Chapter VI (2)

On Friday morning the bustle among the fancy was great. Post-chaises, gigs, carts, buggies, wagons, and every description of vehicle, were called into requisition; and, in the course of the day the road towards Croydon presented a motley assemblage of persons of all ranks. Many, too, who could not muster the means of other conveyance, depended upon their pedestrian abilities, and set out on foot. Every horse on the road was engaged, and hundreds were forced to take up their lodgings under circumstances of no ordinary privation; indeed it was considered but a trifling sacrifice, when compared with the pleasure to be derived from being present at the fight.

On entering the ring, which was pitched on Crawley Downs, Turner was waited on by Tom Owen and Bill Richmond, Randall by Tom Oliver and Blake. Odds six to four on Randall. Little time was lost, and at one o’clock they shook hands, and threw themselves in position for

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—It is impossible to describe the
anxiety impressed upon the countenances of the
spectators on the combatants shaking hands. The
attitudes of both men were interesting to the
admirers of pugilism, and neither of them seemed
wanting in condition. They eyed each other with
the acute precision of fencing masters, and
seemed positively almost to look into each
other’s hearts. It was dodging, dodging, and
dodging again; and five minutes had elapsed
before a blow had been made, touching the toes
of each other all the time. At length, after
some feints, Turner hit first, when the prime
Irish boy laughed and got away. The latter,
however, was not long in making a return, and he
gave Turner a jawer and a ribber, but not
heavily. More feints and dodging. Turner hit
short with his right hand, when Randall rushed
in and went to work. He tried to fib his
opponent upon his old favourite system, and a
severe struggle took place for the throw. Both
down, but Turner undermost.

2.—The same caution was manifest on both sides
on commencing this round, and long sparring
again occurred. Randall gave a bellier, and got
away; he was not long in repeating it, and
adding a facer. Long sparring. Turner
endeavoured to give a tremendous hit with his
left hand, but Jack was wary, and jumped back
two yards. Very long sparring; in fact, it
appeared so tedious to those who are admirers of
downright milling, that many persons called out,
“When shall we get home?” Turner, with much
dexterity, put in a good hit between Randall’s
guard. (Great applause. “Go it, Neddy.”) The
latter gave two facers, and plunged his way to
work. The finish of this round was truly severe,
fibbing and struggling till both went down.
Twenty minutes had elapsed.

3.—The mouth of Turner seemed to show some tinge
of the claret, but there was doubt about it.
He, however, appeared to breathe very quick,
and rather distressed. The tactics of both the
men were of the first order of science, and
it was viewed as astonishing by most of the
old amateurs. Both of the men were so well
prepared, that if the slightest mistake was made
it was not overlooked; and this may account for
the extreme caution on both sides. Randall had
never anything like such a customer to deal
with before; and Turner had no borer-in to beat
off-hand. This round took thirteen minutes, and
the pauses were so unusually long that some of
the jokers advised Tom Owen to have a pipe.
Cribb wished for his nightcap, and talked of
supper. Old Caleb advised them to go to work,
and hit each other’s nobs off. After numerous
feints, the round was finished well, Turner
undermost, and Randall fell over him rather
awkwardly upon his neck.

4.—From the style of fighting displayed by both
of the combatants, it was evident it must prove
a long fight. Both anxious, and on the look out
not to give half a chance away. Randall put in
two body blows. Turner’s left hand also told on
his opponent’s mouth. The hitting and stopping
on both sides was masterly. Turner’s nose was
now bleeding copiously, and Randall’s face was
pinked. Both down.

5.—In this round Randall took the lead; he
fibbed his opponent severely, and then fell upon
him heavily in going down.

6.—To attempt to describe minutely the feints,
the pauses, dodgings, etc., would fill a volume,
and therefore we must confine ourselves to an
explicit and short epitome. Randall spat blood,
when Turner’s left hand caught his opponent’s
nose, and the claret ran down into his mouth. A
very long pause ensued, and it almost seemed
that neither of the combatants wished to make a
hit, so much caution was used. Fifty minutes had
elapsed. Turner made a tremendous hit with his
left hand, but Randall stopped its effect with
fine skill. An exchange of blows. Turner aimed
to do something with his right and left hands,
but the blows were slight. Randall got away; the
blood from his nose appeared rather troublesome
to him. Trifling exchanges. Turner seemed tired,
and put down his hands, but they were soon up
again on Randall’s offering to hit. Turner threw
two blows away, when Randall put in a severe
body blow. Another long pause. Randall now put
down his hands, just for a moment’s ease, when
Turner run in, not to lose an opportunity, but
Randall laughed, and was prepared for him in an
instant. Long pause. Several feints, but no
hitting. Randall put in a heavy blow in the
body, but got a sharp header in return. The
Nonpareil seemed to be changing his mode of
attack, and trying all for the body. Turner was
so extremely awkward and dangerous to be got
at, that Randall displayed more than his usual
caution. Turner stopped a heavy hit, and then
hit Randall on the head; and he also endeavoured
again to use his left hand with success, but
Randall stopped him. Some fine science was again
displayed, and in struggling for the throw,
Randall was undermost. Turner was now bleeding
copiously, and the claret was also running down
from Randall’s nose.

7.—This was a tremendous round, and Turner
seemed much distressed in coming to the scratch.
After a few exchanges, Randall closed, and went
sharply to work on the weaving system, till they
both were down.

