Chapter IV (2)

The sports thus most unsatisfactorily concluded, and the excitement which prevailed having subsided, those of the throng who remained to the last――for a great number had already taken their departure――began to speculate on the best mode of getting home. So intense was the darkness that it was almost impossible to distinguish your best friend, although close at your elbow; and the calls for Bill, Tom, and Harry resounded in all directions, with unsatisfactory responses of “Here; where are you?” and so forth. Then came inquiries as to the best mode of reaching the station. Some by guess, who thought they had marked the road they came, ventured to set out on their journey, and were soon heard floundering in the ditches or swamps into which they had wandered, and roaring lustily for relief. Others employed the yokels as guides, and thus they went, in connected chains, pursuing their devious paths. The Bishop of Bond Street, who had magnanimously resigned his carriage to Freeman, was foremost among the unfortunates, and went floundering on through mud and mire, but cheerfully submitting to all manner of casualties, till he reached the Sawbridgeworth station, where he was joined by hundreds of others, some of whom had got into the canal, others into dreary swamps, and all more or less miserable, but still happy in having escaped the perils to which they had been exposed. Complaints were loud and numerous; and verily some of our friends presented piteous specimens of human misery, with pretty certain prospects of future suffering from colds and other ills to which flesh is heir. A great number got off by the six o’clock train, but many had to remain for that which followed, and did not reach their destination till a late hour. There were but few carriages on the battle-field, and these were with difficulty piloted to the main road, and by that route either to the Harlow station or to the Metropolis. The Slasher with difficulty reached Sawbridgeworth, where he obtained requisite refreshment; and Freeman, equally fortunate, got to the Harlow station, and in a room of one of the attendants found “a good Samaritan,” who attended to all his wants. He was in good spirits, and but little the worse for wear. Caunt and Spring paid him every attention. The numerous assemblage here, half famished, had to send half a mile for the means of satisfying their appetites, and bread, cheese, and beer were in anxious requisition; to these a lucky contribution of a Yorkshire ham and sundry chickens, from the hamper of a swell drag, proved a most acceptable addition for a party of “the select.”

Before the departure of the train, the Slasher, accompanied by Johnny Broome, arrived at the station, and the proposed renewal of the battle on the ensuing day, at twelve o’clock, was discussed. Broome foresaw the difficulty in which he would be placed to afford due information of the whereabouts to some of the Slasher’s backers who had gone to London, and who were more desirous than ever of witnessing the termination of the contest. At his request, to which Spring did not object, it was settled that a meeting should take place the next day at four o’clock, at the house of the referee, to arrange this important point. The Slasher was unusually bounceable, and asked Spring if he was disposed to add a hundred to the stakes. A reply in the affirmative was instantly given, but the challenge evaporated, and nothing more was done. The arrival of the up-train put an end to discussion. All were soon embarked, and away they were whisked to Shoreditch. Freeman arrived at the “Castle” about half-past nine, where an immense crowd greeted his return; and the Slasher, in the same way, could scarcely obtain ingress to the domicile of Johnny Broome of which he is, just now, the “Rising Sun.”

The next day Spring attended, at the time appointed, at the place of rendezvous, but Broome did not make his appearance till an hour after. In the interim, with a view to give each man sufficient time to resuscitate his energies, the referee appointed the following Thursday, between twelve and one o’clock, for the renewal of the combat; the “whereabouts” to be communicated to the backers of each in time to enable them to reach their destination without inconvenience. On the next morning both men went back to their training quarters to prepare for the coming struggle. An earlier day could not have been named without interfering with the arrangements for the mill between Maley and M’Grath, which was fixed for the ensuing Tuesday between London and Manchester.

On Wednesday evening Freeman left London in company with Caunt, Spring, and his trainer, and put up at “The Bull” at Royston, his movements being kept a profound secret. Broome, for some reason, would not take his man to Royston, but preferred travelling, with a few friends only, by an early Eastern Counties train to Bishop Stortford, and thence posting to Littlebury, Essex, the appointed place for meeting, though it was privately arranged that Cambridgeshire should be the _locus in quo_ the affair was to be finished off. That quietness, and therefore secrecy, was pretty well observed, we may note that on Wednesday night there were only eight strangers in Royston, and five only in Littlebury, including Dick Curtis. The Commissary, and his assistant, Broome, having given the “office” for Bishop Stortford, a goodly number of the London division came down by later trains, and the demand for drags, post-horses, or indeed anything on wheels or four legs, became astonishing. Broome, Slasher, and party arrived at Littlebury in a carriage with four posters in more than good time.

