Round 1.—On peeling Curtis looked extremely thin, nevertheless he was quite well. He had reduced himself during his training nearly fourteen pounds, but he was lively, strong, and well to all intents and purposes. It was a dangerous experiment for a light man like Curtis, but to use his own words, he assured his friends he was never better in the whole course of his life. Tisdale was as good as he could be made by the wholesome effects of training, and also inspired with the highest confidence that success would crown his efforts. In point of youth the Pet had the best of it. The attitude of Curtis was a picture, and he appeared to the spectators a master of the art of boxing. The style of Tisdale was not so imposing as his accomplished fistic rival, but it was firm, calculated to receive the attack, and formed an excellent outline of a scientific pugilist. Dick measured his opponent from head to foot, keeping a good look-out for squalls, anxious to give, but not to receive. Tisdale was also leary, but his guard was low. The Pet viewed his rival as a dangerous customer, and like a skilful general was determined not to give half a chance away; he not only worked hard with his hands, but he was likewise perpetually on the move with his feet. Plenty of caution was exhibited on both sides. “Do not be gammoned,” was the advice of Randall and Cropley to Tisdale. The interest was intense amongst the spectators to witness the lead taken on either side. Tisdale attempted to plant a blow, but Dick got away like a dancing-master. Tisdale repeated the attempt twice, when ditto, ditto, on the part of the Pet was the time of day. A sort of stand-still followed, both keeping prime lookouts, like experienced pilots. Curtis made an offer, but Tisdale was awake. The Pet, after manœuvring in his best style, at length let fly his right and left, when Tisdale, with admirable skill, parried both hits, amidst loud applause from the surrounding crowd. A short pause. “It will be a long fight,” said the amateurs. Tisdale made another neat parry. Dick, as if it appeared to his mind he had got his opponent, hit out one, two, reached the canister of Tisdale, then rushed in to his work and fibbed away. Tisdale endeavoured to return the compliment, but without effect, was ultimately thrown, and undermost. (It might be said not much was the matter, but the Bermondsey boys let loose their red rags, and odds to any amount were offered. This round occupied nearly nine minutes.)
2.—Tisdale wished to go to work, but Dick would not have it. Curtis with great force put in a facer without return. (“Beautiful!” from his friends.) Tisdale slightly touched the body of his adversary. Both made themselves up for mischief, and two prime counter-hits were the result. The Pet planted a ribber, which made Tisdale blow for breath. Both on the look-out. Curtis hit out right and left with effect, but in return he napped a rum one on his ear. Some exchanges occurred, when Dick, with great impetuosity, planted two blows that were heard all over the ring, and Tisdale went down. The effect was so heavy that Tisdale for the instant scarcely knew where he was, and he put up his hand to keep Dick off.
3.—The handiwork of the Pet was visible to all the ring—a lump on Tisdale’s forehead, and his left eye damaged. Dick soon planted a nobber. A pause. Dick got away from mischief. Tisdale endeavoured to plant some hits, but Dick retreated in the most masterly style. Tisdale again missed several hits, owing to the retreating jumps of Curtis. Dick also made some beautiful stops. Tisdale satisfied his friends that he was a brave little man, although he could not get the lead. The skill evinced by Curtis was much admired. He gammoned his opponent to come and fight, and then punished him for his temerity. Dick again made his one, two, good, which produced some severe in-fighting, decidedly in favour of the Pet. In closing, both down, Tisdale undermost. (“Odds?” cried Josh; “why, you may bet anything, and no mistake! It’s one hundred to a rump steak, and I’ll lay the hundred pounds.”)
4.—The Bermondseys were all in high spirits. Tisdale made play without effect, Dick being ready for his opponent at all points. Tisdale, rather wild from the one, two, of his opponent, hit at random. In closing Dick got the best of the fibbing, and Tisdale was again thrown. (“Meat in Newgate Market must rise to-morrow,” said the John Bull Fighter, “to cover the losses of the kill-bulls.”)
5.—Upwards of a minute elapsed before anything was attempted between the combatants, so much caution was observed on both sides. Tisdale was on the alert to effect a turn, but Dick was up to his movements. The latter also neatly, and with great force, planted two hits without return. Tisdale at length got into work, and some sharp blows were exchanged. Tisdale showed “first blood,” from the mouth, which was announced to the ring by Josh Hudson. In closing Tisdale went down.
6.—The steadiness displayed by Tisdale was much admired. He came cheerfully to the scratch, and tried to punish the Pet, but the latter stopped him with ease. The right hand of Curtis made a smashing hit on Tisdale’s left ogle, but the Newgate Market hero quick as lightning countered, and produced the claret from Dick’s ear. (“My eye,” said Cropley to Randall, “that was a teaser!”) Dick tried all his skill to draw Tisdale again into his clutches, but Jack was not to be had, and a long pause ensued. Curtis jobbed with his left hand, nevertheless Tisdale returned the charge like nothing but a good one. The men fought their way into a rally, and pepper on both sides was the order of the day, until they broke away. This round was decidedly the best that had taken place; and although it was the general opinion that Dick would prove the conqueror, it was admitted at the same time that he would have his work to do. Tisdale could not plant his hits effectually, the Pet was so good upon his legs. Curtis in great style stopped a rib-roaster, and patted his arm, laughing at Tisdale. A rally was the tie-up of this round, to the advantage of Curtis, and Tisdale fell with his back upon the ropes. Several bets were now lost that Dick won the battle in half an hour.
