Round 1.—Each man held up his hands as if waiting the other’s attack, and this determination being mutual they stood eyeing each other steadily for two or three minutes, doing nothing. Gaynor at length made a little dodge with his left, but Neale was wary, shifted a little, and would not be drawn out. More waiting, more dodging, when, at the expiry of nine minutes, Gaynor sent out his right at Ned’s body, who contented himself by stopping it with his elbow. Gaynor stepped back and wiped his hands on his drawers. Mutual feints, both cautious—the spectators becoming impatient. (“Wake him up,” said Stockman, “he’s taking a nap.”) After twenty minutes of manœuvring Gaynor planted his right on Neale’s mazzard. (Cheers, and cries of, “Now go to work.”) Neale would not break ground, and Gaynor could not get at him. More tedious manœuvring. Forty minutes had now elapsed (the same time as in Neale’s first round with Nicholls), when Neale went in, Gaynor retreating to the corner of the ring. (“Now’s your time,” cried Young Sam.) Ned went in with the right, Gaynor countered, and a scrambling rally followed. A few ill-directed blows were exchanged, a close, and some fibbing; then a struggle at the ropes, when Gaynor was uppermost. The round lasted forty-five minutes.

2.—On coming to the scratch Neale showed a small swelling over the left eye, and his face was somewhat flushed. (“Now,” cried Stockman, “you have broken the ice; cut away.”) Neale crept in on his man, who retreated, and shifted with a good defence. Neale let go his right at Gaynor’s listener, but missed, and at it the men went in a rattling rally. Gaynor hit up with his right, catching Neale on the jaw; while Ned gave Gaynor a heavy one on the cheek-bone, raising a very visible “mouse.” In the close fibbing was again the order of the day; at length Gaynor got his man down.

3.—Great shouting. The “Queen’s Head” for choice. Neale’s face was flushed, and he panted a little. Gaynor was as pale as a parsnip, barring the black mouse on his cheek. Gaynor made pretty play with the right, but was neatly stopped, and Neale did the same for his opponent. Gaynor tried his left, but Neale merely threw up his guard, and Gaynor desisted. Neale let fly and got home on Gaynor’s ivories, but had a sharp return on his left eye. Gaynor planted his right on Ned’s ribs, and got away. Caution on both sides. Neale crept nearer to his work, and Gaynor retreated to his corner; at last Neale went in, and a slight bungling rally followed. A sharp struggle for the throw, which Gaynor got, and rolled over his man. (Loud cheers for Gaynor. On the men getting to their seconds’ knees, Spring claimed “first blood” for Neale, from Gaynor’s mouth, which was allowed.)

4.—A new dodge was here discernible. Stockman, to prevent Neale holding his man, had greased Gaynor’s neck, the grease being very visible at the roots of his hair. Neale broke ground and began the fighting; Gaynor was ready, and fought with him. Neale was hit in the body and on the nose and brow, Gaynor on the jaw and cheek. In a loose rally Ned went down in the hitting. (Cannon claimed this as “first knock-down” for Gaynor. It was allowed; but there was not a clear knock-down in the fight.)

5.—On rising Neale showed marks of hitting on the left eye and nose. After a little cautious sparring Ned rushed in wild, and the men wrestled together. Both down, Gaynor uppermost.

6.—Neale steady. No great harm done on either side. Gaynor hit short with his left, then threw in his right with the rapidity of lightning. Both attempts were beautifully stopped. Gaynor laughed, but Neale put a stop to his hilarity by a sharp lunging right-hander on the mouth, which Gaynor returned with a smart smack on Ned’s proboscis. Another wrestling match, and Neale thrown. (On rising Neale showed blood over the right eye, and Holt renewed the disputed point by claiming it for Gaynor.)

7.—Neale stole a march, and popped in his left cleverly on Gaynor’s nose. Gaynor returned with the right; Ned rattled in, caught Gaynor so tightly round the waist that he could not extricate himself, then, with the back-heel, threw him on his back on the ground, adding his weight to the force of the fall. This was a smasher, and Gaynor’s nose sent forth a crimson stream.

8.—Gaynor on the piping order, and cautious. Ned again visited his snuff-box with his left. Neale fought into a close, and again threw Gaynor a burster. (Ned was now a strong favourite, at six and seven to four.)

9.—Gaynor was cheerful, and there was some good counter-hitting with the right. Neale napped it on his already swollen eye, which began to bleed, as did an old wound on Gaynor’s cheek-bone. In the close, Gaynor was thrown for the third time. He got up slowly, and seemed the worse for wear.

10.—Neale, still cautious, stopped a right-hander, but missed his return. Gaynor went in for the throw, and after a sharp struggle got his man down.

11.—Gaynor much distressed and groggy. Nevertheless, he planted his right on Neale’s damaged eye, which was fast putting up the shutter. Ned missed a vicious lunge at Gaynor’s ear, and Gaynor returned nastily on Ned’s nose, who rushed in, and seizing Tom, lifted him from terra firma, flung him heavily on his shoulder, and fell on him.

12.—Gaynor came up astonishingly steady, though bleeding from mouth, nose, and cheek. He hit short at the body with his right, then tried his left at the nob, but Ned frustrated his intentions. Gaynor swung out his right viciously, but Neale jumped back and escaped. Neale then went in for the throw, and a severe struggle followed, Ned chopping and fibbing; but at last Gaynor got the lock, and over went poor Ned, with Gaynor on top of him, a most audible thud.

13.—Gaynor piping. Ned planted his right hand on the body; he then closed. A long struggle for the throw, and both down.

14.—Gaynor, game as a pebble, went in to fight, but Ned got away, and Gaynor went down in the attempt to close.

15.—Ned made play, but was open-handed. Gaynor retreated to the ropes, where a struggle took place. Gaynor got Ned under, and hung on him on the ropes, until Ned fell outside them, Gaynor inside.

16.—The fight had now lasted one hour and thirteen minutes. A wild and scrambling round. Both down.

17–20.—Gaynor, game and ready, always came to the scratch; though much distressed, he never shirked his work. In the 20th round he seemed “abroad,” and fell, Neale falling over him on his head.

