Chapter III

HEN. (OR HENRY) PEARCE, “THE GAME CHICKEN” (CHAMPION)—1803‒1805.

Brilliant as a meteor Hen. Pearce shot across the pugilistic horizon, as quickly to fall extinguished. When Jem Belcher had reached the zenith of his fame, he cast his eyes toward Bristol for a successor, and the early reputation of Pearce pointed him out as a likely holder of the belt of championship on behalf of his own native city.

We shall not here dilate on the fistic capabilities of Pearce, convinced that a simple record of his deeds will far outweigh pompous panegyric and fulsome laudation. Pearce was another among the many scientific sons of boxing Bristol, and among the many ring recruits which that ancient city furnished to the metropolitan arena must ever hold a distinguished place.

The year of Pearce’s birth was 1777, and after serving his apprenticeship duly to the age of twenty-one, to a tradesman in Bristol, some of the cognoscenti were attracted by his remarkable skill in sparring, and in boxing matches, for which that city and its rival, Bath, were then famous.

After Jem Belcher’s accident, in July, 1803, the champion made a flattering overture to the young Bristolian[90] to come to London. Berks, as we have already observed, now asserted his title to the championship, and Jem soon found Pearce an introduction to that bumptious personage, who was as much a bully as a bruiser, at the well-known rendezvous in St. Martin’s Street, Leicester-square. Belcher, as might be expected, after himself testing Pearce’s qualifications, readily backed his townsman, and their first serious rencontre is thus told in “Pancratia,” pp. 182 et seq.:—

“Thursday, August 11, 1803, was a great day out with the sporting classes of the metropolis, and ‘the Chicken’ was there (at Shooter’s Hill) with other visitors. Joe Berks also was present. On the road home these already talked-of rivals for the championship eyed each other with minute attention, and doubtless with some feelings of envy. In the course of the evening they met again at the Fives Court, St. Martin’s Lane, and stories were industriously circulated of the utter contempt which each had formed for the other’s pugilistic powers. In the course of the evening Pearce having retired, the gluttonous butcher became offensively insolent towards Pearce’s friends, boasting his capability of making it an affair of a few minutes, with such a thread paper. The challenge was communicated to the Chicken, who rose with alacrity from his bed (he then lodged in Wardour-street, Soho), and everything was quickly got ready. A well-lighted room was selected, and notice sent round to some leading patrons, that a trial of skill was to take place between the new Bristol youth, and the celebrated glutton Berks; numbers soon assembled, and between the hours of eleven and twelve the battle commenced. Berks’ inferiority was soon manifest. His slow and round method of fighting failed in doing any execution when opposed to the straight rapid hits of his active adversary, and his pluck only enabled him to receive uncommon punishment. The Chicken lost no time in displaying the graces of the science, yet put in his blows so sharply that Berks soon exhibited signs of weakness. During a desperate contest of twenty minutes, in which fifteen rounds of tremendous milling took place, Berks evinced great courage, and endeavoured in the latter round to fight defensively, and parry the blows of the Chicken, but the latter followed him up so straight-forward, that it was impossible for Berks to resist the consequences, and he was twice floored by the Chicken, so decidedly that he lay stupefied. The two blows were allowed by all present, to have been the most tremendously effective they had ever witnessed. Berks was dreadfully milled, yet had the candour to acknowledge that he had never before met with such a rapid antagonist.”

It should be observed that the cause of this unusual mode of settling an important fight, was that Berks was at this time under recognizances of £200, and the conditions of a published prize-fight were supposed to be hereby evaded.

From the time “the Game Chicken” first appeared in London, the patrons of the pugilate felt desirous to match him regularly against Berks, but the latter’s recognizances proved an insurmountable obstacle. Time at length eradicated all fear of that process, and the match was made.

HEN. (OR HENRY) PEARCE (CHAMPION), “THE GAME CHICKEN.”

_From a Drawing by_ REEVES, of Bristol, 1805.
]

The sum staked was £100, and the combatants agreed to fight upon the terms of £90 to the winner, and £10 to be appropriated to the loser. Accordingly “on Monday, January 23, 1804, the heroes of the fist again graced the well-known spot on Wimbledon Common, and at eleven o’clock a ring was formed upon the highest part of the common near Coombe Wood; but receiving information that they were in a parish wherein they were liable to be molested, they immediately gave the word to form another near the telegraph. A race ensued of a curious description, some thousands of pedestrians and equestrians, with lots of carriages and carts, all were set in commotion, trying who should obtain the best situation for seeing the fight.

“A ring being formed, after the bustle had subsided, Berks entered, accompanied by Tom Owen for his second, and Paddington Jones his bottle-holder. Shortly afterwards Pearce appeared, attended by Bill Gibbons and Caleb Baldwin. They immediately began to strip; Berks was the tallest and displaying immense muscle appeared to possess uncommon strength. Pearce stood about five feet eight inches and three quarters; the conformation of his chest and limbs brought to recollection the athletic form of the noted Tom Johnson, but on a smaller and lighter scale.

“At precisely at eleven minutes before twelve they set to. Odds seven to four in favour of Pearce, from the former rencontre.”

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Pearce showed great caution, opposing
himself indirectly to superior strength; and
Berks had learnt from the brushing he had got at
St. Martin’s Lane, not to rush in. Without any
blows being exchanged, both men closed and fell.
(Two to one on Pearce.)

