Chapter XIII (2)

4.—Sampson again planted his right and left from the shoulder,
cutting Spencer on the left eye. Spencer was not to be shook off,
but instantly went to work, hitting out right and left, but wildly.
Sampson met Spencer as he rushed in with a few flush hits—a close
followed, and some good in-fighting ensued, Sampson feeling for the
bread-basket, and Spencer at the nob. Spencer then tried for another
cross-buttock, but Sampson was not to be had, and slipped down in
time. (Two to one on Sampson.)

The fight was now stopped by the interference of a magistrate. “You cannot fight any longer,” said he; “I will not permit it.” “It won’t be long,” cried Sampson; “I’ll soon finish him, so let us have it out.” “No,” said his worship, “I must not. I should have no objection myself, but I have been applied to in my magisterial capacity, and I am forced to act. I am sorry for it, but ‘needs must.’” Submission was the order of the day; his worship retired, and the men adjourned back to Newcastle, there to deliberate on further proceedings, Sampson proclaiming to his friends that he was sure to win, and offering three to one on the issue. The men had fought just eight minutes.

On reaching Newcastle Spencer was put to bed, while Sampson remained up with his friends. At length it was agreed, according to the “articles,” that the fight should be fought out, and the word was given for taking up new ground at a village called Woore, in Shropshire, on the borders of Cheshire. The moment the signal was given, “The devil take the hindmost!” was the order of the day, and the rush of the motley group to arrive at the scene of action in time beggared description. It was half-past four, and quite dusk, before the cavalcade reached the “Horse and Jockey,” at Woore, in a meadow behind which the ring was again pitched by Tom Oliver.

The best pedestrians were completely knocked up in the run, and several first-rate roadsters beaten to a stand-still. The entire group, owing to the wretched state of the road, were nothing but mudlarks.

No time was lost, both men appearing “eager for the fray,” and each feeling equal confidence. Sampson showed first in the ring.

SECOND FIGHT.

Round 1.—The eagerness of Spencer to go to work delighted his
friends. He cut away right and left, but the superior science of
Sampson enabled him to stop the Mud Island Devil’s efforts. Still
Spencer would not be denied; he bored in so hard and fast that
Sampson was a little bothered, turned round, and retreated to
prepare himself for the rude attacks of his opponent. The strength
of Spencer was so great that he caught hold of Phil by the neck,
and, in going down, pulled Sampson on him.

2.—Phil let fly right and left, and produced the claret from
Spencer’s domino-box; nevertheless Spencer peppered away with
rapidity; but Sampson’s counters were heaviest, and in the close
both were down.

3.—Sampson waited for his opponent and popped in his left with
terrific force. Spencer was not to be deterred, but rushed to
in-fighting, when Sampson hit him up severely. Spencer then closed
and delivered some home thrusts, grappled for the fall, and Sampson
slipped down.

4.—Sampson planted his left hand on Spencer’s muzzle. Spencer fought
wildly, and in closing Sampson went down to avoid being thrown.
(Cries of “Foul!” answered by shouts of “Fair!”)

5.—Spencer took the lead, and hit out right and left, making his
blows tell. Sampson went to work, but missed a terrific right-handed
blow, which went over Spencer’s shoulder. A good rally followed, and
Sampson fell on his knees, receiving a hit as he went down.

6.—Neale called to Spencer to keep his left hand up. Sampson waited,
and at length popped in his left on the ear. Counter-hits followed,
and Spencer, in closing, pulled Sampson down.

7.—Counter-hitting in a spirited rally. Sampson down.

8.—Sampson was mischievous with his left, Spencer rushed in, when
Sampson went down cleverly.

9.—Sampson stopped well, and both fought to a rally; heavy hits were
exchanged, when Spencer seized Sampson round the waist and threw
him.

10.—This was a capital milling round. Counter-hitting, and no
flinching. Spencer planted right and left, but Sampson caught him
dreadfully on the jaw with his right. In the close, Sampson would
not be thrown, and got down.