21.—Gaynor on the totter. Ned ran in at him, bored him to the ropes, caught him in his arms, and sent him a “Catherine wheel” in the air. (Ned’s friends all alive. Three to one on Ned, and no takers.)

22 and 23.—In both these rounds Gaynor was down, and Neale supposed to be winning in a canter—any odds.

24.—Ned the fresher and stronger man, apparently. Exchanges, when Gaynor rushed in and threw him. (“Not safe yet,” cried the knowing ones.)

25.—Gaynor went to in-fighting, closed, and threw Neale.

26.—Neale went in first, but Gaynor fought for a few seconds on the defensive, then closed, put on the crook, and threw Neale. (“Pro-di-gi-ous!” exclaimed Frosty-faced Fogo, after the manner of Liston’s Dominie Sampson.)

27.—Gaynor, though sorely punished, smiled confidently. Neale tried his left; Gaynor missed his right over Ned’s shoulder. Ned closed for the fall, but Gaynor again got it. (The odds at a stand-still. “Neale has to win it yet.”)

28.—Ned made another effort and won the fall, throwing Gaynor heavily.

29–31.—Neale cautious. Half-arm hitting and scrambling rallies. Both men tired, and little execution done.

32.—A wild round in the corner; Neale fell outside the ropes, and Gaynor inside.

33.—Neale walked firmly to the scratch; Gaynor was led up by his seconds. Neale fought in to a close, and heavy hits were exchanged. Gaynor fell on his knees, but was up in a second. Ned caught hold of the ropes, Gaynor closed, and Neale canted him completely over his head.

34.—Neale forced a rally. Gaynor waited for him and hit up. Neale closed, but seeing he was likely to get the worst of it, slipped down, amid cries of disapprobation, and “Take him away!”

35.—Curtis called out to Young Sam, “Six to four on Gaynor. Ned has cut it!” Neale in reply walked to the scratch. Gaynor ran in, seized Neale, and threw him with a swing. Shouts for Gaynor.

36.—Gaynor seemed getting second wind, and became steadier on his pins. Hits exchanged. Neale got the throw.

37.—Gaynor short at the body with his right. Neale nailed him with the left on the ribs. A rally in the corner, when Neale slipped to avoid. (Disapprobation.)

38–43.—Nothing remarkable except the men’s perseverance. Each round began with some mutual stops and misses, resolved itself into a rally, and ended by one or both down alternately.

44.—Gaynor seemed to rally all his energies, and forced the fighting; hits were exchanged, and Gaynor tried for the close, but Neale went down. Gaynor pointed at him as he lay on the ground. (Cheers from Gaynor’s friends. “We’ll illuminate the ‘Queen’s Head’ to-night!”)

45, and last.—Gaynor seemed to begin with new vigour. His spirits were roused by the cheers of his friends, and he went manfully to the scratch. Neale faced him with apparent alacrity, but was clearly down on his luck, and showed heavy marks of punishment. Gaynor went at him with the right, and planted a blow. Neale fought with him to a close, when Gaynor threw him and fell across him. There was nothing to indicate that all was over, but when “time” was called, Neale’s head fell back, and though Young Sam shook it and shouted, Ned was “deaf” to the call. Gaynor was accordingly proclaimed the victor amidst vociferous acclamations. The supporters of Neale were amazed and dumbfounded. Gaynor threw up his arms and cut a very feeble caper before walking off to his carriage, which displayed the orange flag of victory, and where he quickly dressed himself. Neale was some time before he recovered, and was then conveyed to Staines, and put to bed.

Remarks.—It is difficult to account for Neale’s falling-off, as ten rounds before the close he was evidently the stronger and fresher man. We can only attribute it to the repetition of prolonged exertion and of punishment at an interval too short for the entire recuperation of his bodily and mental powers after such a defeat as that he experienced at the hands of Young Sam only eight weeks before. Indeed, we cannot but think the match was ill advised and imprudent, and the odds of £300 to £200 in the battle-money presumptuous. It was, however, brave and honourable in Neale to try the “wager of battle,” in which his too partial backers had engaged him. As to Gaynor, but one opinion can be formed of his courage, game, endurance, and fortitude, all of which were conspicuous in this contest with his superior in weight, youth, and the character of the boxers he had met and conquered.

On the following Thursday Gaynor took a benefit at the Hanover Assembly Rooms, Long Acre.^[54] Here he was greeted with all the honours that wait upon success, and the best men of the Ring—Tom Spring, Oliver, Young Sam, Reuben Martin, Stockman, Reidie, &c.—put on the mittens. On Friday the stakes were given up at Tom’s own crib, the “Queen’s Head,” Duke’s Court, Bow Street, after a sporting “spread.”

Tom’s defeat of the redoubtable Streatham Youth led to a challenge from Young Dutch Sam. The circumstances of this defeat may be read in Chapter VIII., in the Life of that skilful boxer.

This was the last appearance in the twenty-four foot of either Sam or Gaynor. The latter, who was a civil, unassuming, and obliging man, attended to his calling, and died in the month of November, 1834, in Grosvenor Street, Bond Street, at the early age of thirty-five, of a chronic complaint of several years’ standing.

The pedigree of Alec Reid showed that he came of a “fighting family.” His father was a Chelsea veteran, for many years in a snug berth on Nell Gwynne’s glorious foundation, and in receipt, as we have seen in the books of that institution, of a “good service allowance of two shillings and fivepence-halfpenny a day.” Let not the reader smile superciliously. Alec, the son of a humble but heroic Alexander, once demonstrated the facts to the writer with honest filial pride, and moreover laid stress upon the fact that while his papa was in garrison at Guernsey, awaiting orders to sail with his regiment for the West Indies, his mamma, on the 30th of October, 1802, presented him with a thumping boy, the seventh pledge of her affection, who was in due time baptized Alexander, and was the subject of this memoir. At the age of fourteen, Alec’s father being then invalided, and “the big wars over,” the young ’un was apprenticed to his father’s trade, that of a shoemaker, and hence his pugilistic patronymic of “the Chelsea Snob.”

His first recorded display was with one Finch, a local celebrity who, to the advantages of height and a stone in weight, added three or four years in age. Mr. Finch, in two rounds, occupying ten minutes, was so satisfied of the young Snob’s superiority that he “caved in,” and quitted the “Five Fields” (now covered by the mansions of Belgravia), never again to show in combat with the “Young Soldier,” as Alec was then nicknamed by his companions.