7.—This round was a touch of the polish. Dick had it all his own way. He jobbed and jobbed again, without any return, and closed the round by throwing the hero of Newgate Market.
8.—Dick, although so much in his favour, was still cautious, determined to make his conquest complete. The left hand of the Pet in numerous instances operated like the kick of a horse on the nob of Tisdale. The latter retreated to the ropes, followed by Curtis, when Dick took the lead in weaving, and a severe struggle for the throw took place. During the time Tisdale was balancing upon the ropes, and apprehensive of the punishment he was about to receive from Curtis, he said, “Dick, don’t hit me now.” “I will not,” replied Dick, and laying hold of Tisdale’s hand he pulled him up, and led him into the middle of the ring, amidst tumultuous applause. The battle was now severe indeed, and Tisdale hit wide and wild; the Pet planted a facer, when they both went to work like out-and-outers. Give and take, and summat the matter on both sides; the nose of Curtis appeared as if it had been scraped with a knife. The face of Tisdale had now assumed an altered aspect, and, according to the phrase of the Ring, his uncles and aunts would have doubted his relationship, his frontispiece was so completely altered. To add to Tisdale’s already damaged head, Dick again planted two jobbers, and Tisdale was floored. (Hats were thrown up, the Bermondsey coves shouting and dancing, and odds as extravagant as St. Paul’s to a cockle-shell offered.)
9.—Short. Tisdale suffering under the severity of punishment hit at random. This sort of conduct suited Curtis; he took advantage of the mistake, and by a hit on the domino box sent Tisdale to his mother earth.
10.—A brave man will always claim admiration, and a braver or better little man was never seen in the twenty-four foot than Jack Tisdale. But his superior in tactics stood before him. The coolness which had previously distinguished the conduct of Tisdale was gone by, and the repeated irritating blows had excited his passion; at all events, he threw several blows away. He would not be denied, and he bored Dick nearly to the ropes. In stopping a sort of kill-bull blow Dick slipped down on his latter end. This circumstance gave a little bit of new life to his friends, and Tisdale was loudly cheered.
11.—A few persons seemed to think that Dick was weak, but he soon convinced his partisans to the contrary. Dick got away from mischief, but was exceedingly mischievous in the return, and the nose of the hero of Newgate Market received a hit enough to have satisfied any common glutton. Tisdale, undismayed, never flinched, and returned sharply on Curtis’s chin. (“Hallo!” cried Cropley, “Master Dick, you have napped it.”) Dick, waiting for a turn, tried every move on the board to have the best of it; he planted a facer, repeated the dose, then tried it a third time with success. (“Blow my dickey!” said Josh; “why, I never saw a footman knock at a door half so stylish as Dick is paying his respects to Mr. Tisdale!”) The hero of Newgate Market stood up with the firmness of a brick, counter-hitting, and exerting himself to win, until Dick punished him in all directions at the ropes. In struggling for the throw Dick had the best of it, and Tisdale was undermost. (Curtis, during the time he was sitting upon the knee of his second, informed his backer he could put on the polish and win it in a canter. “No,” was the reply, “take your time; it is all your own; win at your leisure.”)
12.—This round had hardly commenced when a facer was planted by Curtis. Tisdale, quite wild, followed Dick over the ring, but Curtis put on another opera step, and nothing was the matter. Tisdale again went to work, but the skipping back of Curtis made him all right. The Pet put in a jobber, ditto, and ditto, repeated. The gluttony displayed by Tisdale called forth not only admiration, but pity. The Newgate Market hero made himself up for mischief, tremendous counter-hits occurred, and the claret was seen from the nose of Curtis. Yet nothing could take the fight out of the Pet. Tisdale wildly following him received punishment at every step. In closing Tisdale underwent fibbing, and was also thrown.
13.—This round had nearly proved a finale. Tisdale now became desperate, and plunged headlong to work, regardless of consequences. Dick stopped him, got away with ease, and punished his opponent severely. A pause ensued, Dick as cautious as when he commenced the battle. The appearance of Tisdale was really piteous, but he still kept the game alive, and did his best for himself and friends to obtain victory. The Pet soon got an opening, and hit poor Tisdale to a perfect stand-still; his hands dropped, he staggered, and fell down. (“Take him away,” said Josh; “it is a shame to let such a brave fellow be punished without the shadow of a chance to win.”)