8.—This was also a fighting round, and Turner’s
left hand got into his opponent’s face; but
Randall, in turn, put in a sharp bodier. In
closing, Turner was thrown.

9.—When time was called, Turner was about to
commence play on Randall’s side of the ring,
when the latter said, “Keep your own side.” This
was a gallant round, and both fibbed each other
in turn. In going down Randall had the best of
the fall.

10.—This round was full of science; the hitting
and stopping on both sides were of the finest
order of the art. Turner complained that Randall
had trod heavily upon his toe, and said, “Do
you call that fair, Jack?” Randall, in reply,
answered, “I did not.” In struggling for the
throw, Turner threw Randall over him.

11.—The best judges were still between hopes and
fears upon the subject. Randall seemed to have
the best of it, but the goodness of Turner was
so well known, that he did not even now want for
plenty of backers. Randall got Turner into the
sun, and put in a tremendous hit on his left
eye, that made him wink again. He, however,
recovered himself, and gave his opponent a
severe one in the bread-basket. In going down
Turner received a hit which Owen said was foul,
and called out to the umpires respecting it but
no notice was taken by the authorities, and it
went off.

12.—Turner hit his opponent right and left, but
they did not appear heavy enough to alter the
position of Randall, or reduce his strength.
However, it was a desperate round. (Seven to
four on Randall.) Both down, and hard milling.

13.—Randall put in a desperate snorter, that
sent Turner’s nob back, and the claret followed
in torrents; he repeated it, and Turner went
down. Randall had now got upon the head-work,
and left pinking at the body. This was the first
knock-down blow, and great shouting followed it.

14.—It was really astonishing to witness the
coolness with which Turner came up to the
scratch after the tremendous punishment he had
experienced in the last round. He also hit out
right and left, and some severe exchanges
occurred between them. In closing, Turner fibbed
Randall with some effect, but the former went
down. (Randall for £100.)

15.—A very sharp round. Good fighting on both
sides. In closing, Turner got Randall down, and
also undermost.

16.—A considerable pause before a blow was made.
Turner at length let fly with his left hand on
the body; but Randall put in so heavy a blow in
Turner’s mouth as nearly to dislodge his ivory,
and the claret flowed profusely. In closing,
Turner fibbed his opponent, but he fell rather
weak.

17.—In this round, in struggling for the throw,
Turner threw Randall out of the ring, and stood
up, leaning over the ropes.

18.—Turner tried to use his left hand
desperately, but was stopped. Randall rushed in
to finish his man in style, but he missed his
object. At length they both got into work, till
Turner went down exhausted.

19.—In this round Turner put in a sharp bodier,
when Randall’s old forte broke out with fresh
energy. In closing, he peppered the face of his
opponent; it was ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto,
till Turner went down. One hour and thirty-five
minutes.

20.—Turner came to his time undismayed, and hit
left and right, which Randall not only stopped,
but again planted a severe facer that brought
forth the claret in torrents. In closing, both
down.

21.—Turner hit with his left hand on Randall’s
nose, and he also went down from the force of
his own blow. Randall seemed a little exhausted
from the work he had to perform, and was also
bleeding at the mouth. In fact, this blow seemed
to have had more effect than any he had received
during the fight.

22.—Randall run Turner down, after an exchange
of a few blows.

23.—Fibbing and Turner a bad fall. The latter
appeared getting weak, but still full of
courage.

24.—Turner came first to the scratch, with
undiminished confidence, and put in a smart
right-handed hit on Randall’s mug. In the
struggle Turner also surprised the spectators
with the strength that he possessed, throwing
Randall with great violence. Two hours had now
elapsed.

25.—Turner astonished the ring by coming up
so cheerful, and some of the good judges did
not know what to think of it; they said it was
not altogether so safe as many might imagine.
Randall planted a slight hit, and slipped down.

26.—Turner was first at the scratch, and hit
Randall right and left, but the blows were not
heavy. Randall gave a second knock-down blow.

27.—Randall looked at his fallen foe, and
stooped down, winking to his friends, as it
were, that he thought it all right. This was a
well fought round, and Turner put in some good
hits. In going down, Randall was undermost. The
water of life was here given to Randall. At this
stage of the battle, upwards of two hours having
elapsed, it was truly extraordinary to witness
such exertions on both sides. Turner hit Randall
right away from him, but the latter followed
Turner up till a terrible struggle took place in
closing. Turner also stopped a severe blow aimed
at him by Randall, and in return he planted a
sharp hit on the Nonpareil’s jaw.

28.—Turner again nobbed his opponent with his
left hand, but he was floored from a tremendous
body hit.

29.—Notwithstanding the heavy flooring hit
Turner experienced in the last round, he came
up to the scratch as cool as a cucumber. He
commenced fighting, and endeavoured to do some
execution with his left hand, but Randall
stopped him. In a close, both down.

30.—Turner left the knee of his second first,
and quite satisfied the ring that that fight was
not out of him. He made some good exchanges,
till both went down.

31.—The face of Turner was severely punished,
but his eyes were open, and he fought as coolly
as if he had only commenced the fight. (“Take
him away—he’s too game,” was the cry.) Turner
was again floored from a severe hit in the body.
In this round a circumstance occurred which
might have proved the overthrow of Randall,
if it had not been prevented. Baxter offered
to bet £5 upon Turner, when Oliver warmly
observed, that he would lay him £10 to £5 three
times over, and was leaving his man to come
and stake, but he was called upon by Randall’s
patron not to quit him for an instant. Jem
Belcher lost the fight with Cribb, it was
asserted, in consequence of his second staking
the money, thus giving time for Cribb to recover
his wind.