11.—Sampson delivered heavily on Spencer’s mug with his left, and
broke away. Spencer rushed in, and some good in-fighting followed.
In closing Sampson was thrown.

12.—Sampson again put in a dangerous nobber with his left. Spencer
countered, but again received right and left, and in the close
Sampson went down.

13, and last.—Sampson waited for his man and delivered heavily with
his left. Spencer would go in vigorously, but Sampson met him right
and left with punishing hits, and jobbed him down. Spencer was hit
stupid; he rolled about, and could not stand when “time” was called.
Sampson was proclaimed the victor. The second mill lasted fifteen
minutes, making the fight, in the whole, twenty-three minutes.
Spencer was heavily punished about the head, but Sampson was not
much hurt. Both men were reconducted to Newcastle the same night.

REMARKS.—Spencer was the right sort of boxer for Sampson. Men that
will go and fight with Phil stand a good chance to be polished
off-hand. A rushing boxer like Spencer is a sort of gift to him. It
is, however, but common justice to observe that Spencer proved
himself a game man and a troublesome customer to the Birmingham
hero. The amateurs pronounced it a good battle. The right hand of
Phil is at all times dangerous, and his experience in the P.R. and
his science united render him a fit opponent for any countryman, let
him be as strong as Hercules.

After this slice of luck the friends of Sampson rallied round him, and he immediately sent forth all sorts of challenges to all sorts of boxers by means of his editorial amanuensis and his weekly paper. As, however, these epistles, from their bad grammar and attempts at rude wit, do not commend themselves as “elegant extracts,” we pass them by. One, to White-headed Bob (who was under articles to fight Ned Neale), was pure “buncombe;” others, such as those to Jem Ward, proposed ridiculously low stakes, and others were mere “gag.” One to Big Brown, of Bridgnorth, however, had better fortune.

One of Phil’s challenges having taken the form of “Brown giving me (Phil) £20 to make a match for £300 a-side,” the Big ’un thus replied in another weekly journal:—

“_To the Editor of_ ‘BELL’S LIFE IN LONDON.’

“SIR,—I apprehend that addressing Philip Sampson through the medium
of your valuable paper will be to little purpose. There seems to
have been a little bounce, but I wish I could flatter myself there
was any reliance to be placed on what he has sent forth to the
public.

“With regard to his proposal of my giving him £20 to fight me for
£300, my intention was to propose fighting him £320 to £300; for be
it remembered that he once got £20 of my money in a way not very
satisfactory to myself; but it is not my intention that he shall
have any more of it unless I am fairly beat out of time by him,
which, if he should happen to do, he shall be most welcome to.

“I will fight him £320 to £300, half-way between Birmingham and
Bridgnorth, and I will attend at the place he appoints—the
‘Woodman,’ Birmingham—on Monday the 24th inst., between the hours of
eight and ten p.m., for the purpose of making a deposit and entering
into the necessary articles.

“I remain, &c., yours respectfully,
“THOMAS BROWN.

“Bottle-in-Hand Inn, Bridgnorth, December 19th, 1827.”

The hero of Bridgnorth in this instance was mistaken about the bounce of the thing; for Sampson’s friends were at the place at the appointed time, at the “Woodman,” and articles were signed without delay, Mr. Beardsworth, of the Birmingham Repository, being stakeholder.

This big affair was decided at Bishop’s Wood, in Shropshire, one hundred and thirty-four miles from London, on Tuesday, April 8th, 1828; and, since the battle between Spring and Langan, no pugilistic event had excited more interest. It appears that Sampson had some difficulty in making up the battle-money, and had it not been for little Arthur Matthewson—who not only stuck to Phil during his training, but procured him the last £70—a forfeit might have been the result of a rash engagement.

The principal patrons of the Ring left London in considerable numbers, on the Sunday and Monday previous, for Birmingham and Wolverhampton. The latter place was overflowing with company of every description, all the inns crowded to excess, and beds not to be had at any price. The towns and villages contiguous to Wolverhampton came in also for their share of visitors.