14.—When time was called Tisdale answered it, but he was as groggy as a sailor three sheets in the wind—“yes, and worse than that ’ere,” as the John Bull Fighter observed, Tisdale scarcely knowing what he was about—in fact, he was quite abroad, dealing his blows at random. Dick hopped out of the way of mischief, then planted a facer, which gave his opponent the staggers. Tisdale fell on his hand and knee, but being too game to consider the round at end, immediately got up to renew the fight, when the Pet ran up to him and sent him down. “Foul!” and “Fair!” were the cries—the umpires disagreed, but the referee considered it fair. The conduct of Curtis might have been censured as not exactly polite or gentlemanly, as Scroggins said, nevertheless it was perfectly fair, as Tisdale rose upon his legs to renew the battle. In the first instance Tisdale was about leaving the ring, but upon hearing the referee’s decision he returned to renew the fight.
15.—The time gained by the wrangle was good for Tisdale. He put up his hands at the scratch, then recollecting himself said it was “foul conduct,” left Curtis, went up to the umpires, and asked “what he was to do?” “Why, fight on,” replied the referee, “if you do not mean to lose the fight.” It is worthy of remark that Curtis never took any advantage of Tisdale’s movements, which he might have done. Some of the spectators had now left their places in the outer ring, and all was glorious confusion.
16.—This round was all upon the bustle, and whips and sticks were at work to keep the ring clear. The battle was now reduced a horse to a hen; Tisdale was of no use, and Curtis hit him down. (“Don’t leave the ring, Dick, till you finish the fight properly,” observed his friends.)
17, and last.—Tisdale again appeared at the scratch, but it was only to receive additional punishment. Dick was at him without delay, and Tisdale was again down at the ropes. On time being called Tisdale did not appear at the scratch. Curtis went up to him, when Randall said, “It is all over,” and Tisdale also added that “he would not fight any more.” The John Bull Fighter, after putting the colours, the fruits of victory, round the neck of the Pet, hoisted him on his shoulders, and carried him in triumph to his drag, amidst loud shouting. The fight was over in fifty-eight minutes.
Remarks.—From the beginning to the end of the mill it never appeared to us that Tisdale had a chance of winning. In observing thus much it is not meant to convey an opinion to our readers that Tisdale is not a good boxer—the contrary is the fact. He is one of the best little men of his weight in the kingdom; he stands well upon his legs; he can stop like a tactician, hits hard, and possesses a capital knowledge of boxing. His courage is of the highest order, and his game unquestionable. He is not disgraced in surrendering to Curtis, the irresistible Champion of the Light Weights. Many spectators felt disappointed that Curtis did not do more with Tisdale at the beginning of the battle, as the friends of Curtis declared that Tisdale would be polished off sans cérémonie. But Curtis was not to be led away by the high praises of his backers, and like a skilful general he treated his adversary as a dangerous opponent. Curtis did not escape without some sharp punishment about the head, but in comparison with Tisdale’s it was trifling in the extreme.
Curtis, from his unbroken career of conquest in the Prize Ring, might now be compared to the celebrated Eclipse, who, having won all the King’s Plates he went for, was “cried down;” for the Pet was so decidedly excellent in his tactics that he was left without an opponent.
Some injudicious persons at this period began an idle newspaper controversy on the comparative merits of Curtis and Jack Randall, full of vulgar personalities; and the latter boxer, in the month of October, 1827, allowed a letter to appear with his signature in Pierce Egan’s Life in London, in which he offered to fight Curtis “in four months from the time of making the match, for £300 to £1,000 (!) either on a stage or the turf,” “money always ready at the Hole in the Wall, Chancery Lane.” To which Curtis replied that “his weight was nine stone,” but he would “give half a stone, and fight Mr. Randall, or any other man, for £100 to £300.” This buncombe of course meant nothing. Indeed, poor Jack was already doing battle with the universal conqueror, who gave him the finishing blow within six months of this ridiculous challenge.
Curtis took his leave of the Prize Ring at a benefit at the Fives Court, in November, 1827, by an open challenge for a month to any man in England, half a stone above his weight. No boxer had the temerity to come forward and “pick up the glove;” and Curtis in consequence retired from the scene of active pugilism. But although the Pet had given up prize milling, he had not given up the use of his hands to protect himself from insult. On Wednesday afternoon, January 2nd, 1828, as the Pet and his pal, Young Dutch Sam, were walking along Blackfriars Road, they passed a couple of sturdy coalheavers, one of whom, in swinging his whip round, struck Dick. The latter asked Coaly what he meant by striking him. The exact reply we must not mention—suffice it to say that Dick threatened to kick the offender on that part of his person to which he was referred for an explanation. Coaly, not knowing the Pet, threw a brave defiance in his teeth, and a set-to commenced, Sam seconding the Pet, and Coaly having his own companion to pick him up. Dick found himself engaged with a very strong fellow, who knew a little about fighting, and was moreover fully a stone and a half the heavier man. Coaly rushed in to bring his strength to bear, and Dick, as his custom was, broke ground—jobbing and retreating. One of the black diamond’s eyes was soon in darkness, but he did not take without giving; almost at the very commencement of the fight, he planted a nobber that severely damaged the Pet’s neat countenance, besides sending him back against a cart, with a force that raised a peal of bells in Dick’s cranium. The spectators of all sorts were, of course, numerous, and some of them expressed considerable disapprobation at Dick’s mode of getting away. Encouraged by this, the second coalheaver went behind Curtis and stopped him as he retreated; Young Dutch Sam instantly floored him, which at once took all conceit of either fighting or interfering out of that gentleman. A bystander soon after received a topper from Sam for placing his carcass where it ought not to be; he soon after came up behind the young Dutchman, returned the hit on the sly, and retreated among the mob; but Sam quickly pulled him forth and gave him three or four facers, whereupon he cried for quarter. During these proceedings the Pet was still engaged with his first antagonist, who proved himself a game man, and though told that he was fighting with the celebrated Dick Curtis, he refused to give in, but declared that he knew he could beat his man, saying, “let him be Dick or Devil, he’d sarve him out.” At length a gentleman, not liking to see a good man cut up where he had little or no chance, took Coaly by the arm, and after literally begging him to leave off, strengthened his counsel by a douceur of half-a-crown, upon sight of which the brave, though saucy, coalheaver consented to say “enough.” He was severely punished about the head—nor did Curtis escape scot-free; his nob was visibly marked.