Reid now purchased two pairs of gloves, expensive articles in those days, and started a series of sparring soirées at the “Turk’s Head,” in Jews’ Row, near the Military Hospital. His fame spread, and finding himself on Wimbledon Common, attracted thereto by a mill between Fleming and Curwen, two London boxers, and a purse being subscribed for a second battle, young Alec boldly threw his nob-cover within the ropes. His challenge was answered by Sam Abbott, a cousin of the once-renowned Bill, who beat Phil Sampson, and made a draw with Jem Ward. Young Abbott proved himself game and resolute, but notwithstanding the advice and nursing of his clever namesake, Alec punished his nob so severely that in twenty-five minutes his cousin threw up the hat, Abbott being quite blind. Alec raised himself immensely by this victory; and when, after the battle between Ward and Abbott, on Moulsey Hurst, October 22nd, 1822, a big fellow named Hearn claimed a purse of twenty-five guineas subscribed for a second fight, Alec disputed his claim. Hearn was disposed of in fifteen minutes, the big ’un being so out-fought that he put on his coat, declaring “it wasn’t worth a fellow’s while to go on without getting a crack in now and then.”

Alec now frequently showed at the Tennis Court, in the Haymarket, and Bob Yandell, a clever sparrer, who had defeated Crayfer and Dudley Downs, having expressed a disparaging opinion of Alec’s talents, a challenge resulted, and the men met on the 14th of January, 1823, in Battersea Fields. After a battle of one hour and a half Yandell was carried from the ground thoroughly beaten, while Alec showed in Chelsea the same evening but slightly the worse for wear.

On the 20th of March, 1823, after the fight between Gipsy Cooper and Cabbage, the Gardener, Alec joined fists with Paddy O’Rafferty, an Irish candidate for fistic honours, but in thirty-one rounds, occupying sixty-three minutes, the Chelsea hero polished off Misther O’Rafferty so completely that he made no further appearance in the Ring.

Dick Defoe having declared himself anxious to meet any eleven stone man, a gentleman who had a high opinion of Alec’s abilities offered to match Reid against him. Alec consented, and the men met on Tuesday, June 17th, 1823, in Epping Forest. After thirteen rounds, Reid’s backer, considering him to be overmatched, humanely interposed, and ordered Reid to be taken away. Many were of opinion that Reid would have pulled through had he been allowed to continue. Reid lost no reputation by this defeat.

Reid’s next opponent was Harris, the Waterman, who had beaten Bill Gould, Youna de Costa, and with the exception of this defeat at the hands of Alec, never lost a fight. They met at Moulsey Hurst, on the 12th of August, 1823, entering the ring after Peace Inglis had defeated George Curtis. On the ropes being cleared Alec, in high spirits and fine condition, threw in his castor, a white one, and waited on by his late opponent Dick Defoe and Tom Callas, proceeded to make his toilet; Harris, from the opposite side, answered his token of defiance, and esquired by Josh Hudson and Harry Holt, advanced to make friendly greeting. The ceremony over, the men stood up, Harris the favourite, at five and six to four.

Round 1.—Reid, with the advantage of youth, looked fresh and full of activity, Harris, though a few pounds the heavier man, looking leaner and more angular. Reid, after a few feints, bustled in to work, and planted a sharp right-hander on Harris’s ribs. The Waterman found he must lose no time, so he rattled in for exchanges, and Reid went on his knees from a slip. (“Bravo! here will be another good battle!”) Even betting.

2.—Reid came up gay as a lark, and made play like a good one. The claret was now visible on both sides, and hit for hit till Reid was again down.

3.—Harris met Reid well on his going in; but the Translator would not be kept out, and poor Harris went against the stake from a severe blow. Nothing else but fighting, till both were down. Reid for choice.

4.—Sparring was out of the question, yet good science was witnessed on both sides. Harris napped pepper, but not without returning the compliment. Both down.

5.—Reid took the lead so decisively in this round that he became the favourite, two to one. Harris went down piping.

6.—Reid got punished severely. Harris held him with his right hand, and whopped him with the other all over the ring. The Chelsea man at length rescued himself from his perilous situation, and by way of changing the scene fibbed the Waterman down. Anybody’s battle.

7.—Harris commenced this round with some fine fighting, and had the best of it for a short period, till Reid put in a straight nobber, when Harris found himself on his latter end, looking about with surprise, as much as to say, “How came I here?”

8.—Nothing else but milling. Harris repeatedly nobbed his opponent, but he would not be denied. A heavy rally occurred, and Harris, being near the stakes, struck his hand against the post. Harris down like a shot.

9.—Youth must be served. Harris fought like a brave man, but the punishment he received was too heavy for him. Down in this round.

10.—Harris could not reduce the strength of Reid. The Waterman possessed the best science, but the blows of Reid were most effective. It was a manly fight. Both down.

11–12.—Equally good as the former rounds. Two to one on Reid.

13.—Harris jobbed his opponent frequently, but Reid always finished the round to his own advantage. In the last round he fell on Harris in the close. (“Take him away; he’s a good old ’un, but too stale for the Snob!”) Any odds.

14, and last.—Reid went up to his man and hit him one, two; Harris did not return. He seemed all abroad. Reid bustled him down, and Josh threw up the sponge in token of defeat. The fight lasted only fifteen minutes.

Remarks.—A better fight, while it lasted, has not been lately seen. Harris was not only stale, but was stated to be a little “off” in condition and health. Harris was not disgraced, though defeated by youth, backed by resolution and strength.

Only two months after this victory Alec was at Chatham, teaching “the art of self-defence,” when a rough and ready fisherman named Joe Underhill found local friends to subscribe a purse of £25, and £5 for the loser. For this, then, “the Chatham champion” proposed to meet the “London professor.” Underhill’s friends had miscalculated both their man’s skill and Alec’s science, for in the short space of nineteen minutes the fisherman’s chance was more than “fishy,” and at the end of the eighth and last round the Snob had so completely sewn him up and welted him that he cried, “Enough!” and refused to face his man. This battle took place on Chatham Lines, October 21st, 1823.

