endeavour the next to remove it to that of
Neale, in consequence of the above declaration, having plenty of time upon his hands, was induced to visit Ireland—not only as a tour of pleasure, but as a profitable spec., under the wing and mentorship of Pierce Egan. The Dublin Morning Post thus notices him:—
“The Fancy.—On Monday night there was a grand muster of the fancy at the Raquet Court, Winetavern Street, for the benefit of Neale and Larkin. They were patronised by an immense number of swells and tip-top Corinthians of this city. O’Neal, the big Irishman, displayed a ‘pretty considerable’ deal of science in a set-to with his trainer, Pat Halton. Larkin next put on the gloves, and gave a newly-arrived Corkonian a dose that may probably induce him to relinquish any relish he might have had for the pugilistic profession. Minor candidates then mounted the stage; they forgot, in their ardour for punishing, that a good boxer, like a good reader, always minds his stops. Just as the meeting was about dissolving, a sprig named Jackson, anxious to gather some ‘Olympic dust,’ challenged any man in the ring to a turn-up for fun. Neale, the Streatham Youth, who was standing near him, offered his services, merely for the pleasure of accommodating the young customer, whom he soon convinced of having been under a mistake with respect to his prowess. Five times did Ned treat the ‘aspiring youth’ to a smashing facer, and five times did the boasting would-be pugilist (Jackson) fall to his mother earth—
“To the Sporting World.—Ned Neale, the Streatham Youth, will have the honour, on Monday night (for the first time in this kingdom), of soliciting the patronage of his countrymen, at Fishamble Street Theatre. He begs leave to state—and he trusts it will not be considered egotism in him to mention it—that he has already contested the palm in eight battles, with eight different candidates belonging to the Prize Ring of London, and as yet he has not been the cause of a stigma on his country. On this occasion a correct representation of that famed spot Moulsey Hurst, with a view of a wood. In the foreground the ring, with umpires, seconds, bottle-holders, fighting men, &c., &c. He begs to state that Pat Halton, who is backed to fight the Chicken on the 4th of August, has, assisted by all the first-rates of this city, offered his services for this night only. A youth from Cork, named Donovan, will appear, who wishes it known that he will peel with any man in the world of his own weight. Ned begs leave to add that no exertion on his part shall be wanting to show as much and as good sport as possible to those friends who may honour him on Monday evening with their company. Boxes, 3s. 3d.; Pit, 2s. 2d.; Gallery, 1s. 1d. Doors open at seven, and sparring commences at half-past seven o’clock.”
Neale, on his return to England, made the happiest match of his life, in which the “Ring” was also concerned, and, singular to remark, the name of Baldwin was attached to the register as a witness. It was thus announced in the journals of the day: “Fancy Marriage.—Married, on Wednesday, June 29th, 1825, at St. Luke’s, Old Street Road, Mr. Edward Neale to Miss Mary Weston. The happy pair, after a sumptuous breakfast at Bob Watson’s, the ‘Castle,’ Finsbury, started for Margate to spend the honeymoon.”
Neale was now installed Boniface of the “Black Bull,” Cow Lane, Smithfield, one of the many old inns swept away by the modern Farringdon Road and Smithfield improvements.
Sampson, who was always a restless and quarrelsome fellow, was continually taunting Neale upon his “judicious retirement,” &c., and at length, after some quires of correspondence, Neale declared his readiness to accommodate him, to finally set at rest the question of “best man.” Articles were signed to meet in June, 1826, and at the signature Neale backed himself for an even £50.
The next week brought an afflicting event. In March, 1826, Mrs. Neale died in childbed, and on the night of the second deposit at Holt’s, Sampson, in a handsome and feeling manner, declared he should not claim forfeit, and that the third deposit should be made as the second, on that day month. The friends of Neale, however, declined the postponement, and forfeited the money down. Thus matters rested until the month of August, when Neale declared himself ready to meet Sampson for not less than £200 a-side. The articles, now before us, run literally thus:—
“The said Edward Neale agrees to fight the said Philip Sampson a fair stand-up fight in a four-and-twenty foot ring, half-minute time, for £200 a-side, on Tuesday, the 12th day of December, 1826. In furtherance of this agreement £10 a-side are now deposited in the hands of Mr. Pierce Egan. A further deposit of £40 a-side to be made good on Wednesday, the 4th October, at Harry Holt’s, the ‘Cross,’ in Cross Lane, Long Acre. A third deposit of £60 a-side to be made good on Tuesday, the 7th of November, at Edward Neale’s, the ‘Black Bull,’ Cow Lane, Smithfield. And the fourth and last deposit, of £100 a-side, to be made good on Tuesday, the 5th of December, at Josh. Hudson’s, the Half Moon Tap, Leadenhall Market. The fight to take place within thirty miles of London, Mr. Egan to name the place of fighting. The men to be in the ring between twelve and one o’clock; and in the event of failure on either side to comply with the terms of these articles, the party failing to forfeit the money down. Two umpires and a referee to be chosen on the ground, and if any dispute shall arise, the decision of the referee to be conclusive, and the battle-money to be given up accordingly.