A long letter professing to come from the coalheaver and signed “George Phillips” appeared the following week in the Dispatch, in which the writer, denying his defeat, and offering to fight Curtis for £5 (!), hoped that the Pet would meet him “for love, and the £5 as a sweetener.” Mr. Whittaker, an oilman and ex-pugilist, its supposed writer, also went about offering to back “his man” against “the Pet.”
Curtis now went on a sparring tour to Manchester and Liverpool; at the latter place, at the Circus, he was enthusiastically received. Young Sam, Jem Ward, and Ned Stockman were also of the party.
All doubts respecting the milling capabilities of Coaly were completely put to rest at Joe Fishwick’s benefit at the Tennis Court, on Monday, March 17th, 1828. The sturdy black diamond having declared, in opposition to all the statements published of that affair, that he had the “best of it,” Curtis chivalrously volunteered to put on the gloves with him. He had not the slightest chance with Curtis, who nobbed him at pleasure, drew blood from his razor-shaped nose, and knocked him down no less than six times. All he could do was, when not hit off his legs, to bore Dick against the rail by superior weight and strength; but in everything that belongs to fighting it was “all the world to nothing” on the Pet. The latter seemed at length ashamed to hit the man, and offered to cut it, but Coaly was foolhardy enough to wish for more, saying “he was not hurt.” Curtis therefore accommodated him with additional punishment. On pulling off the gloves the coalheaver appeared quite chapfallen. Dick was so completely armed at all points that the violent attacks of Coaly were utterly frustrated, and it might almost be said that Curtis left the stage without receiving a hit.
Though retired as a principal, Dick’s talents as a second were in constant requisition, and his name will be found, in that capacity, in many pages of our volumes. It would have been well indeed for Curtis had he adhered to his resolution of retirement; but it was not to be. A ten stone man, Perkins, of Oxford, who had received the title of “the Oxford Pet,” had so raised his name by rapid victories over Wakelin, Jem Raines, and Dick Price, in one year (1827), that a battle for £100 was proposed and accepted. In this overmatched contest Curtis was defeated on December 30th, 1828, at Hurley Bottom, Berks, as detailed under our notice of Perkins in an after-page of this Appendix.
From the period of his first and only defeat Curtis did not enter the Prize Ring again as a principal. As a second he was constantly called upon to exercise his talents, as our pages will show. On these occasions he displayed incomparable tact and judgment, often winning fights “out of the fire,” where all hope of success had been abandoned. He was second to Owen Swift in the unfortunate battle between that accomplished master of the art and Brighton Bill, as is fully set forth in the memoir of Young Dutch Sam. For this he was tried at the Hertford Assizes on July 14th, 1838, and was sentenced to three months’ imprisonment. In the later period of his life he was a martyr to the rheumatic gout, and was frequently laid up for weeks together. The life of the Pet shows no exception to that of other public favourites, theatrical or otherwise—chequered by vicissitudes, at one time in “full feather and fine song,” and at another penniless—a state of things to be ascribed to his propensity to “a hand at crib,” and other gambling practices. For a short period he was a publican, keeping the “Star,” in Blackman Street, Borough; but he had not then “sown his wild oats,” and the eccentricity of his disposition soon caused him to “retire from the business,” or more correctly the business retired from him. Notwithstanding his temporary acquaintance with the interior of Hertford Gaol, he continued to be sought as a “trump card” at all fights, and those who succeeded in securing his services had never any reason to regret their confidence. A contemporary, the late Vincent George Dowling, Esq., thus bore testimony to his worth in an editorial obituary notice in Bell’s Life, and the writer, from personal knowledge, can well endorse that testimony: “Long as we have known Curtis, we never heard of his having deceived a friend, and he was one of the few of his class upon whom reliance in matters of opinion could be implicitly placed. He was always grateful for obligations conferred, and in the hour of need had never-failing sources of relief, when his pride would permit him to confess his necessities. His last and fatal illness is attributable to having burst a blood-vessel, from which he never thoroughly rallied, and it has been our lot to hear him speak in terms of deep gratitude for the kindnesses he experienced whilst an inmate of Guy’s Hospital, as well from his medical attendants as from those numerous old acquaintances who sympathised in his sufferings, among whom we may rank his early pupil and protégé, Owen Swift, who was enabled to raise and contribute to his wants within the last six weeks upwards of eighteen pounds, while we know from other sources that sum was doubled during the same period. This is the best refutation of a tissue of gross falsehoods foisted upon the editor of the Morning Herald, unfortunately but too ready to adopt any statement, however absurd, which he deems calculated to throw discredit on the manly art of boxing or its professors. Young Dutch Sam, who was also introduced to the Ring by the deceased, contributed his mite, and we can say, from the best authority, that the expiring ‘King Richard,’ while he died in peace with all mankind, was surrounded with every comfort his situation required, and in homely terms testified his perfect satisfaction with all that had been done for him. ’Tis true he left no ‘stock purse’ behind, but that circumstance did not restrain those who knew and respected him in life from taking the necessary steps to secure a becoming attention to the last sad ceremonies of the grave.”