2.—The Shropshireman upon his mettle, game to
the back-bone, went in desperately, and fought
into a rally like a hero; but the Chicken, awake
to his intent, milled on the retreat, and at
length put in a stopper on Berks’ forehead, that
made him reel again, when the Chicken caught him
staggering, and threw him.

3.—Berks, though bleeding profusely, stood up
well to his man, and a good display of hits was
made on both sides. Berks again thrown.

4, 5.—Ditto repeated, the exchanges in favour of
the Chicken.

6.—Pearce put in a blow, which Berks countered
so heavily as to bring down Pearce on his knee.
(Bravo, Berks!)

7 to 11.—Berks exceedingly shy of his opponent,
always waiting for his antagonist to break
ground, and suffering much from the repetition
of his blows. From this to

15.—The Chicken so much the favourite, that
the odds were four to one upon him. It was
manifest that Berks was not a match for his
man. His style of fighting was considerably
inferior to that of his opponent’s, and he began
to appear much distressed; he occasionally tried
to affect the scientific style of his opponent,
but at a still greater disadvantage than his own
natural mode of fighting. The severe blows he
received from the Chicken made him unruly and
intemperate, and he was becoming fast an easy
conquest up to the

20th round.—Berks’ passion was now exhausting
his strength. His nose bleeding considerably,
and, irritated in mind that no chance offered of
proving successful, he ran in furiously upon
his opponent. His intemperance rendered him a
complete object for punishment, and the Chicken
milled him in every direction. (Twenty to one
the winner is named; and even bets that Berks
don’t come again.)

21.—Passion uppermost; Berks desperate in the
extreme, and by running in headlong, missed
putting in a hit, and fell. Pearce smiling at
his want of prudence, and holding up both his
hands in triumph.

22.—A good rally, but Berks received a most
tremendous floorer.

24 and last.—Berks still insensible to prudence,
and determined to get at his man, received a
severe milling. He was several times advised
by his backers and seconds to give in, but
resolutely refused, soliciting each time to
“fight another round.” However, at the close
of the twenty-fourth bout, he was hit down
stupefied, but suddenly recovering, gave in. The
battle lasted one hour and seventeen minutes,
and Berks, we had almost said as usual, was
severely punished. Pearce fought the last round
as gaily as the first, and when it was over
challenged Isaac Bittoon[91] for 200 guineas,
but this match went off.

After this battle Maddox beat Seabrook in three rounds, and the afterwards well-known Bill Richmond in three more.

There was a little _désagrément_ arising out of this “field day.” Tom Owen was indicted at the ensuing Surrey Sessions, for a “riot and conspiracy,” in seconding Berks, in a pitched battle on Wimbledon Common, and refusing to depart when warned by a warrant officer, sent by Mr. Conant, the magistrate, upon information laid. Tom was sentenced to three months’ imprisonment.

Elias Spray, the coppersmith, a boxer of renown in the neighbourhood of Bristol, and who had twice beaten Bill Jackling (Ginger), the brother of Tom Johnson, the champion, was next selected to try the mettle of our hero.

Monday, March 11, 1805, was the day appointed, and the fixture was Hampton Court; but fearing an interruption, they agreed to cross the water, and decide the contest upon Molesworth (Moulsey) Meadow. Considerable confusion took place in procuring boats to convey the numerous followers across the river, where several not only experienced a good ducking, but some narrowly escaped drowning, in their eagerness to reach the destined spot. At length, everything being completed, Pearce, attended by Maddox and Hall, as his second and bottle-holder, entered the ring (twenty feet square) and threw up his hat in defiance. Spray soon made his appearance, followed by Wood as his second, and Mountain as bottle-holder. Betting was seven to four on Pearce, even that the fight did not last twenty-five minutes, and ten to one that Pearce was not beaten in half an hour.

The combatants lost no time in stripping, and after shaking hands smilingly set-to at a little before one o’clock.

THE FIGHT.[92]

Round 1.—A little sparring; Spray made a short
hit; the Chicken put in a severe blow and
brought down his opponent.

2.—Good blows exchanged. Spray put in a blow in
his antagonist’s breast. Pearce rallied, and
again knocked Spray down. (Odds nine to four in
favour of the Chicken.)

3.—The Coppersmith showed good courage, and
fought well. The men closed, and both fell.

4.—Spray rather hastily made some hard
blows, but they failed. Pearce gave him a
cross-buttock.

5.—In this round Spray already appeared
distressed. The Chicken showed excellent
science, and a third time completely knocked
down his opponent. As he fell, Pearce smiled.

6.—Both fought well; some sharp blows exchanged.
Spray struck his opponent in the stomach. Pearce
rallied, and threw him very cleverly.

7.—Pearce seemed much affected by Spray’s last
blow in the bread-basket. He made a hit, but
failed, and fell. (Odds fell to two to one.)

11.—No good blows, but Pearce again had the
advantage the whole of these four rounds.

12.—Spray put in some good determined blows,
but they mostly fell short; at length, by a
successful blow on the nose, he brought down
the Chicken.

13.—Pearce bled profusely. Spray evinced
weakness, made a short blow, and fell.