On Tuesday, December 12th, 1826, at South Mimms Wash, Middlesex, fifteen miles from London, this interesting contest was decided. Sampson was thought by his friends to have improved considerably in frame and science since his second contest with Jem Ward—nay, so much so that he was placed as the “second best” on the list of pugilists; indeed, to make use of Sampson’s own words, he acknowledged Jem Ward as his master, but styled himself “foreman to the champion.” In calculating the advantages he possessed over the Streatham Youth, three points were considered in his favour—length, height, and weight; and another point was added by some—the best fighter. Sampson’s immediate friends therefore booked his winning as a certainty, urging, as a proof of their good opinion, that Neale had never beaten or stood before so capital a boxer as Sampson. The latter pugilist also supported this opinion by offering to take long odds that he won the fight in fifteen minutes, and without a black eye. Equally confident were the friends of Neale. They urged that Ned had always proved himself a conqueror, and acted upon the general rule adopted by sporting men—always to back a winning horse and a winning man to the end of the chapter. Five and six to four were betted in numerous instances upon the Streatham Youth.
As the time of fighting drew near the interest upon the battle increased, and large sums of money were sported on the event. At the John Bull Fighter’s dinner, when the whole of the four hundred sovereigns were made good, Sampson and Neale met, but not upon the most friendly terms. Sampson informed the company that he had heard Neale had spoken of him in a disrespectful manner, and he now gave him the opportunity of offering a contradiction to the aspersions he had made upon his character. Neale, with considerable warmth, replied: “You behaved unmanly to me in my own house, Sampson, while I was in a bad state of health, and I will never forgive you till you and I have decided our fight in the ring. Give me five pounds and I will bet you one hundred that I lick you.” To prevent an open row it was judged necessary by the backers of both of the men that they should separate as soon as possible.
Every precaution was used to select a secure place for fighting; and after an assurance that it was likely no interruption would take place, Dunstable Downs was the spot appointed. Sampson left the “Crown” at Holloway, his residence during the time of his training, on the Wednesday previous to the battle, and took up his quarters at the “Posting House,” in Market Street. Neale did not leave the house of his backer at Norwood until Monday morning, when he was placed, on his arrival in London, under the care of Mr. William Giles. Neale, in company with the gay little Boniface of the first market in the world, and Harry Holt, in a post-chaise, reached the Crown Inn at Dunstable about eight in the evening of the Monday.
It might have been anticipated that in consequence of Sampson having pitched his tent in the neighbourhood of the scene of action, a buzz would be created that a prize-fighter was on the spot, and the magistrates would become acquainted with the circumstance. It proved so, for on the Monday morning a notice was sent that he must not fight in the counties of Bedford and Buckingham. This information got wind early on the Monday afternoon, and the town of Dunstable, which otherwise would have been filled to an overflow, was completely spoilt, as the amateurs preferred halting at Redburn and Market Street to proceeding forward on a matter of doubt.
During the whole of the night carriages filled with persons were on the road. An hour before daylight another magistrate arrived in Dunstable, in his gig, declaring himself a magistrate for three counties, and that no mill should take place in Bedfordshire, Buckinghamshire, or Hertfordshire. On his meeting with Sampson, Phil promised the gent he would not exhibit in either of the proscribed counties. It therefore became necessary to hold a council of war. Sampson wished to proceed to Stony Stratford, as a spot where no interruption was likely to take place, but Pierce Egan, on whom the selection of the ground had devolved, decided for Middlesex, acting upon the articles agreed to, which stated the fight was to be within thirty miles of London. The office being given “towards home,” confusion began, and “The devil take the hindmost,” was the word. The northern stage coaches were all filled inside and out, for the sudden turn round had nearly thrown most of the passengers bound for the fight out of distance. All the post-chaises and horses had been previously hired, so nothing else was left to numerous persons, with plenty of cash in their purses, but to toddle for miles through mud, slush, and heavy showers, to the scene of action. It was truly laughable to see lots of heavy swells, with their thick upper toggery tucked up under their arms, trudging along as if pursued by an enemy, their brows covered with perspiration, and their hinder parts splashed with dirt. The muster of the motley group was immense, and the turn-out of Corinthians more numerous than had been seen for months past at a fight. A crowd of fours-in-hand, tandems, curricles, post-chaises and fours, cabriolets, gigs, drags, &c., were all trying to get the best of each other to be early on the ground, and so obtain a good place. At length Mimms Wash appeared in view, a large sheet of water, when Bill Gibbons dashed through the stream with as much sang froid as if he had been crossing a kennel in the streets of London. “We are not going to be outdone by the Ould One!” exclaimed some costermongers, following Bill, and suffering for their temerity by going head over heels in the muddy water mixture, to the no small chaffing and laughter of the crowd. Several pedestrians, regardless of cold or consequences, waded the Wash with as much indifference as if it had been a summer’s day. A swell, who had plunged in up to his middle, invited his fellow-travellers to accompany him through the flood, exclaiming: “I’m a philosopher! Come along! Follow me. I’m not wet at all. You only fancy it is water!” But even this logic had not the desired effect, and his companions preferred being conveyed across the Wash in a coach. The ring was soon made, upon a rising spot of ground in a field hard by, and at a quarter past two o’clock Sampson threw his hat into the ring, amidst loud cheers, followed by his second and bottle-holder, Jem Ward and Jem Burn. Neale soon afterwards repeated the token of defiance, attended by Josh Hudson and Harry Holt. Sampson deliberately tied his colours (pink) upon the stakes; and Holt placed the dark blue bird’s eye for Neale upon those of his opponent. The men were not long in peeling, and at twenty-five minutes after two they shook hands, and the battle commenced.