32.—The brave Turner undismayed again met his
man; but went down from a blow. While on his
second’s knee, he was advised to give in, but
his manly heart would not suffer him to say
“No;” his tongue refused its utterance.

33.—The state of Turner now appeared so piteous,
and his bravery so much the praise of the
spectators, that several persons cried out, “Do
not let him fight any more.”—“Don’t say that,
gentlemen,” replied Owen, “he’s worth twenty
beaten men!” Turner, however, went down from a
facer.

34 and last.—The admiration of all present was
expressed at Turner again coming to the scratch;
and although in a state of exhaustion, he was
cool, collected, and as game as a pebble. After
some other hits, a blow on the left side of
Turner’s head floored him, that he could not
come to time. Two hours, nineteen minutes, and
thirty seconds had elapsed.

REMARKS.—The first act of Randall, on being
pronounced the victor, was to push the crowd
away from him, and to clasp the hand of his
brave fallen foe with much zeal and friendship;
while Turner, nobly disdaining animosity, gently
patted Randall on the back, in token that he was
the best man, and had won the battle nobly and
in gallant style. The amateurs applauded both of
them, and pronounced them the two best bits
of stuff, of their weight, in this country.
Turner, it seems, on being repeatedly solicited
to give in, indignantly spurned such advice,
asserting that he could yet win the battle. His
brother, Mr. Baxter, at length insisted that he
should fight no longer, which put an end to the
contest.

On victory being declared in favour of Randall, Turner was immediately carried from the ground by Sutton, in a distressed state, to a neighbouring farmhouse, put to bed, and every attention and assistance administered to his wants that humanity could suggest. It is well known that, heavy as the blows were, added to the extremity of pain he must have felt from the severity of punishment he had received, these were “trifles light as air,” compared to the anguish which his mind suffered at the recollection, afflicting to a brave man, of defeat. He was very ill, but complained most of the body blows. Randall, in the course of the Saturday evening, arrived in town, anxious to meet his better half and son; the latter was about two years old.

The public interest was so great upon this occasion that hundreds surrounded the turnpike gates to learn the name of the winner.

Randall at this time announced his retirement from the ring, and his intention to serve the public as a publican. We find in Monday morning’s _Morning Chronicle_, after the fight, the following paragraphs headed:—

“REMNANTS OF THE FIGHT.—Daylight on Sunday morning discovered the remains of several gigs lying along the wayside, which had been floored by coming in contact with each other from the narrowness and badness of the roads. Beds could not be procured at any of the inns; and, in consequence, hundreds were compelled to travel in the dark. The horses were all dead beat, the long faces not to be described, and the cleaning out immense. Near the dwelling of Randall, the Cock, in Tottenham Court road, hundreds were waiting for the result of the event; and, upon the arrival of Jack, the applause he received rent the air. The mob round Belcher’s door was beyond all precedent. In the Borough Market, Cribb’s house was equally besieged, and those of Harmer, Oliver, and Burn, crowded and surrounded. The sale of newspapers was as great as if some important victory had been achieved on the continent, so much anxiety was felt upon this battle. The first news which arrived in London was that Turner had gained the day. Numerous bets were made upon the information, and the hoax was not dispelled till ten o’clock on Saturday night.

“Turner arrived in town last (Sunday) night; and notwithstanding the numerous blows he has received upon his face, it was astonishing to see how quickly the appearance of punishment had left it.”

At a sporting dinner at Franklin’s,[154] on December 22, 1818, to celebrate Randall’s victory, a noble lord, a staunch patron of boxing, proposed to back Martin against the Nonpareil. Martin, who had just defeated “the invincible” Jack Scroggins (as Pierce Egan calls him after four defeats), in the previous week (December 18th), was then in the height of his fame; yet a backer of Randall not only accepted the proposal but offered, lest Martin’s friends should draw back, to fight £150 to £100; so good a thing did he think it; though Martin was a stone heavier, touching 11st. 5lbs. In a little row with the ponderous Burn, Randall displayed his skill upon the “big ’un,” and offered to fight him for £100, before his match with Martin. These were of course mere “wild and wandering words, my lord.” For the match with Martin, £50 on the part of Martin, and £75 for Randall, were posted on the last day of the year 1818, at Burn’s, and the 4th of May was fixed for the meeting, that it might not interfere with Newmarket.

Randall went into training at Hampstead, and in March, in consequence of some difference of opinion between his trainer and Martin’s, a foot-race of 100 yards was proposed for £5 a-side. The men agreed to run, and came together, when Martin beat Randall cleverly by seven yards. The reporter adds: “This was the first time Randall’s name was coupled with _defeat_, but then it was his _feet_ that betrayed him, his _fists_ had no _hand_ in it.” “This was thought,” as “Elia” says in his “Essays,” “smart writing for newspapers thirty years ago.”

Randall generously volunteered to attend and set-to at Martin’s benefit at the Fives Court, which took place only a week before their fight, and did so. This is a little trait that speaks volumes for the manly character of the Nonpareil. We copy the contemporary report, as a specimen of the “road to the fight” some sixty years ago.