Wolverhampton Racecourse was named as the scene of action, in front of the grand stand, an erection capable of accommodating upwards of a thousand spectators, which had been pointed out as a most convenient arena; but a magistrate interposed his authority, and Bishop’s Wood was chosen, a lofty eminence, commanding an extensive and delightful prospect. It is situated in Shropshire, on the borders of Staffordshire, twelve miles from Wolverhampton, and about the same distance from Bridgnorth.

On Tuesday morning vast multitudes were _en route_ for the scene of action. Vehicles of all sorts were in motion; equestrians and pedestrians thronged the way from Birmingham, Walsall, Dudley, Wednesbury, Bridgnorth, and Stafford, Lichfield, Shrewsbury, and other towns. Brown cut a dash on his turn-out to the ground; he was seated, with his friend Spring and several others, in a landau, his own property, decorated on the panels with the sign of his house at Bridgnorth (a hand holding a bottle), and drawn by four fine horses, while a great number of well-mounted gentlemen formed, as it were, a body-guard. Both Sampson and Brown waited at the “Bradford Arms” till the time arrived for entering the ring. Arrangements on the ground had been made with much judgment. A circle of wagons, with a stage on a convenient spot, formed the external barrier; in front of these the spectators on foot were kept at a distance of several yards from the twenty-four feet ring by a strong circle of ropes and stakes. The ring itself was formed with posts of great thickness, deeply fixed in the earth, and three ropes (one more than the usual number) were affixed to them. The number of spectators could not have been less than 25,000—some persons guessed their numbers at 30,000; of these, at least 15,000 were unable to see the twenty-four feet ring, and were consequently continually pressing forward.

A few minutes before one o’clock, Brown, leaning on the arm of Tom Spring, threw his hat into the ring. He was received with a loud welcome. The appearance of the Bridgnorth hero was prepossessing; he was dressed in the then country gentleman’s costume, a blue coat, white cord breeches, and top boots. Sampson appeared soon afterwards, and his friends, in their turn, rent the air with applause. Phil was also well got up. On the entrance of the latter boxer, Brown, who was sitting on the hamper containing the bottles, &c., rose up, and, holding out his hand with a good-natured smile, said, “Well, my boy, how are you?” Sampson gave him his hand, but turned another way with an angry scowl, and merely repeated, “How are you?” Harry Holt and Dick Curtis seconded Sampson, and never was man better attended to. Harry had sported his money on Brown, but he communicated that fact to Sampson’s backers, and they at once decided on trusting to his honour to do the best he could for Phil, promising, at the same time, to make up his losses if Sampson won. Brown was seconded by his friend Tom Spring and by Bill Richmond. The toss for sides was won by Sampson, and at about twenty minutes after one the fight commenced. Colours—crimson for Sampson; and crimson with white stripes for Brown. Betting, two to one, and in some parts of the ring five to two, on the latter.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Brown, when divested of his outer garments, looked
extremely well, not to say gigantic, weighing, at the least
estimate, fifteen stone. A smile of confidence embellished his mug,
and he seemed to say to himself, “I shall lick this Sampson like
fun.” Phil was equally slap-up in condition—in truth, we never saw
him to more advantage in any of his previous encounters; he weighed
nearly thirteen stone. His countenance indicated composure,
calculation, and perfect preparation for the job he had undertaken.
On setting-to, Brown did not appear exactly “at home;” he put up his
arms more like a pupil who had been taught the rudiments of the art
of self-defence than as a pugilist acting from his own suggestions.
He scarcely seemed to know whether he should commence offensive
operations or wait for his active adversary to make the onset. The
science displayed by Sampson was judicious, correct, and decisive;
he crept in, as it were, to measure his distance, and having
ascertained he was right, he let fly with both hands. The mug of
Brown felt them; when Sampson, in the style of Curtis, stepped
backwards, by which means Brown, in returning, did not reach his
opponent. (“Well done, Sampson!”) The Birmingham blade again tried
on the manœuvre with increased effect, and planted a heavy blow just
under the temple of Brown. The latter now attempted to fight first,
but his movements were slow, and his right hand did little more than
touch the side of Sampson’s nob. Some sharp exchanges occurred, but
the hitting of the “big one” was round, while Sampson planted his
straight facers with electrifying effect, and had the best of the
rally. Brown, by his superior strength, bored his adversary to the
ropes, where he held Sampson, and endeavoured to fib him with his
right hand but not _à la_ Randall. The “big one” kept pegging at
Phil everywhere until he was down. (Great disapprobation, and loud
cries of “Foul,” “Fair,” &c.) It was the general opinion that a foul
blow had been given by the hero of Bridgnorth, but perhaps not
intentionally; therefore the umpires did not notice the transaction.
(“First blood!” said Curtis; “that’s an event worth summut to me.”)