14.—Pearce met his antagonist with determined
resolution, and put in so severe a blow on the
jaw, that every one feared lest he had broken
it; Spray fell. (Odds now rose ten to one on
Pearce.)

15.—Spray stood up to his man boldly, but
quickly received a floorer from the Chicken.

16.—Courage displayed on both sides. Spray put
in some well directed hits; but in closing,
Pearce threw him a cross-buttock.

17.—Spray attempted to rally, but received a
most desperate blow upon his temple that nearly
deprived him of his recollection, and which
spoilt him for the remainder of the fight. The
ensuing five rounds upon the part of Spray were
little better than mere exhibitions of animal
courage.

23.—All in favour of the Chicken. (Twenty to
one, but no takers.)

24.—Spray again showed himself, but his efforts
to turn the tide were futile. The Chicken smiled
at his attempts; yet the Coppersmith showed
considerable skill, and continued the battle to

27.—Hardly to be called fighting. Spray was down
as soon as he appeared.

28.—Spray could scarcely stand, yet could not
bring himself to say “No.” He put up his hands
and endeavoured to face his opponent. It was all
up: the Chicken hit him as he liked, and finally
knocked him off his legs.

29 and last.—Spray stood up, but only to exhibit
the spectacle of a game man struggling against
fate. Pearce put in a thrust rather than a blow,
and poor Spray was persuaded to give in. The
battle lasted thirty-five minutes. Pearce
immediately sprang over the ropes, laid down on
the grass for a few minutes, during which he
accepted a challenge from Carte, the Birmingham
“champion,” for 50 guineas. The money was
immediately staked, and they agreed to fight
within six weeks. The Chicken then started for
town in a chaise, full of spirits.

On Saturday, the 27th April, 1805, the day appointed for Carte to enter the lists with the Chicken, the parties met at Shepperton Common, near Chertsey, in Surrey. The superiority of the Chicken was so manifest, that Carte had not the least chance whatever, although six feet three and a half inches in height, and weighing upwards of fifteen stone. It would be a waste of time and paper to give the rounds in the detail. Suffice it to observe, that after a contest of thirty-five minutes, in which twenty-five rounds took place, Carte, from his ignorance of the art, received a most terrible milling; while, on the contrary, the science of the Chicken so protected him from the attacks of his adversary, that he scarcely had a mark visible.

A new, young, and formidable rival now sought the notice of Pearce. This was the afterwards celebrated John Gully,[93] then a young man of twenty-one years of age: as we prefer the chronicler’s account where his details are available, we quote a contemporary journalist:—

“Henry Pearce, the Game Chicken, by the unprecedented adroitness and success with which he has contested every combatant matched against him, in London, has acquired, with almost universal assent, the proud title of Champion of England. It has ever been found, throughout the annals of pugilism, that whenever any hero has, however meritoriously, acquired such a flattering distinction, some emulous aspirant has sprung up to dispute his claim, and it has also as generally happened that at last the hero has been obliged, notwithstanding his accumulated honours, to acknowledge the triumph of a more youthful rival. Pearce has at this time conquered three most formidable practisers of the gymnasium, Berks, Spray, and Carte, and, after a general challenge, no one coming to take up the gauntlet, he quietly set himself to rest, to enjoy the enviable honour which no one dared dispute his title to. There was, however, yet to be produced, in order to keep up the spirit of pugilism, some one who possessed courage enough to enter the ring against this invincible hero. This was considered not easy to be accomplished; there happens, however, to be a man of the name of Gully, a native of Bristol, and fellow townsman of the Chicken’s, who for some time has followed the avocation of a butcher, but being unsuccessful, had taken country lodgings in the neighbourhood of St. George’s Fields,[94] in a fine open situation, where he found room enough to exert his muscles in the active amusement of rackets. Here Pearce, through generosity and goodwill, which were ever two prominent features of his mind, visited his townsman and acquaintance, to afford condolence. As every don fellow now does not consider his equipage complete, unless graced with the Broughtonian mufflers, Gully had a set, and to fill up the chasm in the afternoon’s amusement the host and guest must have a set-to. Good humour, as it always should, prevailed, but Gully did not fail to give the Chicken a few severe hits; in short Gully became fired with his success, and immediately took it into his head that it was, perhaps, not impossible to beat the champion. Mr. Fletcher Reid, always actively alive, like a true sportsman, soon got scent; ‘Gully,’ said he, ‘shall fight the Chicken:’ his debts were accordingly discharged, and he was taken to Virginia Water, about two miles beyond Egham, on the western road, to be put in training. Gully at this time was little known in London, having never signalized himself as a pugilist. In make he was much such a man as Jem Belcher, but taller, and longer in the reach. In point of muscular appearance, a knowing one would not set him down as altogether built for fighting; however, from the commencement he never funked, being always sanguine in his hopes of victory. Pearce found some of his old friends, who backed him 600 guineas to 400, and the day was fixed to be Saturday, July 20, on which day, in order to keep up the sport, two other matches were to be decided, between Tom Belcher and Dutch Sam, and between Ryan and Caleb Baldwin.

“Virginia Water was appointed as rendezvous, where Gully, Tom Belcher, and Ryan, had been two months in training, under the auspices of Mr. Fletcher Reid; and it being understood that the first and main battle would be fought by eight o’clock in the morning, the whole Fancy were in commotion and arrived there betimes. Hence they all proceeded to Chobham, three miles further, where a ring was formed, and all was anxious expectation.