Round 1.—Both men appeared in excellent condition. Sampson was quite tip-top, but Neale, it was thought, was not exactly weight—that is to say, what he ought to have been—and the judges hinted he was rather thin. The attitudes of the combatants claimed attention; in fact, the contrast was singular. Neale held his left hand firmly above his nob, operating as a kind of office that he was perfectly aware of the danger of the Strong Man’s right mauley. Sampson’s guard was low, but his ogles were on the alert, and he kept a good look-out to do mischief. In most fights, the first round, if not tedious, is generally expected to show superiority of science in one of the men as the first blow is considered of consequence; but in this instance it was extreme caution against extreme caution. Sampson, however, had previously asserted that only let him have the chance of getting Neale before him in the ring, and he would cut his nob to pieces. Such is the difference between theory and practice; Sampson soon found out the difficulty of going to work off-hand with his clever opponent; and Neale, like that great master in the art of war, the Duke of Wellington, was determined not to give away a chance, and preferred the retreating system. Several minutes were occupied in making offers, retreating, dodging, and pacing all over the ring without any effect, Neale jumping back from every attempt of Sampson. The goodness of Ned upon his pins attracted the attention of all spectators. After numerous attempts to do “summat,” Neale having retreated to a corner of the ring, Sampson went in and planted a slight facer. Ned, having no opportunity to make a hit, closed with his adversary. In struggling for the throw, Sampson down and undermost. (The Streathamites opened their chaffing-boxes, and gave him the benefit of their red rags, by repeated shouts of approbation.)
2.—The left arm of Neale was again raised, and Sampson could not make him out. The latter boxer did not at all seem prepared for the mode of defence resorted to by his adversary. Neale, it should seem, had made up his mind to a certain mode of fighting, and was not, by any stratagem of Sampson, to be led away from it. Neal kept walking round his adversary, anxious to obtain an opening, and retreating when anything like danger showed itself. It was remarked by a spectator that “if the one was afraid, the other dared not commence fighting.” Several minutes passed away in looking at each other, and in making feints. Phil at length went to work, but missed a slashing hit, which was calculated to have done mischief. Neale returned, but it was not effective. In closing, Neale threw Sampson heavily. (“Bravo, Neale!” from his partisans.)
3.—Sampson eyed his opponent from head to foot. Both combatants were tired of holding up their arms, or appeared to be so, and Sampson, finding nothing was to be done, dropped his guard, and stood still. Neale also crossed his arms, and viewed his opponent. In fact, it was a complete suspension of hostilities—the spectators at length, became impatient, and expressed their disapprobation. Each man several times made himself up to do mischief, and every peeper was upon the stretch to witness some hits, instead of which retreating was again the order of the day. Sampson, in following Neale, got the latter boxer again in the corner of the ring, when he hit out right and left, and caught Neale on the mug, but Ned returned the compliment. In closing, Sampson went down on his knees, and brought down Neale with him. Odds were betted on Neale.
4.—“He’ll go to work soon,” said Ward, pointing to Sampson, “and give Neale a slogger.” “I should like to see it,” said an old ring-goer; “I never saw such a mill before!” “I call it anything but fighting,” replied a third. The men looked at each other, and Sampson, with all his cleverness and experience, could not put Neale off his mode of fighting. An exchange of blows, but no mischief. Sampson made a good stop, or his wind-market must have been disturbed. Neale, however, got another turn, and planted a rum one on Sampson’s canister. (Loud shouting from Neale’s friends.) Sampson missed one of his wisty-casters at the nob of his opponent, or Ned’s upper works might have been in chancery. In closing, Sampson endeavoured to fib his adversary. Ned was thrown, Sampson uppermost.
5.—This was a short round. Neale rushed in and got Sampson down.
6.—A little bit of fighting this bout. Sampson tried all he knew, but Neale would not be had, and got away from all his opponent’s feints. After some manœuvring Sampson again had Neale in the corner of the ring, and planted one of his heavy right-handed hits on his temple. Ned for an instant appeared stunned, and fell on his knees, but jumped up directly to renew the fight. Hudson, however, pulled him down on his knee, and the round was finished.
7.—After some little dodging about the ring, each crossed his arms and stood still. Barney Aaron begged the fight might be put off, and begun again the next day with daybreak. “No, no,” exclaimed an Old One, “recollect there’s moonlight.” “I am happy,” exclaimed Josh, “that I am a patient man.” These, and a thousand such remarks, occurred all round the ring, but still the combatants were not roused into action. (“Come,” said Sampson to Neale, “why don’t you fight?”—“When I like,” answered Ned; “you begin, I’ll soon be with you.”) This round was tediously long. Counter-hitting, Neale planted a sharp blow on Sampson’s nob, and the latter returned with his right. (“He can’t make a dent in a pound of butter, Sampson. Go to work, and hit him as you did me,” said Jem Burn.—“Be quiet,” said Harry Holt; “look to your man. It’s as safe as if it was over.” This latter remark seemed to make Sampson angry, and with a sneer he observed, “What signifies what a fellow like you says?”—“I’ll give you one presently for that,” answered Neale; “he is my second, so you don’t like him.”) Neale napped a heavy one to all appearance on his head; but Sampson received a smart body blow. A variety of feints—great preparation—retreating, but no blows. In closing, Sampson fibbed his antagonist slightly. Both down, Neale undermost. The friends of Sampson here gave him a chevy for luck. During the short space of time Neale sat upon Josh’s knee, he said to him, “Sampson is but a light hitter.”—“Well, then,” replied the John Bull Fighter, “there can be no mistake about your winning!”