To this spontaneous testimony of the “Nestor of the Ring,” we may add that Curtis breathed his last at his own house in Dover Street, Southwark, on Saturday, September 16th, 1843. We have been more precise on this point because an eminent sporting writer, misled by the paper once known as “My Grandmother,” has left it on record, “And the once caressed Pet of the Fancy breathed his last unfriended and unattended, save by the hireling servitors of a public hospital.” “King Dick,” as his companions were wont to call him, was sensible to the last, and perfectly conscious of the approaching close of his career.
His memory and his widow he bequeathed to his friends, feelingly deploring the reduced state of his exchequer, and hoping that his old “pals” would liberally come forward to contribute something towards alleviating the sorrows and distresses of his widow, who had been to him a careful and kindly nurse throughout a long and painful illness. For some days previous to the final flicker of the vital spark, Dick had been occasionally wandering, and the scenes of his former pursuits seemed to pass before his mental vision. He talked of battles won and lost, of the merits of his compeers, and of the qualifications requisite for his profession. When visited by Owen Swift, and others his “companions in arms,” he was cheerful, although he occasionally mistook one for another, and on reference to coming events gave his opinion pretty freely about those modern pretenders who stickled for half a stone. Turning to a friend, he observed, “My last round is come!” and sinking into a state of insensibility, shortly afterwards expired.
The remains of the departed pugilist were carried to their “narrow home” in St. George’s Churchyard, Southwark, on the Thursday next after his decease, in a manner suitable to the respect felt by his family and friends. Among the mourners who followed were his brother, a well-known veterinary surgeon, the Champion of England, Peter Crawley, Jem Burn, Owen Swift, Alec Reid, Young Reed, Ned Turner, Johnny Hannan, Johnny Walker, Reidie, Deaf Burke, cum multis aliis. His friend Young Dutch Sam was absent from illness (he died in six weeks afterwards), and such was the sympathy and public curiosity on the occasion that quite ten thousand persons lined the route of the funeral procession. While upon this subject, we may add that the proceeds of a sparring benefit at Jem Burn’s, £25, were handed over to the widow by the editor of Bell’s Life in London, with more than £50 of subscriptions from other sources, with which she was placed in a humble but profitable business in Fetter Lane, and where the factory was known as that of “Curtis’s Premier Blacking.” We therefore consider the rhetorical flourish of “Nimrod” as completely “polished off” as “King Richard” during his reign himself polished off those who disputed his “fistic” supremacy.
The subject of this biography first opened his eyes on the bustling world in the populous Goshen of Duke’s Place, Aldgate, on the 21st of November, 1800.
At an early age, as we are told by “Boxiana,” Master Barney distinguished himself by taking his own part, and milling with the utmost impartiality either Jew or Christian boy who might forget the law of meum and tuum in the matter of marbles, tops, kites, balls, or such other personal property as to boyhood appertaineth.
In the year 1819 one Bill Connelly (whose nationality we may suspect to be Hibernian), having assumed the title of the Rosemary Lane Champion, we presume in virtue of his talent, promised the young Israelite a thrashing. To the execution of this promise the juvenile Maccabeus put in a demurrer, and to sustain it hurled defiance in the teeth of Paddy. They met, and after sixteen rounds occupying thirty-three minutes the Philistine was routed, and the children of Israel sang “See the Conquering Hero Comes” in honour of the youthful Jewish warrior.
Aaron next laid hands very heavily on one of “the tribesh,” Manny Lyons, a heavier man by two stone, and superior in length. It was a hard battle for an hour and a quarter, when Barney, worn out by his own exertions rather than the hitting of his adversary, lost the battle from exhaustion, but not his character as a pugilist of high pretensions.
In a second battle with Lyons, Barney in half an hour got his opponent “down to his own weight,” beat him in fifty minutes, and refreshed his laurels, scarcely tarnished by his first defeat.
BARNEY AARON (“The Star of the East”).