“Whenever John Bull does not see all straight before him, notwithstanding his being a very drowsy hand at it, he begins to theorise, and this was the case now. Some said it was ‘all my eye,’ and others more certainly, ‘there’ll be no fight;’ while others deep in the secret said it would be a cross. For Mr. Chersey, a knowing one who had formerly backed Pearce very heavily, had turned round and backed Gully, ‘and by this no one could tell the enormous money he could win.’ So the sages and chiefs went to council, and first they decided that ‘_all bets_ should be void.’ But during this awful crisis news arrived that the Surrey magistrates (_dii minores_) had interfered, that officers with warrants were abroad, and that _that_ county was no land for them. Blackwater, beyond Bagshot, was named, and off started the whole cavalcade. Dutch Sam was mounted in a stylish buggy, but by some accident the reins broke, the driver jumped out, and left the Jew with a fast clutch of one rein. Away went the horse, Mishter Shamuels vociferating to all the heroes of the Pentateuch to save him. He was, however, soon unshipped, and so severely bruised as to be unable to fight, and so his match was lost. Blackwater was reached, but the day was advanced, and disputes went on. Mr. Fletcher Reid declared that if bets did not stand there should be no fight. Mr. Mellish and the Hon. Berkeley Craven, offered to back the Chicken to any amount, say 600 guineas to 500. The amateurs having covered thirty-two miles from London, raised a purse, and for this Tom Cribb (afterwards the renowned champion of England), entered the lists with George Nicholls, of Bristol, and was thrashed, for the first and last time.” See NICHOLLS, in Appendix to Period IV.

Tuesday, October 8th, 1805, was next named as “the great important day big with the fate” of Gully and of Pearce, and Hailsham, a small village in Sussex, between Brighton and Lewes, was pitched upon for the Campus Martius. The number of spectators was immense; the Downs being covered with equestrians and pedestrians, and the “swells” of royal and aristocratic Brighton being in unusual force. The Duke of Clarence, afterwards William IV., often referred to witnessing this fight.

At ten o’clock the combatants met at the place appointed, and, after a short conference, a 24‒feet rope ring was formed on a green adjoining the village. At one o’clock the contending champions entered; Gully was seconded by Tom Jones and Dick Whale; Pearce had Clarke and Joe Ward for his attendants.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The anxiety round the ring was intense.
Gully made a desperate hit at his opponent, but
fell short, and Pearce immediately knocked him
down. (“Three to one on the Chicken!” cried a
leading amateur.)

2.—Gully put in first blow again. The Chicken
returned sharply, and Gully fell.

3.—Pearce threw in a blow at his opponent’s
head, which fell short. Gully hit out and
dropped.

4.—Pearce stood up with a smile of confidence on
his brow. Both combatants struck at once, and
both hits were well stopped, but Gully fell.

5.—Pearce put in a heavy blow in the neck, and
brought down his opponent.

6.—Pearce put in two good hits right and left,
and brought Gully down once more. (Odds now rose
to ten to two on the Chicken).

7.—Immediately on setting-to Pearce knocked down
his opponent.

8.—Much sparring, Pearce put in a hit; Gully
parried in style, and returned with a knock down
blow; Pearce fell for the first time. Cheers for
Gully, and cries, “They are both Bristol men.”

9.—Pearce appeared touched: he went in and
knocked Gully down, then turning to his backers
smiled in triumph.

10.—Gully struck out with spirit; Pearce
stopped, and with a thump on the breast brought
down Gully.

11.—Gully put in a neat hit, but the round
terminated by the Chicken’s knocking him
completely off his legs.

12.—Gully threw in a most severe blow, struck
Pearce on the mouth, and brought him down.
Cheers for Gully.

13.—In this round Gully displayed both good
science and courage; he put in two good blows,
but fell from the force of the last.

14.—Gully came up in good spirits, but the first
blow of the Chicken’s knocked him off his legs.

15.—Both combatants struck, and both hits went
home. Gully struck again and fell.

16.—Gully appeared rather shy, and fell without
a blow being struck.[95]

17.—The best round during the battle, if not
that ever was contested. Pearce seemed confident
of beating his man, and stood up well. Gully
rallied, and put in several good blows, which
were returned by the Chicken without any
stopping. Gully brought down his opponent, after
having successfully planted two good hits on his
left eye. This round was undoubtedly greatly in
Gully’s favour, and the odds fell, bets being
now six to four on the Chicken.

18.—No fighting. Pearce bled profusely, and
Gully slipped while making play.

19.—Another excellent round. Gully rallied;
Pearce returned; and after some good blows they
closed, and both fell.

20.—Pearce seemed almost blind with his left
eye, and as the blood issued freely, he fought
very shy, and retreated. Gully followed him up
round the ring, and by a good hit brought Pearce
down.

21.—Pearce was very careful, and Gully in
hitting fell.

23.—Some good blows exchanged. Gully fell; while
falling, Pearce struck him a tremendous blow on
the side of the head, and Gully vomited.

24.—Pearce struck, but fell short. Gully put
in a good blow over his opponent’s right eye,
and endeavoured to fall, but only being on his
knees, Pearce struck him. Some cries of “Foul,”
but the fight went on.