2.—The skill of Sampson again was the admiration of the ring. He, as
in the previous round, coolly measured his distance so correctly as
to plant two facers, and stepped back out of trouble. Sampson
repeated the offence without delay by another left-hander on the mug
of the “big one,” when the latter returned a blow on the side of
Phil’s head. Sampson kept a good look-out; when, at length, he saw
an opening, he planted a precious teaser on the left peeper of
Brown, which not only damaged it, but placed it on the winking
system. (“Go in,” cried the friends of Brown; “don’t stand out to be
punished.”) The Bridgnorth hero rushed to a close, laid hold of Phil
at the ropes, and would have made mincemeat of him if Sampson had
not got down cleverly.

3.—Of no importance. Sparring for a short period, when Brown
endeavoured to plant a right-handed hit on the upper works of
Sampson, but Phil got away from mischief, and Brown, with the force
of the blow, fell on his knees. The “big one” jumped up, ready to
renew the contest; Sampson was also on the alert to hit; but Spring,
considering the round at an end, drew Brown back, who immediately
seated himself on the knee of his second.

4.—Phil took the lead, like a master of the art; his left hand told
twice successively on the mug of his adversary, and he retreated
from mischief. Sampson put in a tremendous blow with his right on
the left cheek of Brown, the claret following profusely. (“He’s
winning it nicely,” said the Brums.) The hero of Bridgnorth, rather
wild at such unexpected rough treatment, went to work desperately;
but Sampson kept milling on the retreat—jobbing Brown, as he
followed, with both his hands, until the “big one” closed, got the
fall, and dropped on Sampson.

5.—The nob of Brown was considerably damaged; he was also piping.
The “big one” made a good stop, but Sampson, undismayed, went to
work, and had the best of a short rally. Phil, with a sneer of
derision and ill-nature, observed, “You Champion of England!” then,
planting a heavy blow on Brown’s left eye, exclaimed, “There’s a
small taste for your Championship!” The hero of Bridgnorth,
irritated at the taunts, went in to do mischief, but Sampson met his
rush with two heavy blows in the front of his head, which floored
the _soi-disant_ Champion. (The applause was deafening. “Sampson for
ever!” “Sampson for choice!” “He can’t fight at all!” “Send him back
to Bridgnorth!”)

6.—Sampson, quick as lightning, went to work, and Brown fought with
him; but the former took the lead and had the best of it. Brown, in
his anxiety to punish his opponent, stumbled, and his head went
against a stake.

7.—The weight of the “big one,” enabled him to drive Sampson against
the ropes. The situation was rather dangerous. Brown held him as if
he had been screwed in a vice, and kept milling his ribs with his
right hand. (The row was immense—applause by the friends of the “big
one,” and the Sampsonites hissing and hooting beyond description.)
Phil shifted his arm, and changed his position, but still it was
most distressing. (“Don’t hang the man, Brown!”) The struggle was
terrible on both sides. Phil at length got down, Holt sticking to
him closely, and giving him advice how to get out of the clutches of
his powerful adversary.

8.—Sampson came to the scratch much better than could be expected
after the severe hugging at the ropes in the last round. Phil put in
two facers, but received in return a heavy blow on the side of his
head. Brown closed, but, failing in a cross-buttock, he dragged
Sampson off his legs and fell by the side of him.