Ely Bendon, a good fighter and a game man, challenged Barney, and they met on Bow Common. As the P.C. ropes and stakes were not there the fight is not reported. Barney defeated Bendon in three-quarters of an hour.
Samuel Belasco, a brother of Aby and of Israel Belasco, and therefore of the family of “the fighting Belascos,” tried the quality of young Barney at the cost of defeat, as did Angel Hyams, a nephew of the celebrated Dan Mendoza. But the latter affair being interrupted by a magistrate at the seventh round was never brought to a conclusion.
Barney was now “somebody,” and anxious to earn a name, fame, and “monish,” so he went down to see the fights between Arthur Matthewson, of Birmingham, and Israel Belasco, and of Phil Sampson and Birmingham Hall, which took place on Moulsey Hurst on Wednesday, March 19th, 1823.
A purse was announced for a third battle, when Tom Collins (a 10st. 7lbs. pugilist, who afterwards fought Harry Jones) offered himself. There was a pause, when young Barney modestly stepped into the ropes as a candidate. The fighting was all in favour of Barney, who took astonishing liberties with the nob of Collins, so much so as to turn the odds from six to four against him to five to four in his favour. After half an hour’s sharp work Barney’s left hand was injured, and he was reluctantly compelled to discontinue the fight.
The exhibition however gained him immediate friends, and he was at once matched against Ned Stockman for £25 a-side. The battle was decided on the 6th of May, 1823, at Blindlow Heath, Sussex, after Peter Crawley had conquered Dick Acton. Stockman had for his seconds Eales and Dick Curtis; Barney was attended by Jem Ward and Rogers. The battle was gallantly contested for forty minutes and as many rounds, when Stockman gave in severely punished. He could not resist the resolute and heavy hitting of the Jew, and declared he had never met so good a man of his weight. This victory at once stamped Barney as a boxer of talent.
He was now backed against Lenney, who had seen some service in the P.R., and was known as a good and game trial horse, for £50. Their difference of opinion was decided on the 5th of August, 1823, on Harpenden Common, near St. Albans. Barney threw his castor into the ring under the care of Josh Hudson and Peter Crawley, for he had already gained the favour of the big ’uns. Lenney was advised by the learned and eloquent Harry Holt, while Davy Hudson followed on the same side.
Round 1.—The attitude of Lenney was interesting; and he displayed himself to better advantage than usual. The Jew was in a great hurry to feel for his opponent’s nob; but Lenney said, “Wait a bit!” However, they soon went to work; Lenney had the worst of the milling, and also went down. (Six to four on Barney.)
2.—Lenney put in two such severe blows on the Jew’s head that for an instant he was quite abroad, and turned round; but he recovered himself before the end of the round, and Lenney again went down.
3.—It was a horse to a hen, in this early stage of the fight. Lenney received six distinct nobbers on the middle of his head, and went down helpless.
4.—Lenney succeeded in drawing the Jew after him, by which means he was enabled to give Aaron two or three sharp facers. Lenney at the conclusion of the round was on the turf. Ten to one.
5.—The Jew slipped, and went down from a slight blow.
6.—Lenney put in a couple of facers; but nothing could stop the Jew’s eagerness to be milling. (“Stand still,” said Josh; “do not give your opponent an opportunity by drawing you off your ground.”) Both down.
7.—The nob of Lenney was a complete drum for his adversary to beat. Three successive facers were got in, and Lenney floored.
8.—Nothing could be more decisive; Lenney received three facers, and was hit down.
9.—“Take him away; he has no chance.” The Jew boy had it all his own way. Lenney, it is true, did not want for courage, and now and then put in some good blows; but the stamina and courage of the Jew were too good for him. The jobbing of Aaron spoiled Lenney till he went down. Any odds.
10.—It was a pity to see Lenney continue the battle. He was punished all over the ring, and ultimately measured his length on the turf. (“Take him away; it is too bad to let him fight any longer.”)
11, and last.—It was ditto and ditto, repeated till poor Lenney was again on the grass. His backer, we are informed, who betted fifty pounds that he would not be defeated in half an hour, urged him to continue the battle for a few more rounds, as the chance might turn in his favour; but the answer of Lenney was, “I will not fight longer for any man.” It was over in fifteen minutes.
Lenney was not exactly satisfied in his own mind as to his defeat, therefore another match was made, for £20 a-side. This was decided on Moulsey Hurst, on Tuesday, November 11th, 1823, after Josh Hudson had defeated Jem Ward. Aaron, followed by Aby Belasco and Bill Gibbons, threw his hat into the ring; but a quarter of an hour elapsed before Lenney appeared, attended by Harry Holt and Peter Crawley as his seconds. Aaron five and six to four the favourite.
Round 1.—Both the “little ones” appeared to have too much pride in their composition to throw away any time in stopping, so went to work like blacksmiths, till Lenney found himself hanging on the ropes, where he was milled down. Seven to four on Aaron.
2.—Full of pluck, and both pelting away sans cérémonie. At this instant, the outer ring was broken, and the confusion was so great that the battle was stopped until order was restored. The Jew napped a heavy hit on the head, but in return Lenney was punished down.