25.—Pearce very cautious. Gully stuck to him and
followed him round the ring. Some good blows
were exchanged, and Gully fell again.

29.—Pearce was now every round gaining
advantage.

30.—Gully put in a good hit, and fell. This
irritated Pearce, and he stood over him
apparently much exasperated.

31.—Long sparring. Pearce struck, but fell
short; Gully struck over his guard, and it was
thought almost blinded his right eye.

33.—Pearce very shy. Gully followed him round
the ring, but Pearce knocked him down with a
blow in his throat.

36.—Gully appeared very weak. He made a hit at
the Chicken’s head, which he caught, and Pearce
made a slight return. Gully made a good hit,
which Pearce parried with his left hand, and
with his right knocked down his opponent.

37 to 43.—In all these rounds the Chicken had
the advantage; both were bleeding freely,
particularly Gully, whose ear flowed copiously.
Gully appeared shy of advancing; his head was
dreadfully swollen, and his eyes appeared nearly
closed.

44.—Pearce dexterously put in his favourite hit
in the throat, and his antagonist fell. Gully
had now received so many severe blows, that he
could not face his man; he, however, continued
to protract the fight by making a feint hit, and
falling, until the

64th round, when, by great persuasion, he
yielded the palm, after a contest of one hour
and seventeen minutes.

REMARKS.—Both combatants were dreadfully beaten,
neither being hardly able to see out of either
eye. A subscription was immediately made for the
unfortunate champion. Soon after Gully had given
in, Pearce came up to him, shook hands with him,
and said, “You’re a d——d good fellow; I’m hard
put to it to stand. You are the only man that
ever stood up to me.”

This was, as Pearce afterwards said in private
conversation, the severest battle he ever
fought, and that he was never so near being
deprived of his hard-earned position. As to
Gully’s being “a novice,” as he was termed,
Pearce laughed at the notion. He had all the
tactics of a good general, backed by weight,
strength, youth, and resolution. “He has ‘a
head’ for fighting,” said the Chicken, in his
own rough but figurative language; “he must be a
sharp chap, and get up early, as beats John
Gully, I can tell you.”

To compliment Pearce on this battle would be unnecessary. His success, however, had an unexpected and unfortunate influence on the fortunes and fame of his patron and townsman Jem Belcher, who rashly challenged Pearce to fight for 500 guineas, play or pay, within two months. The Chicken, who claimed the championship, had no alternative but to resign the honour, or take up the gage thus ill-advisedly thrown down.

The opinions of the amateurs were, however, much divided. Many, true to their predilection, stuck to Jem’s irresistibility, and Mr. Fletcher Reid readily came forward to back Belcher. Captain Halliday covered the 500 on the part of Pearce. To avoid disappointment it was agreed that the battle should come off not less than 150 miles from the metropolis, to be decided by a toss between the parties. This Belcher won, and named a small common three miles from Barnby Moor, and nine miles from Doncaster. The ground was a short half mile from the seat of Captain Mellish, at Blythe, and 150 miles from London.

“On Friday, December 6th, 1805, Pearce, who had been staying at the Blue Bell Inn, Bamby Moor, started about eleven o’clock for Blythe, accompanied by his father. There they met Captain Mellish, Lord Say and Sele, Lord Eardley, Captain Halliday, the Hon. Berkeley Craven, and other gentlemen, who accompanied Pearce across the park to the appointed spot, where Belcher already awaited them. A ring of twenty feet diameter was formed within another of forty feet, to prevent interruption from the ‘outsiders.’ The partisans on this occasion sported ‘colours.’ Those favouring Pearce sported a blue silk handkerchief with a white spot, since called ‘bird’s-eye’ and ‘Chicken;’ whilst those adhering to Belcher, sported, with much pride, the yellow striped flag, known before by the name of the ‘Belcher,’ in honour of the hero. The combatants entered the ring, Will Ward seconded Pearce, and Bill Gibbons acted as bottle-holder; Joe Ward and Dick Whale performing the same offices for Belcher. On stripping Pearce appeared the stronger man and in best condition, but Belcher was not in the least daunted, and seemed confident of success. They performed the well-known salutation, and at half past twelve they set-to. Betting five to four on the Chicken.”

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The attitudes of both men were
masterly; and the cleverness in sparring for an
opening excited general admiration. There was
much cautious but active manœuvring. Each seemed
aware that to throw away a chance might lose the
battle. Belcher made several feints, and at
length put in a severe blow on the Chicken’s
eye, over his guard, that drew blood copiously.
The Chicken returned the blow slightly, they
closed, and the Chicken threw his man.

2.—Belcher remarkably active. He again made
several feints, and the Chicken, whose face was
covered with blood, stopped cautiously, then
made a hit. Belcher put in two blows on the
Chicken’s body, and they closed. The men
disengaged themselves. The Chicken aimed a
well-directed hit, which Belcher stopped
dexterously; a rally, when the Chicken hit one,
two, and threw his man. (Six to four on the
Chicken.)

3.—A hard round, rather in favour of the
Chicken. Several blows were exchanged in a rally
made by him. A close, and Belcher was thrown
upon the ropes.