9.—The left ogle of Brown was almost in darkness, and one of his
listeners and his nasal organ much swelled and out of shape.
Sampson, on the sharp look-out, planted another facer with his left.
Brown bored in, and caught Phil at the ropes; here the latter not
only got out of danger well, but faced his opponent suddenly, and
sent in a couple of blows as he went down. (“Well done, Sampson; you
are sure to win.”)

10.—Short. Brown was again met in his rush in the middle of his nob;
he nevertheless bored in and got Sampson down.

11.—Sampson commenced fighting, and took great liberties with the
pimple of Brown, using it for a drum by repeated hits upon the face
of the Bridgnorth hero; the latter rallied in the most decisive
manner, until they were both down. (Here the outer ring was broken,
and thousands of persons rushed forward to the ropes, which were
trodden down, in spite of all the opposition of whips, sticks,
blows, &c. It was “dangerous to be safe,” and the combatants were
compelled to fight in the midst of a mob. Sticks and whips were at
work, even to get for the men the space of a yard. No description
can be given of the confusion; the heat was intolerable, and the
spectators jammed together almost to suffocation.)

12.—Brown could not protect his face from the repeated visits of
Sampson’s fists, and went in to bustle him, until they both went
down.

13.—The right hand of the Bridgnorth hero told on Sampson’s pimple,
but not until the latter had planted two facers. In closing, Sampson
down.

14.—Brown was of little use in this round. Sampson hit his nob as if
he had a sack of flour before him. It was first a facer—ditto,
ditto, and ditto. The hero of Bridgnorth went down covered with
claret. (“Sampson for a thousand!” and rounds of applause.)

15.—Brown was distressed beyond measure when he appeared at the
scratch, but he recovered and went to work. Sampson again nobbed
him, but the strength of Brown obtained him the fall.

16.—The confusion within the ring was dreadful; in fact, it was a
mob of persons pushing and hitting each other to keep out of the way
of the combatants. The men were suffering severely under the
deprivation of air, violent perspiration streaming down their faces.
Sampson took the lead as to blows, but he was fought down by his
opponent.

17.—The coolness displayed by Tom Spring in this round was the
admiration of the spectators, and showed his desire that the battle
should be fought out fairly. In all probability, had he returned a
blow for the one given to him by Phil, the battle might have been
prematurely ended, or at all events brought to a wrangle. In
bringing Brown up to the scratch, Spring got before his man,
observing Sampson was on the wrong side of the mark. Phil considered
the conduct of Spring wrong, and without hesitation gave him a
facer, pushed Spring out of his way, and suddenly floored the
Bridgnorth hero like a shot.

18.—The “big one” showed game, and came up like a man. But he was of
“no use to himself,” and reduced to a bad lot for his friends. He
napped it in every way, and a floorer finished the round.

19.—Sampson lost no time, but went to work as soon as he had got his
adversary before him. Brown fought wildly, till the punishment was
too much for him, when he drew back, and Sampson, catching him with
an upright hit, dropped him on his knees, giving him a facer as he
was going down. (“If that ain’t doing him brown, I never saw
anything like it before,” said a Brum who had taken the long odds.)

20.—The heat of the weather and pressure of the crowd operated
terribly on Sampson; so much so that froth came from his lips, and
he seemed nearly exhausted; nevertheless he came to his work like a
man determined to conquer. Phil only wanted room for the display of
his milling capabilities. The Championship was completely out of the
grasp of Brown, and he might now be registered as Receiver-General.
He was hit to a stand-still, and then dropped. (“It’s all over!” was
the cry.)

21.—The customers from Bridgnorth now began to look all manner of
colours; the secret was told—Brown was beaten against his will.
Sampson sent his adversary down like winking.

22–23.—The weight of Brown, in close quarters, enabled him, in
closing, to roll Sampson down in both of these rounds.