“The fancy were upon the alert soon after breakfast, on Monday, May 4, 1819, to ascertain the seat of action, and as soon as the important whisper had gone forth, that Crawley Downs was the place, ‘the toddlers’ were off in a twinkling. Gigs were brushed up, the prads harnessed, and the ‘boys’ who intended to enjoy themselves on the road were in motion. Heavy drags and wagons were also to be witnessed creeping along full of people, with plenty of grub. Between the hours of two and three o’clock in the afternoon, upwards of 100 gigs were counted passing through Croydon. The bonifaces chuckled with delight, and screwing was the order of the day. Long before eight o’clock in the evening, every bed belonging to the inns and public-houses in Godstone, East Grinstead, Reigate, Bletchingly, etc., etc., were doubly and some trebly engaged. The country folks also came in for a snack of the thing, and the simple Johnny Raws, who felt no hesitation in sitting up all night if they could turn their beds to account, with much modesty only asked £1 and 15_s._ each for an hour or two’s sleep. The private houses were thus filled. Five and seven shillings were charged for the stand of a horse in any wretched hut. But those customers who were ‘fly’ to all the tricks and fancies of life, and who would not be nailed at any price, preferred going to roost in a barn; while others, possessing rather more gaiety, and who set sleep at defiance, blew a cloud over some heavy wet; devouring the rich points of a flash chaunt, and thought no more of time hanging heavily than they did of the classics, chaunting and swiping till many of the young sprigs dropped off their perches; the ould ones who felt the influence of ‘the Dustman,’ were glad to drop their nobs to obtain forty winks. Those persons whose blunt enabled them to procure beds, could not obtain any sleep, for carriages of every description were passing through the town all night. Things passed in this manner till daylight began to peep. Then the swells in their barouches and four, the swift trotting fanciers, hurried from the metropolis; and the road exhibited the bustle of the great day of Epsom Races. The ‘brilliants’ also left Brighton, Worthing, etc., about the same period, and thus were the roads thronged in every direction. The ‘pitiless pelting shower’ commenced furiously at six o’clock on the Tuesday morning, but it damped nothing but the dust. The ‘fancy’ are too game to prevent anything like weather interrupting their sports. The ogles of the turnpike men let not half a chance slip through their fingers, and those persons who, either from carelessness or accident, had not preserved their tickets, were physicked by paying twice at the same gate. The weather at length cleared up, and by twelve o’clock the amphitheatre on Crawley Downs had a noble effect, thousands of persons being assembled. It is supposed if the carriages had all been placed in one line they would have reached from London to Crawley. The amateurs were of the highest distinction, and several noblemen and foreigners of rank were upon the ground. The short time previous to the combat taking place was occupied in betting and descanting upon the merits of the pugilists. The high condition and strength of Martin made a considerable impression upon the waverers, and some little hedging occurred, though seven to four was the current price with Randall’s friends.” Martin first appeared in the ring, and threw up his hat, accompanied by his seconds, Burn and Harmer. Randall immediately followed, attended by Oliver and Jones. The combatants, upon meeting, shook hands with each other in the most friendly manner. The signal was given for stripping, and a most extensive ring was immediately beat out. At thirteen minutes to one the men set-to:—

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Upon the combatants meeting at the
scratch, the fine condition of Martin claimed
the peculiar attention of the amateurs. The
human frame could not possibly have attained a
higher degree of perfection. He wore elastic
drawers, and, from his hips downwards, the
symmetry was so complete, that a sculptor could
not have wished for a finer model. Randall was
equally prime; but from comparison of height and
weight the chance appeared against him, if it
had rested upon these points. Reports had gone
abroad that Martin meant to risk his fortune in
the first two or three rounds; also that Randall
could not bear punishment, and the baker was
determined to smash him on the outset. The
confidence of Martin rather alarmed a few of the
amateurs; but the steady calculators were not to
be moved; and the recollection that Randall had
won eleven battles in succession—that he had
never been defeated—and had likewise gained a
victory over the skilful Turner, heightened
their opinion, and induced them to lay it on
thicker. The vast multitude seemed in breathless
suspense on the men making their attitudes.
Martin was cautious, and some time occurred in
sparring for an opportunity to make a hit, when
he at length let fly with his right hand, which
reached his opponent’s body slightly. Randall
made a hit, but the baker’s length of arm
stopped it, when the latter in endeavouring to
make a return, received a one-two on the right
and left side of his face, which instantly
created a pinky appearance. Long sparring
occurred, and both on the look out to obtain a
favourable opportunity. Martin made a hit, but
Randall got away in style, when the latter was
not long in planting a blow on the body. Counter
hits took place, and Martin, rather encouraged
from this circumstance, pursued Randall to the
corner of the ropes. The Nonpareil, as
heretofore, when placed in this perilous
situation, extricated himself with promptness.
He put in two facers; Martin went staggering
away, and the claret was seen issuing from his
mouth. He now raised himself upon his toes, when
Randall, finding that the length of the baker’s
“peel” was not yet practicable to get over,
planted a severe bodier. Martin went a little to
work, and in closing some sharp blows passed,
and both went down, Martin uppermost. (Loud
shouting, and “Well done, Martin.”)

2.—Randall’s left ear was slightly bleeding
from the last encounter. Martin made a hit on
Randall’s shoulder; and he also stopped the
latter in making a return. Randall, however, was
not long in putting in a bodier, that left the
marks of his fingers as strongly imprinted as if
they had been painted with vermilion. In closing
the Nonpareil fibbed Martin severely, but the
baker obtained the throw and was uppermost. (Two
to one was now current upon Randall; and several
took it, relying upon the length and strength of
the baker.)