4.—Chicken hit twice at his man, but was out of
distance. Belcher rallied with some success, but
was thrown at the end of the round.

5.—The Chicken continued to bleed freely from
the blow he received in the first round. He
smiled with confidence, however, went in, and
rallied. The struggle closed, in favour of
Belcher, who threw him.

6.—Belcher displayed a good deal of his
accustomed science, and appeared to meet his man
cautiously. In a rally several blows were
exchanged; they closed and fell, Belcher
undermost.

7.—This round was much in favour of Belcher.
The Chicken made a hit, which Belcher stopped
dexterously, and with his right hand hit the
Chicken a severe blow in the face. A rally
followed, in which Belcher had the advantage;
they closed. The Chicken got his opponent’s
head under his left arm, and hit him several
blows with his right hand: both fell.

8.—Belcher went in, rallied courageously, and
displayed his skill in pugilism to perfection.
He struck several blows with his right hand,
whilst he parried those of the Chicken with his
left. He had considerable advantage during the
round, and ultimately succeeded in throwing his
man over the rope out of the ring. (The betting
became level.)

9.—Both on their mettle, and apparently fresh.
Belcher hit the Chicken a sharp blow in the
face, which cut him severely; several other
blows were exchanged before the men closed and
fell.

10.—Somewhat in favour of the Chicken, without
any blows of consequence. Belcher appeared to be
fast growing weak.

11.—The Chicken overreached himself in making
a hit, and the combatants closed. Belcher
disengaged himself by a twist, and hit his
man, who, nevertheless, threw him.

12.—The Chicken went in and rallied furiously,
and it was evident Belcher had fallen off in
strength. He had materially the worst of the
rally. The Chicken closed, and threw him on
the rope, and had a fair opportunity of ending
the fight, for Belcher balanced upon his back,
and had the Chicken given him one of his heavy
blows, might have ended the battle at once.
But just as he raised his hand, the spirit of
a fair fighter rose within him: his foe was
defenceless. He put himself in the attitude for
delivering a blow, to show his advantage, then
looking round the ring, he exclaimed, “No, Jem,
I won’t take advantage of thee! no, lest I hurt
thy other eye!” and raising his hands, went back
to his second. “This honourable step,” says the
reporter drily, “was applauded with shouts from
the spectators.”

13.—Belcher came up slowly. The Chicken went
in for a rally. To the surprise of many, the
men got locked, when Belcher cleverly got
hold of Pearce and sent him over, a severe
cross-buttock.

14.—Tedious sparring. Belcher shy, and bleeding
in the head and body with blows given in the
former round. The Chicken followed him to the
ropes, when he gave him a hard blow under the
blind eye, through his guard, and threw him
easy.

15.—This round left no hopes for Belcher; it
also decided many bets respecting the first
knock-down blow. The Chicken went in very gay,
and gave his opponent two hits; they closed,
and the Chicken hit Belcher a blow underneath,
on the lower rib, which, to use the sporting
phrase, doubled him together, and he fell. The
umpire, for the satisfaction of the sporting
men, declared this to be a knock-down blow.

16.—Belcher hit the Chicken a well-directed
but feeble blow in the face, whilst sparring.
The Chicken smiled, shook his head, and then
went into a rally. Once more he got him on the
ropes, as in the twelfth round, when he repeated
his honourable conduct, and walked away without
hitting him. This round decided the fight,
notwithstanding Belcher fought one more. In
the rally he was first thrown upon one of the
stakes to which the ropes were fastened, and it
was supposed he had broken the lower rib, the
Chicken having hit him in the same place shortly
before. (Ten to one.)

17.—Belcher summoned up all his efforts to put
in a blow, but the Chicken again followed him to
the ropes, and threw him.

18.—Belcher could not move his left arm from his
side; he, however, stood up to fight the
eighteenth round, but finding himself totally
disabled, he resigned the contest, after
fighting thirty-five minutes. The Chicken
immediately leaped over the rope out of the
ring, and entered it again in the same manner,
displaying his agility by a somersault.

“On this day the wreath of victory, which had
so long encircled the brow of Belcher, was torn
off by the powerful grasp of the very man for
whose success Belcher had evinced so much
anxiety. Envy appeared the principal excitement
in the mind of Jem to the contest, and to that
passion he undoubtedly sacrificed his honours,
and fell a pitiable victim. Under a mistaken
impulse, after having successfully triumphed
over such formidable opponents as Paddington
Jones, Bartholomew, Gamble, Berks, and Firby,
his well gained fame expired. It was evident,
independent of the great disadvantage which
Belcher unhappily sustained in the loss of an
eye, that neither his strength nor constitution
at this time could enable him to encounter with
any chance of success, an opponent possessing
such an astonishing degree of skill, agility,
wind, muscular power, and, in short, every
requisite that the most theoretic mind could
suggest for a pugilist. Belcher, in the course
of the combat, put in several of his favourite
blows, and got off in his accustomed happy
manner; but the longer the fight lasted, so much
the greater became his disadvantage, and every
one conversant in boxing allowed, that had he
planted more hits, instead of employing his
time in unavailing and useless sparring, he
would have stood a better chance of gaining a
victory. Pearce, throughout the combat, without
a doubt, aimed the generality of his blows at
Belcher’s good eye, well aware of the result of
closing it, and in closing, Pearce gave him some
tremendous falls.