8.—Sampson said “First blood!” pointing to a slight scratch near Neale’s mouth. “Don’t be foolish,” replied Hudson; “it is only a touch of the scurvy on his cheek—a pimple irritated.” Neale stopped in style a tremendous right-handed hit. A pause. Sampson made a stunning hit on the head of his opponent, which nearly turned Ned round. (“What, you’ve caught it at last,” said Jem Ward, rubbing his hands. “Another blow like that, and good night to you, Master Neale.”—“Walker,” replied Josh. “Why, Jemmy, you are all abroad, to talk so!”) In closing, Sampson obtained the throw.
9.—This was an excellent fighting round. After the numerous standstills which had occurred—feints, getting away, &c.—Neale seemed quite ripe for execution. Sampson received a rum one on his listener, but returned cleverly on Neale’s index. Some good stopping occurred upon both sides, and it appeared to the spectators that the fight had just commenced. Neale stopped one of Sampson’s tremendous right-handed hits so well that several persons exclaimed, “Beautiful!” Sampson missed one or two blows. A short rally occurred, when Sampson went down from a slight hit. Ned, as yet, had scarcely the slightest mark of punishment. His friends were satisfied he was so good upon his pins that he would wear out his opponent if it came to staying.
10.—Neale saw an opening, and without hesitation turned it to his advantage. He commenced milling with severity, and planted two good hits. He also repeated the dose by a heavy right-handed hit on the jaw of his opponent, which took Sampson off his legs as if shot. He was picked up by his second like a log of wood. His eyes were closed, and his nob was swinging on his shoulder as if it did not belong to his body. “It is all U P,” was the cry—“the Strong Man is done over.” Any odds in favour of Neale. Ward endeavoured to keep Sampson’s head steady, and led him to the scratch.
11, and last.—Sampson appeared incapable of keeping his legs, neither did he attempt to put up his arms. He was of no use. Neale, by way of finisher, planted a light blow, and Sampson again measured his length upon the grass. When time was called, Sampson did not leave the knee of his second. Holt threw up the hat, and victory was declared in favour of Neale; Sampson observing he would “fight no more,” when asked by Ward, and requesting his second to take him out of the ring. Neale jumped about the ground for joy, and soon left the ring for London, neither fatigued nor hurt. Sampson was taken by some of his Birmingham friends to Market Street. The fight lasted one hour and six minutes.
Remarks.—That this fight was not a good one was certainly not the fault of Neale. He expected, from the boast of Sampson, that he would go in and win off-hand, or fall in the attempt. Hence Ned’s over-caution, as it proved. Neale never was a showy pugilist; on the contrary, he was steady, cautious, and safe. Sampson, when he found he could not confuse his man by impetuosity, fell off sadly, and the affair, which it was anticipated would be a rattling fight, became a tedious succession of bouts of sparring, with short intervals of hitting, in which Neale was slowly but surely establishing his superiority, and Sampson was beaten against his will.
Many of the friends of Cannon, the “Great Gun of Windsor,” were of opinion that their man was just the sort of pugilist to “make Ned fight.” Accordingly a proposal was made for a meeting for a stake of £200 a-side, and accepted by Neale. On Tuesday, February 20th, 1827, the men met at Warfield, in Berkshire. The morning was intensely cold, and both men appeared at the ring-side with their nobs covered with Welsh wigs, Neale having slept overnight at the “Crown,” in Windsor, and Cannon driven over from his training quarters, the New Inn, at Staines. The men shook hands with smiling cordiality, each assuring the other he “felt quite well.” The colours were then tied to the stakes, a blue bird’s-eye for Neale, and crimson with a white spot for Cannon. Peter Crawley and Harry Harmer waited upon Cannon, Harry Holt and Josh Hudson on Neale.
Round 1.—The Great Gun, on stripping, showed excellent condition; but in spite of good skin training, age cannot be concealed; and Cannon, according to the exclamation of “The Gas,” was “an old man.” The fact is that Neale was not yet twenty-three years of age, while Cannon had passed his thirty-sixth! Cannon appeared cheerful, smiling, and confident. The body of Neale was covered with spots, like a leopard—his condition was anything but good; he had a slight cold, and his flesh was soft; yet the grand points in his favour were youth, and a “heart in the right place.” On setting-to, Cannon did not display that bull-dog sort of eagerness which characterised his efforts in his second battle with the John Bull Fighter, but he was upon the alert, ready to punish, and anxious to obtain an opening. Cannon commenced offensive operations, but his wary opponent “would not have it,” and got away. Cannon tried it again, but it would not do; Ned endeavoured to plant a hit, but the Great Gun was not to be had, and retreated from mischief. Sparring on both sides, but no hitting. Neale at length went to work, and with his left mauley slightly touched his opponent’s canister; Cannon returned sharply. A short struggle occurred, and Cannon went down.
2.—The milling qualities of the Great Gun were prominent, and he was upon the bustle to do business; but Ned was “up and dressed,” and his left hand again told upon his opponent’s mug. Cannon was not behindhand, and some sharp blows were exchanged. Milling on the retreat (after Tom Cribb’s successful mode) was now adopted by Neale; he planted a tremendous blow under the listener of his adversary, and the claret followed profusely. If this heavy blow had been a little lower, it might have been “Good night to the Great Gun!” Cannon, rather confused and wild, rushed in to work—he obtained the throw, Neale went down, and Cannon also; in falling, his nob came in contact with the stakes. Neale was the hero of the tale.
