Chapter VII: Ned Turner—1814‒1824 (3)

7.—The goodness of Inglis was never doubted,
but there was nothing like winning about his
exertions, provided Turner’s strength did not
leave him. Inglis napped it on the mouth,
succeeded by two severe facers. This was a
long round. Inglis planted a slight body blow,
but he received three blows for one, till Ned
slipped accidentally down.

8.—The young one was piping a little, and the
ould one was none the worse for a pause.
Sparring for wind. In a struggle both went down,
but the feather-bed maker was undermost.

9.—This round booked it almost to a certainty
for Bermondsey. Two facers once more put
Inglis’s nob into chancery. The young one,
however, as good as gold, not only stopped, but
countered well. The nose of Inglis, however, was
at the service of Ned, and the claret followed
as pure as any sample from the bins of Charley
Wright, of the Haymarket. The eyes of Inglis
lost their fire, and his countenance bore the
marks of his mind being abroad. The latter hit
anyhow, till he was floored by a nobber.
(Cheers, noise, and applause. Two and three to
one offered on Turner.)

10.—The chancery suit had performed the task for
Ned, and Inglis was done almost brown. He,
however, endeavoured to rally, but another
cutting-up hit, added to his, already shakey
state, produced extreme grogginess. His game was
so good that he stood up like bricks, till a
hit, almost severe enough to have knocked a
stone out of a wall, again floored the brave but
unfortunate feather-bed maker. (“Take him away,
he has no chance!”)

11.—It was evident to every spectator that
Inglis could not win. He staggered like a
drunken man; but his goodness enabled him to
show fight, and he made blows with the most
determined spirit. The ould one again caught him
with an upper-cut, and, as he went down, Ned
might have added more punishment, but he nobly
disdained taking an advantage, held up his
hands, and walked away, amidst loud shouts of
approbation. (“Bravo! Ned; that is like an
Englishman.” “True courage is always backed by
feeling and generosity—first the lion and then
the lamb,” said a cove in a rusty black suit,
something like a schoolmaster. “Never mind,”
said one of the Partiality Club, “it is good
doctrine, come from whom it may.”)

12.—Short, but terribly severe. Inglis was
floored _sans ceremonie_ by Turner. (“Take the
brave fellow away.”)

13.—When time was called, his seconds bustled
him up; but Inglis was in a doldrum till they
shook him, and, on roaring out in his ear,
“Ned’s coming,” he opened his eyes wildly, and,
as if by instinct, prepared himself to fight. He
rushed towards his opponent, but Turner sent him
down.

14.—“His youth will bring him round,” observed a
few of his friends. “Not this fight,” said a
costermonger; “he’s done brown twice over.”
Inglis again down. A hat was thrown up—

15th and last.—But he came again to the scratch.
Inglis staggered about for a second or two, when
he fell stupefied, Turner merely looking at him.
It was over in forty-six minutes.

REMARKS.—Science must win, if supported by
moderate strength; science will win if a man
is out of condition—that is to say, science
will get a man out of trouble; it enables a
boxer to wait for his man, time him, meet his
opponent, bring him down to his weight, and
ultimately prove the conqueror. It is not
necessary for a long yarn to describe the
beauties of the “ould one” in the ring; suffice
it to observe, Ned is a master of the art; his
stops were interesting to the spectator; his
hits were decisive, and he finished off his
man like a first-rate artist. Excepting a
tremendous right-handed lunge which Ned received
between his eyes in the first round, all the
other hits did little execution. The method
adopted by Turner to lead his opponent into
trouble, and then punishing him for his
temerity, evinced skill and tactics of the
highest order of milling. Inglis proved himself
a game man in every point of view; but, valuable
a quality as endurance must always be considered
in boxing, it is of little use when a man’s
head gets into chancery. Inglis was beaten to a
stand-still, and ought to have been taken away
three rounds before the fight was over. Inglis
was a brave, worthy, honest, well-conditioned
creature. Turner must have won the battle much
sooner had not one of the small bones in his
left hand been broken in the early part of the
fight.

Poor Ned was highly pleased to take leave of the prize ring in the character of a winner, and dined with his friends at Bill Moss’s, the Crown, in the Borough, on Monday, November 15, 1824. He was surrounded by some capital sporting patrons. On his health being drunk, he said, “It was very likely that he should not fight any more; but if he did alter his mind, he would always behave like a man.”