3–8.—Lenney was not deficient in pluck or science, but was evidently overmatched. He was severely milled in all these rounds. (“Foul, foul!” frequently occurred, during the time Lenney was balancing on the ropes, but the latter kept fighting all the while he was in such situations.)
9–11.—These were all fighting rounds, but Lenney had so much the worst of it that ten pounds to one were offered on the Jew.
12–18.—Aaron was so full of gaiety that he bored his man down with the utmost ease. Here some words occurred between Belasco and Lenney. The latter kicked Belasco violently on his leg, and also gave him a blow on his mouth, and said loud enough to be heard by the spectators, “I will not fight any more.” Belasco, with much propriety and forbearance, did not meddle with Lenney, which otherwise might have produced a wrangle. Aaron left the ring instantly, thinking he had won the battle. A great disturbance arose, and the umpire considered the battle at an end; but in consequence of Lenney’s asserting “that what he had said was from passion, declaring that he would not fight any more if Belasco remained in the ring, who acted foul towards him,” the umpire consented the battle should go on again. Aaron observed he did not wish to take advantage of a slip of the tongue made by his opponent, and would most readily fight it out. Order being restored, the boxers recommenced.
19.—It was all up with Lenney; after being milled all over the ring, and his face covered with claret, he was ultimately floored. Any odds.
20.—Aaron punished his adversary in all directions; and in closing at the ropes Barney fibbed Lenney till he went down quite exhausted. (“Take him away; he has no chance.”)
21, and last.—Lenney had scarcely put up his hands at the scratch when Barney floored him like a shot. This was a finisher; and Lenney found it was of no use to continue the contest any longer. Making deductions for the loss of time, the battle occupied about twenty minutes.
Remarks.—The remarks we have to make on this fight are short, but we are compelled to be severe. Great praise is due to the Jew for not throwing his “own people” over, and likewise in firmly refusing to sell those who had laid money upon him. Thirty pounds, he asserted, were offered him at Hampton to lose the battle, on the morning of fighting, and his backers were well assured of the fact.
Frank Redmond, a brave little man (see note on Redmond, Life of Evans, ante, page 392) under the patronage of Dick Curtis, was backed against Barney Aaron for £25 a-side. The battle was decided on Moulsey Hurst, on Tuesday, December 30th, 1823.
The amateurs were not so numerous as usual (in consequence of the fight between Abraham Belasco and Neale being postponed till the 7th of January); however, those out-and-outers who never miss anything in the shape of a fight were present. At two o’clock Barney, attended by “one of his own peoplesh” and Maurice Delay, threw his hat into the ring; about five minutes afterwards Redmond, genteelly dressed, arm-in-arm with Curtis and Harry Holt, threw his hat out of the ring. The president of the Daffy Club was the stakeholder; and in order to make “all right,” fresh articles were drawn up at Lawrence’s, the “Red Lion,” at Hampton, to obviate the difficulty of fighting in the same ring with Belasco and Neale, as expressed in the original agreement.
Round 1.—Redmond, a tight, well-made man, weighing ten stone, when stripped and in attitude, looked as if he could “do something,” more especially under the guidance of the Pet of the Fancy and the eloquent and elegant aide-de-camp of the Commissary-General, by which he had the advantage of the combined knowledge of the West and East Ends. He was the favourite, five to four. Mister Barney came out of the scale nine stone twelve pounds, as lively as an eel and as spirited as a young colt; with a face full of confidence, in rare condition, with sparkling ogles (each “worth a Jew’s eye”), and with a firm step, he was eager to commence the attack. Redmond faced him smilingly, fresh as a daisy and gay as a lark. Barney surveyed his opponent from head to foot with coolness, and Redmond likewise took measure of Aaron. At length Mister Barney, by way of the compliments of the season, a kind of late Christmas-box, sent his right fist very near Redmond’s head, but Master Frank declined to accept it, and got away. After a short pause, Barney rushed in, caught hold of Redmond, and began the weaving system with some success. Frank endeavoured to fib too, and in the struggle and hammering both went down, Barney undermost. (“Go it, Redmond, never leave him!”)
2–6.—These rounds were full of fibbing, and no lies. Barney the hero in all of them. In the latter round the claret appeared on Redmond’s nose. (Six to four on the Jew.)
7–10.—Redmond proved himself nothing else but a good little man; but he had little chance as yet to win; that is to say, he had not changed the battle in his favour, and the odds had left him. In the last round Barney planted two good nobbing hits, right and left.
11.—Redmond had a little turn here, and gave Mister Barney two out-and-outers upon his Mosaic index. These made his eloquent second exclaim, in Chesterfieldian style: “Elegant! beautiful! and so handsomely done, too. Those were immense hits, ’pon honour. Be so good as to repeat them, Mr. Redmond. About four more such elegant blows will win you the battle. That circumstance accomplished, I will take you under my wing, among the heavy ones, on Sunday next, in Hyde Park.” (“Yes,” said Barney, “so you shall; but I must dress him well before you take him out, Harry.”) The Jew tried the fibbing system, but ultimately was undermost when down.