3.—Martin made a good nobber, and smiled at
the event; but it was only temporary. Randall
put in some bodiers with great dexterity,
these affected the wind of Martin, and, in
closing, Randall not only fibbed his opponent
tremendously, but fell upon him.

4.—Martin’s face was bleeding and flushed all
over; distress was coming fast upon him. He,
however, made a hit which was stopped, when
Randall, like lightning, put in so severe a
facer that Martin’s head went with great force
against the stakes. He appeared quite stunned,
but did not go down, and came up tottering to
fight with his opponent. In closing he again
received terribly, and was undermost.

5.—The “upper crust” of the baker was now
cracked, and Randall went in sharply to gain
another point, adding more punishment, but in
closing he was undermost. (Four to one).

6.—Martin got away from a tremendous hit; and
some long sparring occurred. This was a severe
round; but Martin was punished down, and Randall
fell heavily upon him.

7.—The Nonpareil had now commenced his work, and
satisfied the amateurs that he meant to finish
it at his leisure; he had “got him,” as it is
termed; but yet this safe hero to back thinks
the battle is not over till it is positively
won, and never gives the slightest chance away.
This was a short round; when Randall again
spoiled the upper crust, and got his opponent
down.

8.—The face of Martin was not only red, but his
mouth appeared full of blood. He made a hit, but
Randall got away; he, however, again pursued him
to the ropes, when Randall hit him on the right
eye, and he went staggering away. Some struggle
took place for the throw, but Randall got Martin
down.

9.—Martin sparred a short time, seemed tired,
and endeavoured to pull up his drawers, when
Randall was going in to mill, the baker smiled
and soon prepared for action. In closing Randall
threw his opponent.

10.—Martin slipped from a hit, but he received
such nobbers, and appeared so bothered, that it
was observed, the “Master of the Rolls” had
mistaken his place, and got into the “Court of
Chancery.” Randall fell very heavy upon his
opponent.

11.—It was evident that Martin could not gain
a point to change the tide of battle towards
victory. He received a dreadful blow in the
wind; and Randall got away from nearly all his
blows. The fibbing system was also again renewed
with severity, and Martin was thrown.

12.—Randall put in such tremendous hits, that in
struggling Martin fell down exhausted.

13.—This was a short round, and Martin was hit
as he was going down in the struggle for the
throw. “Foul! foul!” was loudly vociferated; and
it might perhaps have appeared so to those
persons at a distance from the ring; but the
umpires, who were close to the ropes, and
watched every movement, declared it to be fair.

14.—Another dreadful bodier was put in by
Randall, and Martin went in rather furious, but
he was punished down.

15.—The talents for serving out and improving
the chance exhibited by Randall in this round,
electrified the spectators, and astonished the
most experienced and accomplished pugilists on
the ground. In the very short space of time
that Martin was falling to the ground from
struggling, Randall planted three tremendous
blows. (“It’s astonishing,” was the cry; “he
is a phenomenon indeed!”)

16.—Martin still kept fighting, and this was a
sharp round; but he was hit both on the head and
body staggering away. In going down the coolness
of Randall induced him to put up his arm to show
that he did not mean to hit his opponent on the
ground.

17.—Martin determined to try it on, and broke
away from a close. Some exchanges took place,
but he was hit down severely.

18.—It was all up. Martin was hit so severely
that he fell upon his face. (A guinea to a
shilling was offered, but no takers.)

19 and last.—It was doubtful whether Martin
could come again. He did, however, appear at the
scratch, in a terrible state, but it was only to
be floored _sans ceremonie_. The battle occupied
forty-nine minutes and ten seconds.

REMARKS.—Randall never won a battle with more
comparative ease; and, excepting a slight shade
under his left eye, and a scratch upon his ear,
he had no appearance of having been engaged in a
contest. He is a complete master of the art of
war, and his judgment truly conspicuous. He
found the length of arm possessed by the baker
was not to be got over at first; he then, with
great promptitude, found out the vulnerable
part of the body, till the head of his opponent
became at his service, and then he won with all
the coolness and science of playing a game of
draughts.

It was the opinion of the best judges, that Randall ultimately must be cried down, like the famous “Eclipse,” as regarded fighting any man of his own weight. Martin was a very game man, and a hard hitter; but he had no chance with Randall, although it is said he weighed above twelve stone, and Randall only ten stone ten pounds. In point of civility, decorous behaviour, and quiet conduct in life, Martin yielded to no pugilist on the list; and these circumstances were not forgotten by the amateurs, who made a collection for him of £30 on the ground. He was taken to a farmhouse and humanely attended upon; while Randall put on his clothes, and sat down to view the fight between Carter (who styled himself the Champion of England), and Spring, which took place in the same ring.

Randall, it appears, received foul play early in the morning of the above fight; or, in other words, he was “hocussed.”[155] This infamous scheme, however, had not the desired effect; but the dose operated as a purgative.

A silly Monday disturbance in Battersea Fields, which led to a not very creditable turn-up between Randall, who had been dining out, and a fighting tailor named Jem Wood or Hood, in October, 1819, is seized upon by Pierce Egan for seven octavo pages of slang and ungrammatical “patter;” “Fistiana,” too, has booked it as a victory, “four rounds for love,” to Randall.

Randall was now so popular that the manager of the Regency Theatre engaged him at a salary to exhibit his milling acquirements in a pantomime. Turner was his friendly opponent upon this occasion, and crowded houses were the result.