At the farewell benefit of the game Bob Purcell, at the Fives Court, February 15th, 1824, Reid set to with Gipsy Cooper, and gave the rushing Bohemian such a glove-punishing as led to a match. Cooper, however, forfeited a small deposit. A second match was made on Tuesday, April 13th, 1824; this, however, was prevented by magisterial interference, and the stakes were drawn.

An opportunity, however, soon offered itself, proving the truth of the adage that “where there’s a will there’s a way.” On the very next Tuesday, April 20th, 1824, both men found themselves (of course by accident) at Colnbrook, when and where Peace Inglis defeated Ned Turner. Twenty pounds were quickly subscribed for a second battle, and Alec having tossed his beaver into the ropes was answered by the Gipsy. Both men were in first-rate condition, and both equally confident. Josh Hudson and Dick Curtis, two of the ablest of seconds, looked after Cooper; the accomplished Harry Holt and the veteran Tom Jones, of Paddington, seconded Reid.

Round 1.—Cooper commenced the mill furiously, and his blows told heavily. Flattered with success, he went to work hand over head, throwing aside a number of blows. Reid could scarcely be quick enough for his opponent; but he stopped and shifted cleverly. A short pause, when the Gipsy again plunged in and drew first blood. In closing, both down. No harm done.

2.—The lip of the Gipsy was bleeding when he appeared at the scratch. He lashed out, neck or nothing. Reid put in two nobbing hits and threw Cooper.

3.—The Gipsy was furious indeed; he did not look at his man, to take any sort of aim, yet Reid was bustled about, and received a random shot or two on the body. In a rally he clinched the Gipsy and gave him a cross-buttock.

4.—This was a fine fighting round; the Gipsy appeared as if he meant to win and nothing else. The hitting was sharp on both sides. Reid was floored. (“The Gipsy will win!” and several now took him for choice.)

5.—The Gipsy was so desperate that he bored Reid down. Nothing.

6.—Cooper was amazingly active; he hit in all directions; nevertheless he retreated from Reid when the latter stepped in to exchange. In closing the Gipsy put in a heavy blow as they were both going down.

7.—The Gipsy had it his own way this round. Reid napped terribly, and was also milled down. (“Cooper will win in a canter. If he had fought like this with Bishop Sharpe we must have won our money,” from several losers on that mill.)

8.—The hitting of the Gipsy was tremendous; and if he had not thrown so many blows away, he might have been able to have given a better account of the battle. Reid went down heavily hit. (The cry was, “The Gipsy is sure to win it!”)

9.—Reid nobbed his adversary twice neatly, and kept him out, but the Gipsy bored in and both were down.

10.—The Gipsy had been so very busy that Reid had had scarcely time for a moment’s tactics. He, however, now showed the Gipsy that a dangerous customer stood before him—a boxer that would make him fight, and not let him get out of his reach at pleasure. The Gipsy napped two nobbers that made him reel; he returned and tripped up Reid.

11.—Severe counter-hitting, and Reid received such a swingeing hit that he reeled about and went down. (“Come, no tumbledown tricks,” cried Josh.)

12.—This was the best round in the fight. The men fought into a rally, and broke away. A pause necessary on both sides. The Gipsy slashing out hand over head, both were down, Cooper undermost. The Gipsy, quite frantic, struck Holt, who, he said, had acted “foul” towards him; but Harry very prudently did not return it, or the fight must have been spoilt.

13.—Reid was positively run down, without harm done.

14.—The Gipsy was so fast that the spectators had scarcely an opportunity of appreciating the clever defence displayed by Reid. Cooper violent as before, and Reid down smiling.

15.—Reid got hold of Cooper; fibbing at the ropes till both down.

16.—Reid would make the Gipsy fight, although the latter retreated from him. Reid was thrown in the close.

17.—In this round Cooper was not quite so fast, and Reid put in a stopper or two on his nob, that produced the claret. Reid also put in a clean back-handed hit on the Gipsy’s proboscis. Both down; Reid fell out of the ropes.

18.—Reid reminded the amateurs of Randall’s neatness of style. The Gipsy could not get away from his returns. The latter, however, fought desperately, and Reid went down.

19, and last.—The spectators did not apprehend the fight was so nearly over. Reid took the lead in great style, and by a heavy blow hit the Gipsy clean through the ropes. Cooper’s head rebounded as he rolled over, and when time was called the Gipsy had not awoke from his trance. Reid of course was declared the winner. Twenty-nine minutes.

Remarks.—Reid to all appearance was little the worse for his battle, except a swelled cheek. The Gipsy is always dangerous from his lunging hits; but he trusts so much to chance that he is almost a “gift” to a steady and bold boxer. He does not look his man full in the face. Reid fought like a winning man, and showed excellent points.

What is the use of going out for a spree without making “a day of it?” say the jolly ones. Here is a case in point. It occurred, somehow or other, no matter, that a turn-up took place between Maurice Delay and Alec Reid, on the road home from the fight, after Stockman had defeated the Sailor Boy, on Tuesday, September 21st, 1824, near the “Coach and Horses,” at Ilford. Notwithstanding the disparity between the men as to size and weight, it was stated in the papers of the day that Reid had none the worst of it with his ponderous antagonist during two rounds, after which they were parted. Half-an-hour after Bill Savage offered himself to Reid’s notice for a £5 note which an amateur had offered for “a wind-up” to the day. A ring was formed near the Temple Mills, Essex, Harry Holt and Jem Burn waiting on Reid, and Savage seconded by his brother and George Weston. Darkness coming on a “draw” was declared after thirty-seven minutes, and the money divided. Reid, although out of condition, was said to have had the best of it.

Alec was now matched for £50 a-side against the renowned Bishop Sharpe, and a gallant fight was anticipated. Bishop Sharpe was well known as nothing else but a good man; he had beaten all his opponents, the tremendous Gipsy Cooper three times. Nevertheless, in the opinion of the judges of boxing, the Bishop did not rank as a scientific fighter; he, however, was the favourite, five and six to four. Reid stood well in the sporting world; nay, so much so that it was expected that Alec would prove a second Jack Randall.