3.—Cannon, like nothing but a game man, appeared at the scratch smiling. This was a short round. The Great Gun tried to fire a heavy shot, and boldly went up to his man; but the Youth hooked him round his neck, and endeavoured to fib. Cannon proved himself the stronger man, got Neale down, and fell on him.
4.—The Streatham Youth got away from mischief, and made good use of his pins. Some blows were exchanged, when they closed. A desperate struggle occurred for the throw; both down, Neale undermost.
5.—The Great Gun, as gay as a lark, went to work, but napped a conker; yet he would not be denied, and a sharp rally was the result. Some heavy hits were exchanged: the fire proving too hot, Ned turned round from mischief; the Great Gun pursued him, when Neale turned and rushed to the attack; some clumsy thumps passed. In closing, Ned had the best of it, but fell on his head. Neale was much shaken by the fall.
6.—The Great Gun was all for fighting, and kept to his work. Neale was ready, but nevertheless kept a good look-out. In a rally, both their faces napped punishment, but Ned retreated in style. In struggling for the throw, both down, Neale undermost.
7.—The weakness of the Streatham Youth was visible to his friends, but they still felt satisfied he must win. A good rally, and Cannon up to the mark, giving hit for hit. In closing, they both stood still, trying to hold the hands of each other. Ned broke away, and tipped it to Cannon in his victualling office; he ultimately obtained the throw, and the Great Gun came down on his nob, a shaker. (“Neale for a thousand!”)
8.—The Great Gun showed distress on appearing at the scratch. Ned tried to be with him, but Cannon closed in by catching Neale round the neck. The fibbing system was adopted by Ned, and upon Cannon getting the worst of it he dropped upon his knees. The coolness of Neale was here seen to great advantage; he was in the act of hitting, when he stopped himself and held up his arms, amidst loud cheers from all parts of the ring. (“Bravo, Ned! well done, it’s manly!”)
9.—The Great Gun was rather unsteady; but his pluck was as good as gold. The science of Neale gave him great advantages, although he was out of condition; he watched the movements of Cannon with the keen eye of a general till it answered his purpose to commence fighting. Ned planted a facer, but Cannon countered. In closing, holding of hands to prevent punishment was again the feature; and Neale was so weak that he could not get the best of his opponent in his usual workman-like style. The struggle became long and desperate, when the Great Gun went down undermost.
10.—This round was all in favour of Ned. He planted a rum one on the muzzle of the Great Gun, repeated the dose with his left, then brought in his right to great advantage. In closing Cannon did his best to grasp his opponent firmly; but Neale broke away cleverly, and planted a heavy body blow with his right hand. Cannon fought his way into another close; in struggling both down, the Streatham Youth undermost.
11.—The Great Gun wanted breath, and sparred for time, but anxious not to be idle, went to work. Ned was ready for him, and some blows were exchanged. Cannon rushed in determined, as it were, to have the fall. In struggling he threw his opponent, although he went down himself. Neale’s nob came in sharp contact with the ground, his face underwent a momentary change, and he appeared hurt by the fall. He rested his head upon the back of his bottle-holder, and his friends became alarmed for the consequences. But when time was called, he was ready.
12.—Neale seemed anxious to recover the accident, and put in with the utmost ease two teasers on Cannon’s nob, right and left, that made his pimple shake again. A sharp rally followed, and “Jack was as good as his master.” It was Millers’ Place, Cannon Row, and Pepper Alley, all brought down from town. Neale had the worst of the punishment; he, however stuck close to his man. Cannon was sent out of the ropes, and Ned also went down.
13.—Good on both sides; Cannon always ready, and no flincher. In fact, he appeared as cheerful as if he was at work on the river. Neale got away from mischief, but Cannon would follow him, till a rally was the result. In closing Cannon received a cross-buttock that shook him seriously.
14.—Neale was much distressed, and the Great Gun tried to have the best of him by bustling. In closing he got Neale’s nob under his arm; and the latter, for a short time, could not release himself from his perilous situation. (“Bravo, Cannon, now’s your time! you have got him—don’t let him go!”) Cannon at length let Neale down. The backers of the Great Gun flattered themselves the chance was in their favour, and actually took him at evens.
15.—Neale, aware of his weakness, acted upon the defensive; and Cannon went to work, as the best means to turn the tide. The Great Gun, in closing, again caught hold of Neale, the latter trying to hold the hands of his opponent. In this unpleasant situation, both to themselves and the spectators, they continued for a minute, until quite exhausted they both went down, Neale undermost; Cannon for choice, and some were jolly enough to offer 5 to 4.
16.—The Great Gun, acting under the advice of his seconds, endeavoured to have his opponent upon the bustling system, and went to work. He bored Neale to the ropes, and here another disagreeable struggle took place, both for a short time hanging upon the ropes, till they fell outside of the ring. The Great Gun was undermost. (“Cannon for ever!” was the cry. “He can’t lose it! The battle is changed! 6 to 4 on the Great Gun!”)