In June, 1819, Randall being then about to open in business at the Hole in the Wall, in Chancery Lane, was challenged by the dread-nought Jack Scroggins, and a backer of Randall put down a £10 note on his behalf, for a fight for 100 guineas to come off in August. Randall, not having been consulted, refused to meet Scroggins, and forfeited the £10.

On Tuesday, August 17th, 1819, Randall’s opening dinner was celebrated. As a specimen we reprint the advertisement from the weekly papers:—

“TO THE PATRONS OF THE NOBLE ART.

“A most interesting match will take place on Tuesday, August 17,
1819, at five o’clock in the afternoon, in which THE NONPAREIL will
exhibit in a new character. The Commander-in-Chief will preside. It
will be a game set-to, and cutting up will prevail, while the claret
will be in full supply. The visitors, if they do not find themselves
in Chancery, will be in the lane that leads to it. The
Hole-in-the-Wall will be the rendezvous on this occasion, where
friendship and harmony will do their best to crown Jack Randall’s
latest hit.”

From this period we do not hear of Jack in the ring, though he constantly put on the gloves at benefits at the Fives Court, often donning the mufflers with the scientific Tom Belcher, his brother boniface and neighbour at the Castle. The following anecdote, headed “Gallantry of the Nonpareil,” is given on the authority of “Boxiana:”—

“On Thursday evening, June 28, 1821, as the Nonpareil was taking one of his ‘training’ walks, in company with Josh. Hudson and two amateurs, near White Conduit Fields, a lady and gentlemen were passing, when some very indecent and unmanly allusions were made to them by four fellows. The gentleman endeavoured to turn away from these blackguards, when they assailed him and the lady more rudely than ever. The Nonpareil immediately put in a small taste on one of the fellow’s nobs, that floored him. On his getting up, the Nonpareil took him up to the lady, and insisted upon his begging her pardon, which the fellow did upon his knees: the other three refusing to do so, were so severely caned that they could scarcely walk afterwards. Some brick-makers, who observed the circumstance, immediately left their work, and came to the assistance of the blackguards, when Randall floored two of them. Josh. Hudson also made some play with the ‘men of clay,’ and on some person crying ‘go it, Jack Randall,’ the name was quite sufficient, and the astonished brick-makers begged his pardon and bolted, _sans ceremonie_.”

During the two years of Randall’s retirement, Martin had shone as a bright star in the pugilistic sphere. He had conquered the renowned Josh. Hudson, the John Bull Fighter; beaten the “hard-hitting” Bristol hero, Cabbage; disposed of the pretensions of the “slashing” Phil. Sampson, the Birmingham youth; floored the pretentious Gipsy Cooper at Lewes races; and finally disposed of Josh. Hudson’s brother David at Moulsey. This led to a second match with Ned Turner, by whom in his early career Martin had been defeated. In this affair Randall backed Turner, and with Tom Belcher seconded him in the battle. Turner’s defeat at the hands of Martin so vexed Randall that in a moment of irritation he declared his readiness to fight Martin for £300. This was foolish and in bad taste, as Randall had formally taken leave of the ring two years previously, with a public challenge to all England at eleven stone, for 500 guineas. This sudden challenge was not immediately accepted, as the backers of Martin hesitated at the largeness of the sum; but the friends of Martin, upon weighing the facts of Randall’s recent illness, his life as a publican, and the supposed inroads of “blue ruin” upon his constitution, screwed up their courage and signed articles for the £300. It is stated in contemporary papers that upwards of £200,000 were dependent upon the issue of this fight, and that one gentleman had a book of £5,000, at six and seven to four on Randall.