Turner gradually began to decline in health: he became lame, and, labouring under the effects of an asthma, announced his farewell benefit to take place in April, 1826. His last appearance on any public occasion, was at Hudson’s dinner, on Thursday, March 31, 1826.

Out of respect to an old favourite in the prize ring, the amateurs mustered strongly at the Tennis Court, on Tuesday, April 18, but it was not made known to the visitors that poor Ned had departed this life on Monday (the preceding day) at two minutes before five in the afternoon. The sets-to, generally, were well contested.

Randall and Scroggins mounted the stage, and having made their bows, the former came forward, and spoke as follows:—“Gentlemen, I am requested by the friends of poor Turner to come forward and express their thanks in his behalf, for the kind and liberal manner in which you have this day manifested an interest in his fate. Gentlemen, Ned and I have been opponents in the ring, but we have always been friends in private, and no man feels more for his situation than I do. That we shall be able to see him here at any future time, I think is more than doubtful; but let us hope we may all see him hereafter” (loud applause). Randall appeared much affected. Jack Scroggins followed. “Gemmen,” said he, “Ned was always a gentlemanly sort of a man—he is now gone to his long home, and I hope God will forgive him, as well as everybody else. Let us all live while we can, and when we can’t live no longer, why, I suppose we must die; and I don’t see why a fighting man shouldn’t see eternity as well as anybody else.”

“Well! so I’ve floor’d these ‘fancy’ fighting cocks,
And finish’d them in style! Presumptuous fellows!
They chaff’d of science—and, forsooth, would box
With one whose ‘hits’ are sure to touch ‘the bellows!’
Conceited mortals! thus to ‘spar’ with Death!
The greatest champions that the world e’er saw
By turns have bow’d obedient to my law.
Look back at history’s page,
In every clime and every age,
You’ll find I ‘mill’d’ the mightiest of them all.
No matter how they sparr’d,
My blows were sure and hard,
And, when I threw them, fatal was their fall.
From Alexander down to Emperor Nap,
Whene’er I chose to give the rogues a slap,
Not one could parry off a single rap.
No, no! nor had they each a thousand lives,
Could they have stood against my rattling bunch of fives!”[159]

Turner’s remains were removed on Sunday, April 23, 1826, between the hours of one and two, from the house of his cousin, Mr. Baxter, hat maker, in East Smithfield, and deposited in a deep grave in Aldgate Churchyard. The funeral was of the most respectable description. The hearse was followed by two mourning coaches. In the first coach were Mr. Turner (father of the deceased), Mr. Baxter (a cousin of Ned’s), Mr. Leslie, Tom Owen, and Pierce Egan. In the second mourning coach were Tom Cribb, Josh. Hudson, Jack Randall, Harry Holt, Harry Harmer, and Mr. Price Morris.

“From an early hour in the morning,” says the report, “the house of Mr. Baxter was surrounded by numbers of persons anxious to pay respect to the remains of a man who once stood so high amongst the admirers of the art of self-defence. The church and churchyard also were crowded. We noticed many of the _corps pugilistique_. Scroggins, for the feeling and respect he paid to the deceased, deserves the highest praise. Forgetting all former differences; nay, more, following the side of the hearse, and dropping a tear over the grave of the man who had proved his conqueror, speaks a volume in his favour, as a generous-minded English boxer. Every person present appeared sorry for the loss of Turner. In all his battles he behaved like an honest, honourable man; in fact, throughout his life he was never known to have committed a dishonourable action—his conduct was always upon the square. His last moments were marked by resignation and Christian-like behaviour; and he expired without a sigh in the arms of his cousin, Mr. Baxter. Turner was in the thirty-fourth year of his age.”

The reporter adds, “Turner was a most difficult boxer to be got at; standing with his right leg first, he proved at all times a truly awkward and dangerous customer. In a set-to with the gloves with Tom Spring, at a benefit in the city of Norwich, previous to the fight between Painter and Oliver, the science of Ned Turner was so much admired, and his blows were so effective, as to produce thunders of applause.

“In point of true courage, Turner was never excelled in or out of the ring. He was a most modest, unassuming fellow, and, notwithstanding his intercourse with various grades of society, he was a ‘bashful’ man. In company he was cheerful and good-natured, always anxious to serve his brethren in the prize ring, and throughout the sporting world he was as much respected for his civility as his high courage.”