17.—At the scratch Cannon appeared the fresher man of the two. Ned was out of wind, and sparring was necessary for both. Neale tried his right hand, but without effect. A cessation of arms for a short period, and both on the look-out. Cannon at length rushed upon Neale with an intent of punishment, but Ned, wide awake, retreated, followed by his opponent. At the ropes Cannon went to work, but Ned put on the stop capitally. The Streatham Youth broke ground, when Cannon would not be denied, but he napped a facer. In closing Ned threw Cannon, and fell upon him severely.
18.—The Great Gun, rather unsteady, bored in to punish his adversary; but Neale, who was now getting better, made use of his pins to great advantage, and got away with ease. One severe facer Cannon napped, a second followed without any return, and a third finished the round, the claret running from Cannon’s nose, when he fell exhausted. (Loud shouting for Neale, and 6 to 4 on him.)
19.—Cannon was game to the backbone, and appeared at the scratch like a trump. Neale, with great judgment, made himself up to do something good; he viewed his adversary well, then let fly a tremendous nobber, which sent Cannon staggering back to the ropes; Ned followed him and threw him heavily.
20.—Neale was on his mettle; he commenced play with his right with good effect, and Cannon’s nob met punishment. The Great Gun was now reduced to a little gun, nevertheless he showed fight like a brave man, by returning hits. Ned put in another severe facer, and in closing Cannon went down on his back, Neale upon him. (2 to 1, and no takers.)
21.—Cannon came up quite groggy, but the fight was not out of him. The courage and game he displayed were admirable, and he earned the praise of all spectators. But in boxing term he was of “no use.” Ned put in a nobber that almost stunned him, and Cannon staggered about like a drunken man. In closing, Ned again obtained the throw, and the fall was indeed severe. Cannon lay on the ground, declining to be lifted up till the call of “time.”
22, and last.—The Great Gun came up like nothing but an out-and-outer, but his shot was not point-blank, and he swerved and reeled unsteadily. Neale put in a left-handed push, when the Great Gun rolled through the ropes and fell outside. He was in a state of stupor. His seconds brought him into his corner, but while they were busy the umpire declared he had not answered the call of “time.” The referee agreed, and the victory was declared to Neale. The battle lasted only thirty minutes. Neale cut several capers at the announcement, and returned to his carriage, while the defeated man was taken to his quarters at Staines.
Remarks.—The report here given leaves little room for comment. Cannon, whose courage had “moulted no feather,” was beaten by freshness, activity, and a better style of boxing than his own. This was his last fight, and thus, after his defeat by Jem Ward, the once formidable bargeman, like many another champion who has “trusted to the energy of a waning age,” furnished one more instance of the truism that “youth will be served.”
At Sam Tebbutt’s opening dinner on the occasion of his taking the “Bull’s Head,” Saffron Hill (another of the demolished purlieus of Old Smithfield), Uncle Ben expressed his “Nevvy’s” desire to meet Neale once more in the lists, provided Ned would deposit £250 against £200 of “mine uncle’s” money. Neale closed with the proposal, and posted £10, but Neale’s principal backer considering the conditions imprudent, he wrote from Brighton, whither he had gone, forfeiting the £10 down.
A few weeks afterwards, however, articles were signed at the “Castle,” Holborn, for Neale to fight Jem Burn, £120 to £100, and the day fixed for Tuesday, Nov. 13th, 1827. So confident was Neale of the result that he named Monday, Nov. 12th (the day before the fight), for his benefit at the Tennis Court. After the sparring, Neale, accompanied by Harry Holt, started for Bagshot, to be near the proposed field of action.
Early on Tuesday morning the road to Staines was covered with all sorts of vehicles from London, and Shirley’s, the New Inn was overflowing with first-rate company. Winkfield Plain, in Berkshire, was the spot in view, and the fancy lost no time in surrounding the ring. Near the appointed hour Jem Burn threw his hat into the ropes, accompanied by Tom Belcher and Tom Cannon as his seconds. Neale was close at his heels, and delivered his tile with the utmost confidence, attended by Josh Hudson and Harry Holt. The colours—blue, with a white spot, for Ned, and a Belcher handkerchief for Burn, were tied to the stakes. The men shook hands smilingly, and at eight minutes past one commenced
Round 1.—On peeling, Jem looked the picture of health. He weighed thirteen stone, and was three inches taller than his adversary. Neale did not exactly answer the expectations of his friends; he looked pale, and his back and bosom were covered with a scorbutic eruption. Ned did not exceed twelve stone. He held his left hand remarkably high in defence, and in every other point seemed prepared for attack. Burn kept manœuvring to obtain an opening, but Neale was too wary to give a chance away. Jem at length let fly at the body, but Neale was away. Jem then tried left and right, but Neale, as before, got out of mischief. Burn, puzzled, made another attempt with his left hand, which alighted slightly on Ned’s left ogle. Neale, in return, endeavoured to plant a heavy right-handed hit on the nob, but it fell short on the shoulder. Burn, anxious to do some execution, again let fly right and left, but out of distance. Ned took advantage of the mistake, went in to his man, and by a heavy right-handed blow on the side of his head, floored Burn like a shot. First event for the Streatham Youth.
2.—Jem came well up to the scratch, and commenced offensive operations right and left, but Ned, laughing, said it was “no go,” and got out of the way of mischief like a skilful tactician, yet instantly returned to the attack, when Jem napped another floorer, to the great joy of the Streathamites. The Yorkites began to look blue.