On Thursday, December 11th, 1824, a long procession of London travellers crossed the ferry at Hampton, and the ring was formed on the classic Hurst of Moulsey. The Commissary-General, with the ropes and stakes, made a pretty twenty-four feet inner square, and a spacious circular enclosure marked the outer ring. The combatants peeled, the colours were tied to the stakes, a bird’s eye on a red ground for Reid, a yellowman for Sharpe. Oliver and Ben Burn attended upon Reid, Josh Hudson and Dick Curtis on Sharpe. The men shook hands, and then came

Round 1.—Reid was in fine condition, and Sharpe looked hardy and well. Scarcely, however, had the men held up their hands, than surprise was expressed at the careless style of Reid. He stood so slovenly and with so open a guard that Sharpe at once went in and hit him slightly, when Reid stepped back and went down suspiciously. Opinions that “Mr. Barney” was not far off were freely expressed, Reid’s style was so unlike his former displays.

2.—Oliver said to his man as he went up, “If you don’t mean to fight, say so, and I’ll leave the ring.” Reid laughed and manœuvred about. Sharpe again forced the fighting. A few exchanges took place, to the advantage of Sharpe, and Reid was again on the grass. While sitting on his second’s knee Reid complained of sickness. “He’s coming it,” said Curtis. “No,” said Reid, “no such thing.” Ben Burn angrily said “he would not be second in a cross,” and left the ring.

3.—“Why don’t you fight?” asked Oliver. Reid could not or would not. He received a flush hit in the mouth, and first blood was claimed. Reid down, and the ring broken in. Oliver left the roped enclosure.

4, and last.—Reid came up at the call of “time,” amidst great confusion. There were a few exchanges, and again Reid went down in his own corner. “You have won,” cried Sharpe’s backers. “Don’t leave the ring yet,” said Josh Hudson to Sharpe.

Remarks.—A curious conclusion was come to. Reid declared he was ready to go on, but his seconds had deserted him. At Hampton he maintained that he had no idea of fighting “a cross,” and that no one had even dared to propose such a thing to him. Our opinion is, in the absence of all direct evidence, that Reid was “hocussed,” by whom was never ascertained (he himself always asserted this to be the case), and that his temporary stupefaction went off before his arrival at Hampton. The referee not having been appealed to on the ground there was no decision. Accordingly, Tom Cribb, who was stakeholder, returned the money to the backers of each man, and all bets were drawn. Pierce Egan has half-a-dozen pages of incoherent persiflage upon this mysterious affair, cut from his own paper, from which little definite can be gathered.

Reid was now certainly under a cloud of dark suspicion. Yet a few friends were found who matched him for £100 against Jubb (the Cheltenham Champion), a boxer who had recently beaten Price (the Oxford Champion) in off-hand style, and whose friends were anxious to measure him with a London pugilist. The men met accordingly in Worcestershire, near Stow-on-the-Wold, on the 4th of June, 1825.

Benford, in Oxfordshire, seventy-one miles from London, was the place named, but on the morning bills were posted in the town signed by the magistrates of three counties, Oxford, Berks, and Gloucester, warning all persons against attending any fight within those counties, and ordering all constables, &c., to take the principals and seconds into custody as contemplating a breach of the peace. Worcestershire now seemed the only open point, and off went all hands to Icombe, a village on the borders, two miles from Stow-on-the-Wold, and ten or so from Benford. At half-past two in the afternoon Reid skied his beaver, Jack Randall and the Laureate Fogo acting as his esquires. Jubb soon followed, attended by Bill Eales, the scientific, and a provincial friend named Collier. On stripping both men looked well. Jubb had the advantage in weight, length of reach, and height, yet the London division laid odds on Reid at five to four when the countrymen would not take evens.

Round 1.—Jubb stood somewhat over Reid, with his hands well out, but somewhat awkward in position. He made play at Reid’s head, but was stopped neatly. Reid smiled and nodded, and broke ground actively. Jubb tried it again, but was again parried, and the Chelsea cobbler popped in such a cutting right-hander in return just over the left eye that Jubb’s optic flashed fire and he seemed all abroad, winking like an owl in the sunshine. The London division delighted. Reid bustled Jubb down.

2.—Reid treated Jubb’s attempts lightly. He followed him all over the ring, and after a heavy hit on his left eye, closed and threw him, amidst general cheering.

3.—Jubb, who somewhat fancied himself as a wrestler, seemed all abroad; he tried to catch Reid in his arms, but Alec hit up, caught him under the chin a rattler, and fell on his knees from the force of his own blow. Reid complained that he had no nails in his shoes.

4.—All the hitting came from Reid’s side. Jubb could only stop with his ribs or head. Reid down, the Cheltenham lads grumbling, “He dropped without a blow.” It was not so; many blows were exchanged.

5–7.—Similar in character. Jubb wild, Reid steady, and always ready as his man came in.

8.—In a rally Jubb caught Reid a swinging hit in the throat, which almost turned him round. The Jubbites cheered, but Reid returned to the rally, and the Cheltenham champion was floored.

Ten more rounds, in which Jubb was, with unimportant exceptions, receiver-general.

18, and last.—Jubb came up in the doldrums. He was hit in all directions, but was too game to go down. His backers humanely interfered, and desired his seconds to take him away. It was all over in twenty-three minutes and a half, and when Reid put on his clothes there was scarcely a mark perceptible on his face.

Remarks.—Jubb did not avail himself of his height. On the contrary, he stooped to a level with the eye of Reid. Jubb is a game man, and would beat any countryman who merely relied on strength and going in. Reid fought with him whenever he attempted to force the fighting, and got on to him almost how and where he pleased, stopping his attack and turning it to his own advantage. Reid won first blood, first knock-down blow, and the battle, his backers drawing upon all three events.

Reid, on his return to town, addressed letters to the sporting papers challenging Bishop Sharpe, West Country Dick, or Aaron, for £100, and undertaking to weigh no more than 10st. 4lbs. on the day of fighting.

As there were difficulties in the way with Bishop Sharpe Reid’s friends matched him against Tom Gaynor, a man certainly his overmatch by a stone in weight and three inches in height. The fight, which took place May 16th, 1826, and in which Alec suffered defeat after a game contest of one hour and ten minutes, will be found in Chapter IX., ante, page 403 of this volume.