On Tuesday morning, September 16, 1821, long before daylight, and all the preceding night, the roads leading to Crawley Downs, Sussex, were covered with vehicles of every description, so great was the interest excited throughout the sporting world to witness the Nonpareil once more display his skill in the art of self-defence. The ring was made in a field, within a mile of East Grinstead, in which Martin threw up his hat; but, owing to some misunderstanding between the persons conducting this business in the absence of the Commander-in-chief, the fight was removed to Crawley Downs, but not till hundreds had paid a heavy toll for passing through a gate, which sums of money of course were not refunded on changing the scene of action. For a long time it was thought no fight would take place. By this time the multitude had so increased that it was deemed necessary to enlarge the ring; and about three o’clock, Randall, in a white “upper Benjamin,” arm-in-arm with his backers, appeared, and, with much coolness threw his hat into the ropes. Shortly afterwards, Martin, accompanied by his backers, displaying their white toppers, also approached the ring, and answered the token of defiance by sending his castor into the ring. Martin was loudly applauded by the spectators. Tom Spring and an amateur were seconds for “the Master of the Rolls;” Paddington Jones and “Cicero” Holt officiated for Randall. The combatants on meeting each other shook hands in the most friendly manner. Current betting six to four on Randall.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On stripping, the frame of Randall was
a perfect picture for the anatomist, and every
person was astonished at the very fine condition
he exhibited. The confidence he displayed was
remarkable. His face had no trait of ferocity
about it, but, on the contrary, cheerfulness and
true courage. Martin was lighter in person than
heretofore, but his condition was said to be, by
his backers, equal to the finest racehorse. His
legs, which were covered with striped silk
stockings, were round and elegant, and the _tout
ensemble_ was that of a boxer capable of
performing great execution. He smiled and
appeared confident. On placing themselves in
attitude, Randall was the object of attraction
all over the ring; he stood as firm as a rock.
The position of Martin was good, but he did not
appear to stand so steady as his opponent. A
minute elapsed in looking at each other, but the
eyes of Randall seemed almost to penetrate his
opponent. Both anxious for an opportunity to
make a hit. Martin smiled. Randall made a sort
of feint with his left hand, which was well
stopped by Martin. Manœuvring and dodging each
other for a few steps, which was succeeded by a
pause. Randall endeavoured to put in a
tremendous right-handed blow, but missed his
object. Martin now ventured to take the lead,
and exerted himself to make his right and left
hand tell, but Randall with the utmost dexterity
stopped them both. Martin felt tired and dropped
his arms; but, on perceiving Randall ready to
take advantage of this opening, he hastily
resumed a defensive attitude, when the Nonpareil
immediately went to work, and planted a severe
right-handed hit just above the wind, which made
the Master of the Rolls bite his lips. Another
pause succeeded; but the attitudes of the men
were uncommonly fine. The action of the muscles
was beautiful; and the arms of Martin, and the
shoulders of Randall, were studies for the
artist. The combatants closed on Randall’s
decoying Martin to follow him to his favourite
corner of the ring, and in this situation, often
as the Nonpareil had astonished the amateurs
with his forte for fibbing, he now put forth
such a “bit of good truth” as positively to
terrify the spectators with the terrible
execution he was capable of administering. He
fibbed Martin with his left hand in the most
rapid manner, and then changed him on his arm
like a baby, and repeated four or five blows on
his face and neck, operating so decisively on
the jugular vein that the eyes of Martin turned
up, and he foamed at the mouth. A few drops of
claret followed, which appeared to have been
drawn from his ear, and Randall did not leave
him till he was within four inches of the
ground. Martin was now so stupid that the back
part of his head fell against the stake; but the
mischief had been done before this period. “It’s
all up,” was the cry; and to describe the
consternation of the ring, or to depict the
countenances of the spectators, would defy the
talents of a Lavater. Martin was picked up in a
state of stupor, and remained insensible for a
long period after time was called. He was
carried out of the ring; but in the course of
half an hour, when in bed, and attended by the
P. C. doctor, Mr. Hughes, a gentleman possessing
superior talents as a medical man, he recognized
Spring, and, on opening his eyes, with the
utmost astonishment inquired where he was, and
if he had lost it? Randall had only a slight
mark on the tip of his nose and under his right
eye.

REMARKS.—This fight is without a parallel, it
having been won in one round, occupying nearly
eight minutes. Although so short, yet the
excellence of Randall was so great that no one
could have complained to go fifty miles at any
time to witness such a display of the art. So
finished a boxer as Randall was never seen in
the prize ring. The attitude of Martin attracted
great attention and praise; and the extreme
caution evinced on both sides established the
advantages of coolness and a knowledge of
tactics. Till the closing occurred, the general
opinion seemed to be that Martin had none the
worst of it at out-fighting; but when the
Nonpareil got in (and right truly is Randall
named a Nonpareil, for where is his fellow to be
found among the milling coves of his weight?) he
held Martin as tight in his grasp as if he had
been screwed in a vice. After the fight it was
ascertained that Martin did not weigh more than
two pounds heavier than Randall. The character
of the Master of the Rolls had hitherto stood
very high in the opinion of the sporting world
for his scrupulous attention to training, and
it is true he was never attached to wetting
his neck; but, poor fellow, like our common
ancestor, Adam, it is certain he was not proof
against another temptation.

“Dear creatures, we can’t do without them,
They are all that is sweet and seducing to man;”

and “true ’tis pity,” and “pity ’tis, ’tis
true!” Martin might have lost the fight on the
above account, had the battle come to a long
contest, and stamina been required; but in the
present instance the repeated blows he received
on the jugular vein must have finished him off
hand.

As to Martin he attributed the loss of the fight to an accident, and issued a challenge for a third contest. Randall replied that he had declared beforehand that, win or lose, this should be his last battle, and moreover that his challenge was the result of a promise to Turner, that if Martin beat that boxer he would fight him himself.

We shall make no apology for transferring a letter from an eyewitness, who came up from Cambridge, to a university friend, as the best report of this eventful fight and its accompanying incidents.

“LONDON, _September 12, 1821_.

“DEAR ——

“Agreeably to promise, I sit down to write you some account of the
great pugilistic events of yesterday, such as they appeared to my
inexperienced eyes, and such probably as they would have done to
yours. The intense interest excited in our minds by the sporting
intelligence conveyed by the London press, and the difficulty of
discriminating the plain, simple, unvarnished fact, amidst the
eloquence and metaphorical colouring in which battles are narrated,
renders it necessary that we ourselves should, once at least, see a
prize-fight, in order perfectly to understand the events of the day,
and be able to converse rationally on matters which are the subject
of discussion in every body’s mouth. I was accordingly determined to
see this fight, but it was a matter of tenfold more difficulty than
I had anticipated.

“I had expected that our sporting friend’s letter of introduction to
—— would have made everything easy, as that gentleman is supposed to
be in the secret of all the sporting world. Nothing farther,
however, could be learned, except that it was supposed that it would
be on Crawley Downs, and a reason was given for this selection, that
it would be an accommodation to the Brighton amateurs, who would in
that case contribute £40 or £50 towards the reward of the
performers. Nothing, however, was decided, and the amateurs, who
were determined at all events to see the sports of the day, were
written to by their friends to come up to London to head quarters,
as the only means of making sure of not being disappointed. In fact,
numerous amateurs arrived from Norwich, Canterbury, Cheltenham,
Bristol, and other country towns, and at a tavern kept by Mr. Thomas
Belcher, of fighting notoriety, friends from all these different
places, attracted by kindred feelings, renewed their acquaintance.