3.—Jem could not measure his distance, and again threw his blows away, when Neale went in to punish sans cérémonie. (“Hit with him,” says Tom Belcher. “Yes,” replied Josh, “he will get much the best of that.”) Burn stopped some hits, and returned on Neale’s nob. The latter, however, soon resumed the lead. Jem was once more sent down with comparative ease, and Neale rested himself on his second’s knee.
4.—Short but sweet to the Streatham Youth; Jem could not plant his blows, when Neale put in a throttler which sent Burn down in a twinkling. It is impossible to describe the exultation of the friends of Neale. Two to one offered.
5.—This was more a wrestling than a fighting round; both combatants were down side by side.
6.—Neale seemed perfectly awake to every move of his adversary, and got out of trouble with the utmost sang froid. In closing, Jem struggled hard, and both down.
7.—Jem endeavoured to plant two well-meant hits, but the science of Neale rendered them harmless. After a little manœuvring, Ned went to work, when Jem was soon sent down on his latter end.
8.—Jem had a small slice of luck at the opening of this round, by planting a left-handed hit on the right peeper of Neale, which produced a slight tinge of the claret. (“First blood,” was claimed by the friends of Jem, but the Streatham Youth laughed, and said, “I shall soon make that even.”) A sharp rally concluded the round, in which Jem threw many blows away, while Ned administered pepper until Jem went down staggering.
9.—Burn endeavoured to do something, but his blows generally fell short. Ned was always with his adversary upon the slightest mistake, and Jem was ultimately down.
10.—This was a well-fought round on both sides. Jem’s right hand told on the side of Ned’s head, and several other blows of Burn were also planted with effect, when Ned fell on the ropes and went down. (“Go along, Jem! that’s the way to win! Keep it up, my lad,” from his backers.)
11.—Burn put on the stopper well; and in closing Burn got down cleverly from the fibbing system attempted by his adversary.
12.—The nob of Jem looked rather the worse for wear; but he planted some slight facers. Neale fought his way into a rally, had the best of it, and in closing Burn was down.
13.—Jem went to work rather wild, but planted a hit or two. Ned, however, was with him, and dropped Burn by a blow in the mouth, like a shot.
14.—This round proved extremely serious to the Burnites. The combatants soon got into a rally, in which the blows of Neale operated like cannon-shot, till Jem was quite abroad, and went down of no use. (This severe punishment operated so severely upon the feelings of Uncle Ben that he fell on his back on the ground dreadfully convulsed. Several men who immediately ran to render Uncle Ben assistance could scarcely hold him during the time he was bled by a surgeon. On his recovery, he was immediately conveyed to Staines, and put to bed in a very exhausted state of body and mind.)
15.—Jem appeared at the scratch quite in a groggy state. The pepper-box was again administered in the most effectual manner by Neale; resistance seemed almost out of Jem’s power, until he once more measured his length on the grass.
16.—Burn could not measure his distances, and fought wildly. Ned had it all his own way, punishing right and left, until Jem was down.
17, 18, 19.—In all these rounds Jem not only napped it in all manner of directions, but was sent down.
20.—Burn missed a well-aimed left-handed blow at the head of his opponent, when Neale, in return, planted a tremendous hit on his sensitive box, which not only produced the claret freely, but floored him. (Any odds, but no takers.)
21.—The quality of game could not be denied to Jem; he stood and took the milling like a receiver-general. He was knocked off his pins without any ceremony.
22.—The left hand of Neale met Jem bang in the middle of the head, which produced the claret in torrents, as he measured his length on the grass.
23.—Jem hit down before he had scarcely got up his arms.
24.—Jem slipped down by accident.
25.—Burn was piping, and almost abroad; but Belcher was on the alert to keep Jem at his work. (“Be ready, my dear boy,” cried Tom; “hit with him, he’s coming.” “Yes,” replied the John Bull Fighter, “Ned is coming, and your man will soon be going—or rather, like the auctioneer, gone!”) Neale received a facer which produced the claret; but he returned the favour with interest, and Jem was again sent down.
26.—Jem now tried desperate fighting, hitting away in all directions; but Ned was too leary. The latter boxer got a stopper on the nob; but Jem was again down. (“You must admit, gents,” observed the elegant Holt, “that Jem is a down-y one; he has been down almost to the end of the chapter. The finish is also near at hand. I’ll bet any odds.”)
27, 28, 29, 30.—In all of these rounds the lead and punishment were decidedly in favour of Neale, and Jem was sent down in every one of them.
31.—Jem showed fight, and planted a facer; but it was too slight to do anything like damage to Neale. The latter followed Jem all over the ring, until he sent him down. (Tom Cannon, by way of raising the spirits of Burn, said, “He can never lick you, Jem.” “Yes,” replied Ned, “and you afterwards, and no mistake; and I’ll try it, if you like.”)
32, 33, 34, 35, 36.—It is true that in some of these rounds Jem planted facers which produced the claret, but he could not turn a single round in his favour. Ned was continually administering punishment, and Jem was down in all of these rounds. (“Take him away!”)
37.—Jem was cruelly distressed, but he would not say “no,” and showed fight at the scratch. He napped lots of milling in a rally, and went down as heavy as lead. (“Take him away! he’s of no use!”)
38.—Down, and no return; so much did Neale show his superiority over Jem.
39.—Of the same class; he appeared at the scratch only to be milled down. (“It’s a shame to bring him up! Take him home, Belcher!”)