At length preliminaries were settled between Alec and his former opponent Bishop Sharpe, for £50 a-side. The battle took place on the 6th of September, 1826, at No Man’s Land, in Hertfordshire. It was anybody’s fight for the first twenty-five minutes, when Alec received what might be termed a chance blow in the pit of the stomach, from which he never recovered, and victory was declared for the Bold Smuggler.

Shortly after this (October 27th, 1826) Reid got into trouble for having acted in the capacity of second to a man of the name of Crow, in a pugilistic contest at Old Oak Common, with one Samuel Beard. The jury found Beard, Reid, and Michael Curtis guilty, and sentenced them, Beard to seven days’ imprisonment in Newgate, and the seconds to fourteen days, and to be held in recognisances “to keep the peace for twelve months towards all His Majesty’s subjects.”

Poor Alec, having done his term in “the donjon’s dreary keep,” and lived out his recognisances to keep the peace, was once again matched with his old opponent Bishop Sharpe for £100. Little preface is necessary to the detail of the battle between these men, which was one of the best that had been witnessed for many years, even when downright milling and upstanding rallies were far more common than they became in the succeeding years, which marked the decline and fall of the P.R. They had fought twice before, in both of which instances Reid was unsuccessful.

As soon as the match was made they went into training, and thus all gradually ripened for sport. On Sunday Sharpe took his departure for St. Albans, and took up his quarters at the “Blue Boar,” and on the next evening, after a benefit at the Tennis Court, Reid followed his example, pitching his tent at the “Red Lion.” Tuesday morning (July 15th, 1828) was unfavourable, nevertheless the roads were thronged at an early hour. Both men were visited in the town; both spoke well of their condition, and with modest confidence of success; Reid saying “he had everything at stake, for if he lost he was bowled out for ever, whereas if he won he was made a man of.” Sharpe soberly said he was “to win to-day,” and his shoemaker had already booked the event as certain by inscribing on the soles of his high-lows, “These are the shoes that are to win;” a prophecy which was unfortunately trodden under foot in more ways than one, for he was for the first time in his life forced to confess he was fairly conquered, after a long career previously unchequered by defeat. The odds during the morning were five and six to four on Sharpe.

As the hour for business approached the crowd increased, till the word was given to march, and all toddled to the scene of action, where Tom Oliver had previously pitched the ropes and stakes, and collected an outer ring of wagons.

Shortly before one o’clock the Smuggler bore down for the ring attended by Josh Hudson and Dick Curtis, and having thrown in his castor, entered himself. The Snob was soon with him, under the auspices of Tom Spring and the Lively Kid (Ned Stockman). After shaking hands, the Snob said he had four sovereigns, to which he was desirous of taking odds of six to four. This was at once laid him by Dick Curtis, and staked, and the operation of peeling commenced. On stripping, weight and muscle were evidently in favour of the Bishop. He looked fresher in the mug, too, although it was said he had been imprudently attending as the host of a canvas tavern at Woolwich Races and Fairlop Fair, where he dispensed the “real thing” in large quantities. Reid looked light and thin, but was in good spirits, and seemed confident.

Round 1.—Sharpe, as usual, came forward right foot foremost, measuring his man with a keen and searching eye. Alec was on the alert, both hands well up, and his right ready for a drop to save his bread-basket from the Smuggler’s favourite lunge. At last Sharpe broke ground, and planted his left slightly on Reid’s ribs. Reid instantly hit with him, right and left, at the nob, and Sharpe returned with his left in similar style. Both were rather wild, but, in the close, the Bishop was thrown. On rising to his second’s knee, there was a cry of “first blood” from Sharpe’s mouth, but at the same moment a similar tinge was seen from the Snob’s muzzle, so that on this point there was no advantage, and a tie was acknowledged.

2.—Alec ready, and the Smuggler looking for a run upon his starboard quarter. At last Alec planted his right in Sharpe’s mouth a second time. The Bishop instantly fought to a rally, and jobbing hits were exchanged with great rapidity, Sharpe again napping it in the mouth, and the Snob on the dexter ogle. Both showed more claret. In the close, the Snob was thrown, the Smuggler upon him.

3.—Sharpe now popped in his favourite left, but not in the right place, being on the ribs instead of the mark. Alec hit with him, right and left, in pretty style, and floored him with a right-hand muzzler. First knock-down blow for Reid.

4.—The Bishop’s mouth showed two incisions, which bled profusely. He, however, came up smiling, and delivered with his left on Alec’s jaw. Alec returned in good style. The Bishop then bored in wildly, and, in the close, both went down, Alec fibbing as he resisted Sharpe’s effort for the fall.

5.—Sharpe’s nose now began to show the weight of Alec’s fibbing, and claret streamed profusely. He, however, rushed in wildly, trying for the Snob’s body. The Snob got away, and, in a second trial of the same sort, he met the Bishop with a flush hit on the forehead, and, on repeating the dose, the Bishop bored in. The Snob again met him right and left, and floored him, hitting him severely as he was falling.

6.—Sharpe again hit short at the body with his left, and Alec, always ready, met him right and left, and, repeating the experiment, hit him down with a flush smack on the ivories.

7.—Alec waited with great judgment, and, as the Bishop came in, stopped his left, and returned heavily with his right. The Bishop would not be denied, but caught Alec a nasty one on the temple. Both broke away, but on Sharpe again rushing in, Alec met him right and left on the head, and then hit him heavily with the right on the ribs, and dropped him. (Shouts of “It’s all your own, Reid!”)

8.—The Bishop’s head the worse for bad usage, his left eye puffed, and a cut on each cheek. He, however, went in as game as a pebble to hit with his left. Alec was again away. Sharpe followed him up, but Alec, stepping back, met him twice on the frontispiece. He had then reached the ropes, and the Bishop became desperate. Alec went down to avoid, showing the tact of a good general.

9.—The Bishop rattled in and planted his left on Alec’s eye, but received severely right and left in return, and in the end went down.

10.—The Bishop bored in open-handed. Alec retreated a little before him, but then jumped in and met him with two flush hits, right and left, on the head. The Bishop closed for a rally, and desperate hits were exchanged. In the close, both down.