“By-the-bye, you would be surprised how successful the fighting men
are when they set up a place of public resort. In the country
places, ale and strong liquors are best sold under the patronage of
the Duke of Wellington; and his head being hung up over the door is
a strong inducement for a genuine Englishman to enter, quench his
thirst, and promote the revenue of his country. In Paris, at their
coffee-houses, we observed they always had an elegant, young, and
handsome female seated in a conspicuous place, as an object of
attraction to the house; but the best painted head of the Duke of
Wellington in the country, or the finest woman in Paris, never drew
so respectable an assemblage as is brought together by the intense
admiration felt for the heroism and manhood of Tom Cribb, Jack
Randall, or Tom Belcher. The other sporting publicans all do well,
and have their coteries of friends who patronise them, and find the
liquors nowhere so genuine and constitutional as in the houses of
these hardy supporters of English glory. It would have astonished
you had you seen what an assemblage was at Belcher’s for some nights
before the battle. You might have stood an hour before you could
have got a seat, and barmaids and waiters were as much fatigued in
serving out the liquors as the combatants after serving out to each
other in the prize ring. The money was all alive. Five, ten, twenty,
and fifty pound notes were common as waste paper, and were staked as
freely on the event. It is wonderful how much the revenue must have
benefited by the stimulus given to business before and after a great
battle. One thing, however, I detest, and that is, that British
amateurs should drink brandy, as many of them do. It is a suspicious
liquor, and tastes of contraband. Let us stick to true brown, or
real British dew; they accord best with the constitution. At
Belcher’s there is a ‘Daffy Club,’ which makes this observance their
leading rule. But to return to the history of the fights.

“A Council of War, as I was told, was held, at which were present a
gallant general and three other amateurs, who had backed the men,
and the historian of the prize ring; and, on comparing intelligence,
and considering the letters from the various parts of the country,
Crawley Downs was decided to be the place least likely to be subject
to interruption. This was known at the sporting houses on Monday
evening; and as it was upwards of thirty miles from town, and only
known that night, it was put out of the power of the walking
amateurs to attend. Here I cannot help regretting that the
interruption given to sports occasionally by parsons and other
ill-advised magistrates, should render it a matter of prudence to
adopt such a course to prevent a numerous assemblage on such
national occasions. It is depriving an immense mass of the lower
orders of the benefits of the lessons of valour, forbearance,
perseverance, and manly spirit, to be learned around the prize ring,
and nowhere else. It is, I conceive, a most aristocratic proceeding,
trenching on the liberties and pleasures of the people, and ought
not to be continued. If we did not know our ‘patriots,’ as they call
themselves, to be often mere humbugs, and to love nothing but what
brings forward themselves in conspicuous characters, they would come
forth and assert in Parliament and public meetings the people’s
rights on such occasions. But, like the methodist and methodistical
parsons, they hate all sport that withdraws attention from
themselves. However, I do allow the assemblage was, in consequence
of the absence of the pedestrian fancy, very select. Nine out of ten
of the men on the ground had the dress and appearance of gentlemen,
and the vehicles and cattle were certainly a show worth coming all
the way from London to see.

“It was long before the business of the day commenced, and the
amateurs walked about and friends from all parts of England met and
exchanged salutations, and communicated intelligence of the state of
science in their respective neighbourhoods.

“The carriages, waggons, and stands erected for viewing the fight,
were arranged in some places three or four behind each other, in an
oval of 200 feet by 250 feet, and were covered with spectators. The
ring was at first of smaller dimensions, but it was necessary to
enlarge it. There was immense trouble to the pugilistic characters
on the ground with their whips in forcing back the multitude, who
were within the enclosure, to the carriages. At last the men
stripped and set-to. They stood before one another, with their eyes
directed forward, watching every move. They changed their ground,
but still their arms kept in parallel, marching and countermarching
to prevent surprise. It reminded military amateurs of the parallel
movements of Wellington and Marmont before the glorious ‘mill’ at
Salamanca. At last they exchanged hits. Randall put in a blow on the
breast, which made it appear red; he had a blow under the eye and on
the nose, but made a most dreadful return, and came in on his man,
caught him in one arm, and his other went to work so fast, it seemed
like the motion of a mill wheel in full speed. Both fell, and were
picked up; but Martin’s head hung down like an apple on its stalk.
The seconds put it in its proper place, but it dropped again. They
moved it backwards and forwards, like a baker rolling about a loaf
in flour; they threw water on him, waved their hats to cool him, but
all was not enough; and when thirty seconds had elapsed, time was
called, but his senses were gone. Thus was the battle lost. The
amateurs were sadly disappointed as to their hopes of a long and
beautiful fight: and from the attitudes of the men, and their known
science and game qualities, it was fairly to be expected. It was
reported Martin was killed; but the feelings of the spectators were
relieved by word that, on being bled he became sensible, and in a
fair way of soon doing well.

“The conqueror walked about on the ground, and enjoyed the
admiration in which he was held by the spectators, and a flight of
pigeons was let off to convey the intelligence to town.