“Upon the whole, if the combat was not so
obstinately contested as might have been
anticipated, there was in it a display of
science perhaps unprecedented. Those, however,
who had witnessed Belcher in any of his former
battles, could perceive a deficiency in his
fighting in many points, notwithstanding he
displayed all his former courage. After they
had fought a quarter of an hour, Belcher
displayed marks of some violent hits in his
face, and his firm bright eye rolled in the
briny flood. The loss of his eyes was a greater
disadvantage to him than _à priori_ was
supposed; it rendered him unable to judge the
length of his opponent, nor could he perceive
the hits coming towards him until it was too
late to guard against them. With respect to his
own blows, as he himself observed, after the
fight, they were merely casual attempts, for his
sight was not sufficiently quick and strong to
plant them judiciously. Every one who had on
former occasions admired with enthusiasm the
unexampled courage and skill of Belcher, felt
deeply for his unfortunate situation, and in
many an eye was seen the sympathetic tear to
start. His spirits were good to the last; and
after its conclusion he exclaimed, not without
seeming to feel the assertion, ‘I don’t mind for
myself, but I’m sorry for a friend of mine, who
has lost everything he had.’ A subscription
was set on foot by Jackson, and very liberally
supplied. Belcher was taken to a surgeon’s and
bled, where, upon examination, they found the
rib expected to have been broken was perfect.”

The Game Chicken retired to the Blue Bell Inn, at Barnby Moor, and seriously declared that once or twice he had it in his power to have killed Belcher. Elated with his victory, he cried out in the Somersetshire dialect, “Dang it, I’m not hurt, I have only cut my crook against his teeth;” and pulling out of his pocket a new blue silk handkerchief, spotted with white, tied it round his neck, and laughing, said, “Since I’ve won it I’ll wear it; no more Belchers now.” After taking some refreshment, they set off for Grantham, where Captain Halliday had ordered dinner for a large party.

The Chicken had now entirely proved himself thorough game; and was without a competitor for a while. A man of the name of Ford, a stalwart gamekeeper from Leicestershire, came up to London about this time, and challenged Pearce for fifty guineas. The Chicken offered to accommodate him for 200 guineas, as a minimum stake for the champion. Ford came to town in April, 1807, while Pearce was at Bristol, and vapoured greatly of his willingness to fight the absent champion for a glass of Liptrap.[96] It was probably fortunate the Chicken was not there, or Mr. Ford might have found himself out of his depth. We hear no more of “Master Ford,” who showed better wisdom in minding “buck-washing.”

Pearce, like too many of his predecessors of pugilistic notoriety, foundered on the same rock on which they had split. Examples, advice, and lessons, it should seem, all lose their effect upon persons, who, in the bloom of youth, health and vigour, laugh at the idea of incurring any serious consequences from intemperance, till they find it out for themselves, when, generally it is too late to be remedied. The Chicken during his residence in the metropolis had made rather too free with his constitution; yet we have authority for observing that it originated more from circumstances and place, than sheer inclination. His health became impaired, and he retired to his native city, to enjoy the comforts of domesticated life; and by the advice of his friends, he relinquished the calling of a pugilist for that of a publican.

We have now arrived at an episode in the life of Pearce, which we would earnestly recommend to the perusal of the calumniators of pugilists and pugilism; we doubt if a similar deed can be recorded of many of the canters who decry prize-fighters as “inhuman savages!”

In the month of November, 1807, a fire broke out at Mrs. Denzill’s, a silk-mercer, in Thomas Street, Bristol, and the flames had made such rapid progress, that the servant in the house, a poor girl, who had retired to rest in the attic story, was nearly enveloped in flames before she awoke to her dreadful situation. Frantic with despair, she presented herself at the window imploring help—her screams pierced the hearts of the spectators, who appeared riveted with terror to the spot, expecting every moment her threatened destruction. But none move; all are petrified with fear and horror. At length, Pearce (“the prize-fighter by profession and the savage by nature,” according to “Craven,”) appears in the crowd; he sees the life of a human being in danger, and feels prompted to the perilous endeavour of an immediate rescue. By the aid of the adjoining house, he reaches the parapet, and, hanging over it, firmly grasps the wrist of the wretched girl—the multitude are lost in astonishment, and never did a more interesting moment present itself—hope, fear, and all the stronger emotions are on the rack at the intrepidity of a man losing every thought of self in the hope of delivering a fellow-creature from a dreadful death. The additional weight, added to the height from the parapet, was almost too much for the nearly exhausted energies of Pearce.

“Cowards die many times before their deaths,
The valiant never taste of death but once;”

and so it proved—Pearce’s brave heart leaped within him, and with a supreme effort he drew his trembling charge from the window, placed her safe upon the parapet, and in an instant she was out of danger. The delighted multitude was loud in their plaudits—and the almost lifeless sufferer clinging round the knees of her deliverer, invoked blessings on his name. This was the proudest moment of Pearce’s life. The shouts of victory, and the flattering praises that had so often attended him in the hour of battle, were mere shadows compared with that of an approving conscience. Yet this was the act of a pugilist!—one who had entered the field to obtain a purse of gold as a prize-fighter. Here was no gold to tempt him to risk his life: the smallest deviation of balance must have precipitated him headlong to destruction; and no opportunity of retreating from the consequences. The gallant soldier in mounting the forlorn hope, and the hardy tar in boarding the ship of the enemy, are stimulated by a thirst of glory and love of country, but Pearce was actuated by no other motive than that of humanity; and when that “recording angel,” who dropped a tear and blotted out for ever the intemperate expression of my Uncle Toby, shall turn the page of the evil deeds of this pugilist, let us trust they may be similarly obliterated.