11.—The Bishop capsized with a straight visitation on the smeller from Alec’s left.

12.—2 to 1 on Reid. Sharpe bored in wildly, and Alec went down.

13.—The Bishop again bored in. Alec retreated, and tried his right and left, but missed. The Bishop, in returning, fell on his knees.

14.—Sharpe came in manfully, but Alec was ready, stopped his left, returned right and left on his canister, and then hit him down beautifully with a right-handed smack on his ribs.

15.—Counter-hits. The Bishop planted his left well on the Snob’s conk, and again had him on the body. Alec stepped back, and on the Bishop again coming in to make play, met him with a snorter with his right, and dropped him.

16.—Counter-hits with the left, and Sharpe hit away left and right with great spirit. Alec was not idle, but returned the compliments with quickness. Bishop closed for the fall, when Alec fibbed actively, though not effectively. Both down, Bishop under.

17.—The Bishop came up as bold as brass. Alec ready, waited for him and, on rushing in, he met him right and left on the face. Bishop retreated, but, on again rushing in, Alec dropped him with another touch on the nob.

18.—Bishop, first to fight, planted his left. Alec was with him, but Sharpe would not be denied, and closing, he threw the Snob a heavy fall, and dropped on him.

19.—Bishop rushed in open-handed, in wild style. Alec drew back, poising himself on his hind leg. Sharpe followed, and as usual, napped it left and right, and was floored.

20.—Bishop again pressed in (he saw he had no chance at out-fighting), when he was met as before, with great precision, right and left. A spirited rally followed. Good hits were exchanged, and in the close, Bishop was thrown heavily.

21.—The Bishop, in rushing in, was hit down by a right-handed job.

22.—A good manly rally, with equal advantage, hit for hit. Alec down.

23.—Counter-hitting with the left. Sharpe dropped his right on Alec’s smeller, and drew his cork. Alec at him again, and, after a severe rally, hit him down.

24.—Bishop bored in. Alec withdrew for the jobbing hit, but the Bishop fell on his face.

25.—On Sharpe coming in, Alec again met him with a facer, and followed this up with a tremendous body hit with his right, and dropped him.

26.—Bishop bored in wildly. Alec, as before, on the retreating system, met him with a facer, as he came in. Sharpe closed, and had the fall. Not much harm done on either side.

27.—A severe punishing round for Bishop. Alec jobbed right and left several times, and, in the close, floored him with great force, rolling him over from the impetus of the fall.

28.—Alec on the waiting system. Bishop rushed in with unshaken game, but, on delivering his left on Alec’s nob, he received a terrific hit on the ribs from the Snob’s right, close under his left arm, which again dropped him.

29.—Bishop again bored in, and was met, with great judgment, by another delivery from Alec’s right. Both away, and some good out-fighting. Alec jobbed well. A close, and both down, the Bishop under.

30.—Alec waiting steadily. Bishop the first to go to work. Alec stepped back, and Bishop fell forward on his hands and knees.

31.—Alec popped in his favourite hit on the side, but received in return on the head. Alec then retired, Sharpe after him, hitting wildly and short. Alec watched his points, and, after stopping with his right, hit Bishop down with a blow on the throat with his left.

32.—Good out-fighting. Bishop still strong; at last he rushed in, according to his old system, when Reid had him in the side with his right. Bishop rushed to a close, and pulled Alec down.

33.—Alec delivered his right and left as Sharpe came in, and got away. The Bishop, after him, would not flinch, and was again floored with a stupefying hit on the temple.

34.—Bishop again at work, delivered with his left, but in return was hit down by a straight facer.

35.—Bishop rushed in wildly, but Alec was on his guard. Good counter-hitting, and a manly rally. In the close, Alec was thrown. Shouts for Bishop, and his friends still in spirits.

36.—Sharpe came in wildly, but Alec was steady and cautious. His right was again familiar with Bishop’s ribs, and his right and left were once more in contact with his phiz. In the end, Sharpe was floored heavily.

37.—Alec had it in the right eye, but returned with interest, catching the Bishop twice on the mug, and Sharpe went down weak.

38.—Bishop on the boring system; Alec away. Sharpe caught him on the body slightly, and received on the head in return. A merry rally, hit for hit. Both down.

39.—The Bishop made his run, Alec met him with a job. Both away, and at it again. Alec pursued the same system of jobbing, but had a nasty one on the right eye, and went down.

40.—Again did Alec meet Bishop right and left. Sharpe caught him on the nozzle, and drew claret in a stream. Alec, merry, at him again, and down went the Smuggler.

41.—Alec met Sharpe right and left on the head, but received a heavy blow on the nob in return. In the close, both down, Bishop under.

42.—Alec met Bishop with a flush hit on the throat, and floored him.

43.—Sharpe caught Alec a terrific blow on the side of the knowledge-box, but had three for one in return, and Alec fell.

44.—Alec ready, but his physog. strangely out of shape, and as tender as a chicken; he could scarcely bear to wash his mouth. Bishop rushed in, but was hit down by a right-hander.

45.—Sharpe’s left ogle closed for the day; still he came up game, but Alec, ready, met him in the face. Bishop missed his left-handed lunge at the body and fell.

46.—Sharpe wild, was jobbed on the head, and fell.

47.—Bishop, still staunch, the first to mill. Alec waited, jobbed, and got away. Bishop followed him up, hit with his left at the body, closed, and threw Alec a burster, falling heavily on him.

48.—Alec, still awake, met Bishop right and left, and dropped him.

49.—Bishop again hit down with a heavy blow on the left ribs.

50.—Sharpe hit down from a left-hander on the nob.

51.—Again was Bishop hit down.

52.—Bishop charged. Alec retreated, but meeting Sharpe, dropped a heavy one on the body with his right. In closing, Alec hit the Bishop up terrifically with his right, on the smeller, and grassed him.

53.—Bishop hit down right and left.

54 to 60.—All in favour of Alec, who hit his man down every round, either from blows on the head or body.

61.—The Bishop went down without a blow. Cries of “foul,” but no decision.

62.—Bishop gathered all his strength, and came up in good force. He hit Alec with the left, but was jobbed down right and left.

63.—Bishop again hit down.

64.—Counter-hits. Sharpe went boldly to his man, but was dropped.