24.—It was now clear to every spectator that Sampson must prove the
hero of the tale. Brown, as a last effort, exerted himself to
overwhelm his adversary, but he napped it right and left as he went
in, and was sent down like a sack of sand.

25–28.—Brown down. Ditto. Repeated by Sampson. Of a similar
description.

29.—Brown staggering like a drunken sailor three sheets in the wind
until Sampson hit him down. (“Take him home—take him away; he’s of
no use!”)

30–31.—It is true Brown answered the call of “Time,” yet his
appearance at the scratch was only to receive additional unnecessary
punishment. Sampson sent him down almost as soon as placed before
him.

32–42, and last.—The calls of “time” were obeyed by the “big one” in
the whole of these rounds, but he had not the slightest chance in
his favour. Indeed, it was a pity he was permitted to contest them.
At the conclusion of the forty-second round, when he was down, he
complained of his shoulder, and was not able to come again. The
battle was over in forty-nine minutes. The “big one” was reduced to
a complete state of distress—his left peeper completely in darkness,
his right severely damaged, and his face fearfully cut. His left
shoulder was afterwards found to have been dislocated. His feelings,
we have no doubt, were equally cut up, for he had flattered himself
that the Championship was within his grasp. He displayed game of the
first quality, and after a short period walked out of the ring to
his carriage, assisted by Spring and Richmond. Sampson had scarcely
a mark upon his face, except a touch under his left eye; but the
same side of his nob was peppered a little, and several other
contusions were visible. Sampson left the ring amidst loud and
repeated shouts in honour of his victory.

REMARKS.—No person could dispute the bravery and game exhibited by
Brown throughout the fight; he was out-fought by the superior skill
and tactics of Sampson. The latter entered the ring with a
confidence which surprised the oldest ring-goers; his conduct was
decisive in every round, and he never lost sight of the idea of
conquest during the battle. The broken state of the ring and the
very confined space for the men to fight in were certainly great
drawbacks to Sampson against so powerful an opponent as Brown. It
was evident that Sampson had improved in strength, and he altogether
appeared a better man than in any of his former battles; his
right-hand blows were tremendous. The hero of Bridgnorth must have
suffered severely from the injury to his shoulder, and none but a
brave man would have contested the battle after so severe an
accident against such precision and straight hitting as met Brown’s
repeated efforts to get on to his opponent.

The return was full of bustle and incident. Sampson’s colours were flying in all directions, out of the windows of houses on the road, on the tops of the coaches, and “Sampson for ever!” to the end of the chapter. The roadside houses never experienced such a day for the return of the ready; and “success to milling” was on the tip of the tongue of every landlord in the county.

Sampson left the ground under the patronage of Mr. Beardsworth in style, and during part of his journey on his victorious return to Birmingham the carriage which conveyed Phil and his friend was drawn by eight horses. Through the streets of Birmingham his reception was enthusiastic; Sampson was loudly cheered by crowds, and drawn by six fresh horses, until he reached the house of Arthur Matthewson. Every room in Arthur’s crib was crowded to excess, and the anxiety of the persons in the street to gain admittance, to get a peep at the conqueror of “Big Brown,” defied description.

The Shropshire folks looked upon their champion as invincible, and accordingly dropped their money heavily. In no previous instance of a big fight was there such an unanimity on the side of the “talent” and the “professionals.” Careful betting men laid rash odds and suffered the proper penalty, as the “knowing ones” were thrown out. This battle was followed by an epidemic of letter-writing in the newspapers, provincial and metropolitan. First came our old friend Thomas Winter Spring, who, favoured by the ablest writer who ever devoted his talents to ring reporting (we mean Vincent George Dowling, Esq., Editor of _Bell’s Life_ for upwards of thirty years), gave a graphic account of poor Brown’s dislocated shoulder, which took place in the _fourth round_, and which fully accounts for Brown’s incapacity to ward off Sampson’s “nobbers.” Spring was justly indignant at Sampson’s blow, and thus, after commenting warmly on the “ruffianism” of Sampson’s friends, he wound up with a formal challenge to Sampson to meet him for £200 a-side, “as it is not my principle to submit to a blow without wishing, like a man, to return it.” Sampson’s reply was characteristic of the man and his wordy amanuensis—full of boasting, bombast, and scurrility. Spring was taunted with “not daring to fight Ward,” beating “stale old men,” Oliver and Painter to wit, &c., &c. Attack, reply, and rejoinder stuffed the columns of the _Dispatch_, Pierce Egan’s short-lived weekly paper, _Life in London_, and _Bell’s Life_. Spring was at last provoked by the repeated threats of Sampson, who boasted in all company how he would serve the “old woman,” to retort with a promise of chastisement. He says:—