In _Arliss’s Magazine_, and the “Poets’ Corner” of _Farley’s Bristol Journal_, we find the subjoined lines, more remarkable for their good feeling than poetic merit:—

“In Bristol city, while a house in flames
Fills the beholders with amazement dire,
A damsel at an upper window claims
Their utmost pity, for th’ approaching fire—
Which every moment seems to gather near,
Nor hope of rescue does there aught appear.

“At length upon the neighb’ring house-top seen,
A gallant youth now hastens to her aid,
And o’er the fearful parapet does lean,
With spirit dauntless, to assist the maid;
Endowed by heaven with more than common might,
He grasps her arms, and draws her to the height.

“Oh, glorious act! Oh, courage well applied!
Oh, strength exerted in its proper cause!
Thy name, O Pearce! be sounded far and wide,
Live, ever honour’d, midst the world’s applause;
Be this thy triumph! know one creature saved,
Is greater glory than a world enslav’d.”

A short time after the noble deed we have narrated the Game Chicken again distinguished himself in rescuing one of the fair sex from insult and danger. In his way over Clifton Downs, near Bristol, Pearce perceived a young woman suffering much from the rude attacks of three men. Regardless of the consequences Pearce instantly interposed, when they fell upon him with fury; but the courage and science of Pearce soon made them repent of their temerity. The Chicken received their onset with such coolness and intrepidity, and so successfully planted his levelling hits, that one of them of the name of Hood, was so satisfied, in seven minutes, that he bolted, and left his companions to the care of Pearce. In a quarter of an hour, the Chicken so served out Morris and Francis, the other two, that they declined the strife, and apologised for their rudeness, while the terrified female could only thank her gallant defender for his seasonable protection.

It would seem that, however Pearce might have been crowned with honour, gratified by the enviable title of champion, and admired by his friends in general—he was not happy. That source of true felicity and real consolation, to which a man flies to alleviate his troubles or participate in his honours, was unhappily polluted, and his wife’s incontinence had rendered home so miserable, that he left his native place never more to return.

Pearce now went to different country towns exhibiting sparring, and teaching the art of self-defence, and we need hardly say was much patronised. The Chicken was in the neighbourhood of Oxford when Jem Belcher and Cribb fought their last battle, and felt so anxious as to the issue of the combat, that he set off in a post-chaise overnight lest he should fail to witness the fight. On Cribb’s proving victorious, he exclaimed with great earnestness, “he hoped he should get well, that he might teach Cribb how to fight!”

Pearce took a benefit at the Fives Court, on February 9, 1809, when some good sparring was exhibited. Every interest was exerted to give him support. Pearce was now the victim of pulmonary consumption, and in the last stage of that afflicting disease; he was scarcely able to walk to the Court to thank his friends.

The appearance of the Chicken was muscular; his height about five feet nine inches; and the roundness of his chest and limbs denoted considerable strength, in some degree resembling the contour of the champion, Tom Johnson. During the time Pearce enjoyed sound health, his excellence as a pugilist was admitted by all parties; and he stood above all competitors. In uniting the courage of a lion with true kindness of heart, Pearce must command our praise. He was a tremendous hard hitter, and his left-handed blow was so terrible in its effects, that his opponents have been seen in a complete state of stupor for several seconds, and often never recovered the proper use of their faculties during the fight.

As a proof that he was not fond of vainly courting the popularity of the multitude, or of making a show of himself by figuring upon the box of some spoilt child of fortune’s four-in-hand—a fashion in full power in those days; we may state, that immediately upon putting on his clothes, after his memorable fight with Berks, on Wimbledon Common, he stole away unobserved. Being missed, a general inquiry took place among his friends, to know what had become of him. After considerable time lost in search of the Chicken, some person recollected that they saw a man like Pearce run and jump up behind a coach; upon which information his second, Bill Gibbons, endeavoured to trace him along the road, and at length found the Chicken in a public-house at Chelsea, cooking himself mutton-chops at the fire, with the most perfect indifference. Pearce immediately invited Gibbons to partake of them without alluding to his singularity in leaving the ground, instead of making his return to town in triumph on some swell-drag, in the style of the days of which we are writing.

At the Coach and Horses, St. Martin’s Lane,[97] on Sunday, April 30, 1809, the Game Chicken departed this life. His fortitude never forsook him, and in the most trying moments he displayed calmness and resignation; he experienced no terrors from his approaching end, expressing a wish to die in friendship with all mankind. He expressed a strong desire to be buried by the side of Bill Warr, in St. James’ burying ground, Pancras; and this wish was complied with. Pearce was in his thirty-second year.

“Strength, too; thou surly, and less gentle boast
Of those that laugh loud at the village ring;
A fit of common sickness pulls thee down
With greater ease than e’er thou didst the strippling
That rashly dared thee to th’ unequal fight.”