12.—This was a sharp round altogether; and the finish of it was, Barney down. (“Reddy, my boy,” said the Pet, “he can’t hurt you now; his hands are gone; and if you are only half as game as your dog, you’ll win it in a canter. Why, it’s Bermondsey tan-pits to a leather apron in your favour!”)
13–17.—Barney had decidedly the best of all these rounds. He fibbed his opponent with the nimbleness of a drummer practising the roll-call. The Jew behaved very manly in the last round; he let Redmond down, holding up both his hands, when he might have dealt out punishment. (“Bravo, Barney!” from Christians and Jews; and lots of applause.)
18.—The fight was now drawing to the finish, from the execution done by the Jew. He put in four desperate jobbers on Redmond’s nob, and sent him down. (Seven to four and two to one.)
19–21.—Redmond’s nose was clareted, and his face and right eye exhibited sharp punishment. Barney had it all his own way, driving his man over the ring till down.
22–24.—Redmond fought like a man, but was getting groggy. Both down. (“Vat a peautiful hitter!” said a Sheeny; “it’s as shafe as the Bank. I shall vin my monish to-day. Look, Israel, look how he nicks him, as the man shaid about the jackdaw. Moses, Levy, Benjamin, Ikey, Sholomons, and David, only look at him—so help me, it’s Dutch Sam come to life again!”)
25.—It was three to one against Redmond. Poor Frank had no chance, and was sent down. (“Take him away.”)
26.—Redmond would not listen to surrender, and endeavoured to fight, till he went down.
27.—Barney did as he liked, till Redmond measured his length on the ground. (“Take him away!” was now vociferated from all parts of the ring.)
28.—Redmond down in no time. (Twenty to one. It was now Fonthill Abbey to a cowshed.)
29, and last.—The game of Redmond was so good that he came staggering to the scratch to have another shy, but was floored in a twinkling. It was over in thirty-two minutes.
Remarks.—Barney did not win without napping it sharply. In the twenty-second round, he exhibited the finishing traits of Randall. Barney, when tired of administering punishment to Redmond with his left hand, changed his adversary in his arms, and fibbed him down with his right. We hope Barney will listen to advice which has been often given to other pugilists who laughed at all cautions in prosperity, but who have had to lament their neglect in the day of trouble. Barney, remember to keep good company, take care of your health, but above all things never show yourself a fighting man, except in the P.R. Let not Mr. Lushington scrape acquaintance with you. Bear the above things in your mind, and if you do not make your fortune by following them you are sure to be respected, and never want a friend.
Mister Barney returned to town in first-rate style, and showed with all the honours of conquest at Howard’s Coffee House, St. James’s Place, Houndsditch. It was crowded to excess, and many West End swells were present. On the Thursday after the fight Frank Redmond, in true English style, offered his hand to Barney as the best man at Howard’s, and they drank to each other’s health, when Barney put his hand into his pocket and presented his brave opponent with a sovereign for “expenses.”
Peter Warren having expressed his anxiety to try his luck with Aaron, a match was made between them for £50 a-side. This trial of skill was decided on Tuesday, April 6th, 1824, at Colnbrook, seventeen miles from London.
The road was rather thin of company; but the Sheenies, who were numerous and full of fun, gave a life to the scene which otherwise it would not have possessed. Barney and his backers got over the ground in gay style, under the patronage of the president of the Daffy Club. An open barouche conveyed the “little Dutch Sam” to the scene of action. When time was called Peter Warren, attended by his backers, showed, and followed by Maurice Delay and Jem Ward as his seconds, in the most polite way introduced his castor within the ropes. Barney in a minute afterwards threw his beaver up, waited upon by Nathan and Aby Belasco. The colours—yellow for Barney and green for Peter—were tied to the stakes. “Let us have a quiet fight,” said Warren to the seconds of Barney. “Certainly,” was the reply. “I shall be as good friends as ever with you, Peter, after the fight is over,” remarked Aaron.
It would be waste of space to report in extenso this and some other battles of the clever light weight, whose claim to a page in the history of pugilism is nevertheless undeniable. The battle was simply a struggle of game, endurance, strength, and obstinacy against skill, straight—and therefore swift—hitting, and a ready recourse to those changes of tactics on the spur of the moment which mark the skilful boxer, and almost reduce such contests to a question of time. On this occasion twenty-three minutes and twenty-nine rounds sufficed to render poor Peter Warren deaf to the call of “time.”
Barney was driven off the ground in style, and arrived at an early hour in London. Warren was brought back to the “Magpies,” at Colnbrook, and put to bed for a few hours. Peter exhibited much punishment about the head. A naval officer, who had lost an arm in the defence of his country, stepped forward, and in the most generous manner ordered a post-chaise at his own expense from Cranford Bridge, in which he had Peter conveyed to his residence in Whitechapel. The gallant tar also visited Warren the next morning and administered a golden solatium to his sores.
A “chant of victory,” indited by “A Singer of Israel,” deserves to be rescued from oblivion:—