65.—Curtis now began to use all his tact to encourage his man, chaffed the Snob, and doffed his own shirt to be more at ease. Alec hit Bishop right and left, and he went down.

66.—Alec drank out of the bottle himself, and winked to his friends, as much as to say, “It’s all right.” Alec stopped his man with his left, and hit him down as he came in.

67 to 71.—All in favour of Alec, and Bishop went down every round.

72.—Bishop gathered himself for mischief, and tried his favourite left-handed body hit, but it fell short, and he caught it right and left and went down.

73.—Bishop attempted to hit, but went down without a blow.

74.—Alec jobbed with his left, and caught Bishop on the dexter ogle, which began to swell, and he went down.

75.—Sharpe hit down.

76.—The Bishop hit with his left at Alec’s mark, but it was without effect. Alec rushed at him to hit, but Bishop dropped, on the saving system.

77.—Again did Bishop try his left, and his friends still hoped he would pop it in the right place, but no go, he was jobbed down.

78.—The Bishop, in going in, went down without a blow. (Hisses, and cries of “foul.”)

79.—The Bishop went in wild, and fell. Cries of “Take him away.”

80.—Bishop again bored in, neck or nothing. Alec got away, and Sharpe fell.

81.—Similar to the last. Alec missed a tremendous up-hit, or all would have been over.

82.—Bishop jobbed down with the left, but both distressed, and severely punished in the head.

83.—Bishop hit down.

84 to 87.—The Bishop, dreadfully jobbed and hit in the body with the right, down every round. The crisis was now approaching. Alec had it all his own way, and nothing but a lucky lunge could change the aspect of affairs, and for this Bishop’s friends still anxiously sought.

88.—Sharpe came up wild, and was hit down.

89.—Bishop hit down again with a body blow.

90.—Alec saw the sore point. The Bishop winced, and he gave him another appalling body blow, which resounded through the ring, and felled him.

91, and last.—Poor Bishop got up to receive the finisher, and was floored by a tremendous hit with the left. All was now over; Sharpe was insensible, and, on time being called, his seconds gave in. The hat of victory was instantly thrown up, and the shouts of the crimson heroes proclaimed the success of their favourite, in one hour and twenty-seven minutes. Alec made a slight bound, and, after a short pause, was conducted to his carriage. He was so exhausted that some time elapsed before he could be dressed, after which he was borne off to St. Albans, with flying colours. Poor Sharpe remained for some time insensible to his fate.

Remarks.—This was decidedly as game and determined a battle as was ever witnessed. Each man seemed deeply to feel the stake at issue. Fame and fortune were alike involved, and the contest was proportionally severe. The scientific style in which Reid fought was the admiration of the ring. His attack and defence were alike judicious. Aware of the dangerous left-handed lunge of the Bishop, by which he had before been robbed of victory when within his grasp, he took especial care not only to cover his vulnerable point, but to counteract Sharpe’s plan by a move of the same sort himself. Thus we find him constantly pinking Bishop’s body with his right, and so simultaneous were these efforts on both sides, that Alec’s right hand often met Bishop’s half-way. Alec’s caution, his waiting for Bishop’s rush, his judicious retreat, and rapid execution, right and left, when Bishop left his body unguarded, were beautiful; and our only surprise was, that, after such apparent mischief, Bishop was enabled to come up so steady and strong. Sharpe fought as brave as a lion, but his judgment was inferior when compared with Reid’s. He fought wildly, and without discretion, although in the end, when he found the chances were against him, he had recourse to every manœuvre to regain strength, and plant his favourite hit. His deliveries on Alec’s nose with his left were very heavy, as was sufficiently visible, and Alec no doubt felt their weight, for his head presented a dreadful spectacle on that side where the blows told, and his mouth and eye were much swollen; indeed, so distressed did he appear towards the end of the fight, that Sharpe’s friends to the last considered he had a chance, and the odds of three to one were offered with singular caution. It was not till Nature had deserted Bishop altogether that he struck, and his backers, though mortified, candidly confessed he could not have done more.

The conquest of the gallant but stale Dick Curtis by Perkins, the Oxford Pet, had rankled long in the minds of the London Fancy, although poor King Dick had fallen, not ingloriously, before superior weight, length, strength, and youth. It was thought that Alec would be a better match for him, and accordingly articles were signed for £100 a-side, and the day fixed for the 25th May, 1830.

As a short notice of Perkins, and a detailed report of his victory over Curtis, will appear in the appendix of this Period, we shall not further dwell on his Ring career. Perkins had trained at Chipping Norton, and Reid paid every attention to getting himself fit at Burford, in Surrey; and so favourable were the accounts of his condition that he was freely backed at six to four by his old friends.

On the Monday before the battle the ’Varsity city was full of bustle and activity. The “Red Lion” and the “Anchor” were crowded by visitors anxious to get the “tip” as to the whereabouts. This was found to be the “Four-shire Stone,” seven miles from Chipping Norton, at a point where the counties of Oxford, Warwick, Worcester, and Berks are conterminous. We may here note that on this occasion Reid fought under the alias of “Jack O’Brien,” owing to his being held to bail for a period then unexpired, for being present at a mill in the neighbourhood of London. The battle is reported in Bell’s Life as between “Perkins and Jack O’Brien.”

By eleven o’clock Commissary Oliver and his lieutenant, “Fogo of the Frosty Face,” had pitched the ring at the appointed rendezvous—it being surrounded by numerous undergrads, who had given the slip to “bulldogs” and “proctors” to attend the demonstration of craniology and the practical essay on “bumps” which Messrs. Reid and Perkins had prepared for their edification. At a little before twelve the Chelsea hero showed, waited on by Young Dutch Sam and Dick Curtis, the Oxonian quickly following, esquired by Harry Jones and Ned Stockman. Each man was heartily cheered. The colours, green with a crimson spot for Reid, and a fancy pink silk fogle for the Oxford Pet, were tied to the stakes. The whip-bearers of the “Fair Play Club” preserved an unbroken ring, and everything was arranged with regularity and order. The toss for choice of position was won for Perkins. The men shook hands, the seconds and bottle-holders retired to their respective corners, and the men, toeing the scratch, threw up their daddies and began