“Sampson accuses me of acting wrong in the ring, but he forgets to
say in what respect. I defy him or any person to say I did wrong. He
also says I wanted to bring it to a wrangle. If that had been my
object, I had a very good chance when he struck me—not once nor
twice, but thrice; had I returned the blows, it must have put a stop
to the fight.

“I think, Mr. Editor, I have answered quite enough of Mr. Sampson’s
scurrilous language; but when he speaks of chastising me I pity his
weakness, and would have him take care that chastisement does not
fall upon himself; for, the first time I meet him, I will put the
toe of my boot against his seat—not of honour, Mr. Editor, he has
none about him—but where his sense of feeling may be readily
reached.

“I hope, Mr. Editor, you will pardon me for taking up so much room
in your valuable paper, but unless Mr. Sampson chooses to come
forward with his money I shall not condescend to take the least
notice of anything he may say after this.

“I am, Sir, your obliged,
“THOMAS WINTER SPRING.

“Hereford, April 24th, 1828.”

All this gasconading, so foreign to Spring’s character, came to a “most lame and impotent conclusion.” Sampson could not get backed, and the affair fell through. Spring, meeting Sampson soon after at Epsom races, in Merryweather’s booth, declared his intention to fulfil his promise, made under sore provocation, to have satisfaction or an apology for the blow received by him at the fight with Brown. Sampson began to argue the matter, but Spring threw off his coat and called upon Sampson to defend himself. Sampson set to with his coat and hat on. “The crowd and confusion,” says _Bell’s Life_, “were so great that we have not been able to learn who gave the first blow.” The rally was, however, a determined one, and after being separated the belligerents got together again and fought four sharp rounds. Spring, it is well known, required room to show off his fine fighting, and thus Sampson had the best of the tussle, for such it was. The combatants were of course soon parted by their friends, neither having fulfilled his intent of giving the other “the value of a bating.” Spring, it was stated, was struck by other persons besides Sampson. It ought to be mentioned that Spring proposed to Sampson to come out of the booth and meet him on the course in the open, but the latter declined the offer. The next evening, at the Castle Tavern, Holborn, Sampson declared himself ready to fight Spring for £300 a-side, half-way between London and Bridgnorth. Spring accepted the challenge at Tom Cannon’s benefit, at the Tennis Court, the very next day.

A meeting was appointed to take place at Harry Holt’s, where the battle-money in Neale’s fight with Baldwin was to be given up. Here, after some argument, mutual explanations took place. Sampson said that when he “challenged Spring for £300 he was rather fresh; that he would retract it, and declare he had no animosity against Spring.” The latter said he would have an apology for the blows he had received, and Sampson, persuaded by his friends, expressed his regret. Finally Spring offered his hand to Sampson, who accepted it; and over a cheerful glass it was agreed to bury the past in oblivion.

Phil’s next encounter was with Simon Byrne, the Irish champion, for £200 a-side. The battle was fought on a stage at Albrighton, on the 30th June, 1829, when Sampson succumbed after a severe fight of forty-five rounds, occupying one hour forty-three and a half minutes. This, with the disgraceful draw with Big Brown, at Doncaster, in 1831, the details of which will be found in our memoir of BROWN (Chapter XII., p. 451), closed the chequered pugilistic career of Phil Sampson, “the Birmingham Youth.”