40.—Burn, almost as a forlorn hope, went to work with more spirit than could have been expected from his exhausted state, and planted several hits in better style than in most of the preceding rounds; but this exertion was now too late, and he was milled down flat on his face. (The cries were extremely loud: “Take him away; you’ll be lagged else.” “Why don’t you listen to the advice of your friends,” said Josh, “if you wish to prevent serious consequences to yourselves?”)
41.—It was all the cash in the Bank to a ninepence that Jem must lose it; in fact, his backers and seconds ought to have had him taken out of the ring. Jem down, with his face on the earth.
42.—Nearly U P; Burn was down as soon as he appeared at the scratch.
43, and last.—Jem could scarcely show at the scratch, he was so completely exhausted. He staggered about like a drunken man, when Neale did little more than push him down. It was all over; and when picked up by Tom Belcher, his head fell on his shoulder, and he was insensible. The fight continued forty-six minutes. Jem was bled on the ground; nevertheless, he remained in a state of stupor for several minutes. He was severely punished about the head, while Neale was scarcely the worse for the fight. In truth, so little did he care for the punishment he had received that he offered to fight Tom Cannon off-hand, for £100 a-side, and it was a matter of difficulty that Neale’s friends made him quit the ring. £7 10s. only were collected on the ground for Jem Burn.
Remarks.—The perusal of the rounds of the above battle are so decisive in themselves as scarcely to require any observation. Ned had it all his own way, from the beginning of the fight to the end of the contest. His superior confidence, united with the science which was conspicuous in every round, pronounced him a master of the art of self-defence. Coolness is a winning faculty on the part of Neale, who possesses it in an eminent degree. Jem fought bravely, no one can deny; but contending in long blows instead of close quarters rendered his blows non-effective, and he was completely beaten at out-fighting. It is, however, due to Jem Burn to state that he contested every inch of ground like a man of the highest courage. He would not say no, and refused to be taken away, which he might have done without compromising his character as a pugilist. He never left the scratch until nature had deserted him; and the best man in the world must, like Jem, submit to the fortune of war. Neale, in this conquest, obtained in such a superior style, placed himself high in the ranks of pugilism; and his backers entertained so high an opinion, not only of his talents, but of his integrity and thorough trustworthiness, that it was resolved to match him against the accomplished Jem Ward.
The very next day, at Burn’s benefit at the Tennis Court, Neale, whose face was but slightly disfigured, mounted the stage after the principal bout, between Jem Ward and big Bob Burn, in which Jem sent the burly one off the platform with surprisingly little damage to his sixteen stone carcass, and presented himself to the amateurs. He offered, such was the readiness of good men in those days, to meet Baldwin for £250 to £200 or £500 to £400, that day week, or that day month, or two months, at his option; or he would fight Tom Cannon, Reuben Martin, or any twelve stone man in England, for any sum they pleased; or he would fight the three men named within three months, with a month’s interval. This sweeping challenge brought up Ned Baldwin, who said he was not at that moment prepared to make a match, but would appoint an evening for the purpose, and give Neale notice to attend. Tom Cannon next showed. “Gentlemen,” said the Windsor Gun, “I am out of condition, and both my shoulders are bad. I have now plaisters on my chest. But I hope to be well by April, when Neale shall not want a customer.”
At a sporting dinner on Thursday, Nov. 22nd, 1827, at Sam Tebbutt’s, the “Bull’s Head,” Peter Street, to celebrate Neale’s victory, Ned was surrounded by backers and friends. The chairman (Pierce Egan) reviewed the victorious career of Neale, stating his battles, and that his name had never yet been associated with defeat—that he had proved himself as honest as he was brave, a dutiful son, an affectionate brother, a kind-hearted husband, and a sincere friend—in short, a true man in all the relations of life. He therefore proposed a subscription to present him with a silver cup of the value of one hundred guineas, as a testimony to his upright and brave conduct. The proposition was agreed to, and twenty-one guineas subscribed in the room.
The subject of a match between Jem Ward and Ned Neale was on the carpet at the Castle Tavern, Holborn, on Tuesday, Nov. 20th, 1827, when two gentlemen posted £5 a-side, to be made £100—£15 a-side to be posted the next evening. On the Wednesday Neale’s backer announced that he had not been able to see Neale, and wished a postponement; but Ward’s friend claimed forfeit, and it was paid over accordingly. £20 was then deposited by a friend of Neale’s, to be made £200 if Neale consented to fight Ward in two months—the money to be returned (less half-a-dozen of wine) in the event of Neale’s non-compliance. On Friday, Nov. 23rd, an immense assemblage of the fancy took place at the “Castle,” when, Jem Ward not being present (he did not appear during the whole evening), forfeit was claimed. The gentleman who backed Ward demurred, stating he knew Jem was ready to go on with the match, and he was ready with a further deposit. Neale, who was in attendance, said, as the deposit had been made to fight for £200 within two months, he must decline complying with those terms. He did not think he could get into sufficient condition to meet such a man as Jem Ward, and he was resolved never to peril his own reputation, and the interest of his friends, by entering the ring unfit. The deposits were hereupon drawn.
Ned Baldwin now offered himself once again to Neale’s notice for £150 a-side. To this Neale replied, offering to fight Baldwin, as once beaten, for £250 to £200. Articles were formulated and signed, and Tuesday, March 11th, 1828, fixed as the day. Baldwin left town for Leicestershire to train. Here a trivial occurrence had well-nigh wrecked Baldwin’s chance and money, as will be seen by the subjoined letter to the editor of the Weekly Dispatch:—