Meantime, Freeman and his friends remained quietly at Royston, and it was not until Thursday morning that the Commissary received a despatch, directing him to have the ring formed, before twelve o’clock, at Triplow Heath, Cambridgeshire, on the spot where Bungaree and Sambo Sutton last fought――eight miles from Littlebury and three from Royston――where, it was added, Freeman would be present at that hour. Word of these arrangements was to be sent to Broome. All this was strictly attended to, and the ring was accordingly formed without interruption. Thus all looked well; but just before twelve o’clock, up rode Mr. Metcalf, a neighbouring magistrate, who by “some chance” had got “a letter,” and who, quitting his “toast and ale,” thought it wise to interfere. He at once said the fight must not take place on that spot, and a courier was sent forward to apprise Freeman of the ominous interruption. Freeman had come in sight of the ring at the moment, and a general halt took place, a small cavalcade having been formed by a few of the right sort, who had posted by way of Ware and Buntingford to Royston, and a respectable troop of mounted yeomen. A consultation immediately took place, and Haydon Grange, within two miles of the spot, in the neighbouring county of Essex, over which Mr. Metcalf was said to have no jurisdiction, was selected. Thither the materiel was quickly transferred by the Commissary and his assistants, and by one o’clock all was again “in apple-pie order” on the top of a hill, and on a spot particularly eligible for the purpose. Care was taken to provide for the due direction of the Littlebury divison, and a gentleman provided with Spring’s stop-watch kindly remained on Triplow Heath to note the time of the Slasher’s arrival, to prevent any mistake as to the road he was to take. This gentleman remained till after one o’clock, but no Slasher appeared, although all those who had come by the same train trotted briskly forward to the new location. Other scouts were left, but it was nearly two o’clock before any tidings were heard of the absentee. The ring being perfect, all were impatiently deploring the loss of time, during which the fight might have been commenced, continued, and perhaps concluded. During this unfortunate lapse offers were again made to take 2 to 1 there would be “no fight,” and some who had passed Broome on the road reported that he had declared he did not intend to be in the ring till two o’clock. Spring claimed forfeit, on the plea that the Slasher was not at the place first appointed between twelve and one, according to articles; but the referee refused to admit this claim, on the ground that the ropes and stakes had been removed, and Freeman had not thrown his castor within them. Had it been otherwise he would have had no hesitation in agreeing that the claim would have been well founded. At last the agreeable intelligence was received that Broome had arrived, and he entered the ring out of breath, asserting that he had been detained for the want of post-horses, but that he was at Triplow Heath at seven minutes before one――a statement which the gentleman who remained on the Heath to meet him positively denied. He then said that he had only been told the place of fighting on the morning before. Still the Slasher did not appear; and two o’clock having arrived, Spring said he would only give five minutes more, and should then consider Freeman was entitled to the money if the Slasher did not arrive. Within the time specified Slasher was brought slowly to the field of battle, having, according to Broome’s account, taken from seven minutes to one to five minutes after two to come very little more than two miles. Cheerfulness succeeded wrangling, and all looked well for the gratification of the throng, who had come far and near to witness the battle. Umpires were chosen, privilege tickets distributed, the ring effectually cleared out, and Freeman threw his tile into the arena――an example which all anticipated the Slasher was about to follow――when to the dismay of everybody, in marched Captain Robinson, the superintendent of police, who had ridden a steeplechase across the country, attended by an orderly. This authority emphatically announced that he had warrants for the apprehension of both men, and would not permit the peace to be broken, adding it was not wise to attempt such amusements in a county in which the character of the new police for vigilance was at stake; but worse than all, to secure obedience to his behest, he called upon Tom Spring and Tom Oliver, in the name of her most gracious Majesty, to assist him in the discharge of his duty! This was indeed a settler; and to watch the physiognomies of the two Toms on finding themselves thus suddenly metamorphosed into constables would have given food for speculation to the most astute student of Lavater. “Blow my dickey!” exclaimed the Commissary, “so I’m to act as a special, am I?” “This bangs Bannagher!” said Spring, looking as black with his right eye as if he had knocked it against Caunt’s fist. Parley, however, was out of the question, for Captain Robinson said his own reputation as well as his appointment were at stake. A belief existing that Captain Robinson would be content with preserving the peace of his own county, Essex, a resolution was formed to try Cambridgeshire once more. “Bock agin, Sandy,” was the cry; and away went the pioneers of the Ring through the lower part of Royston, on the road towards Bedfordshire, where fresh ground was sought. But a new beak was started from his lair on the road, in the form of a Royston banker, who peremptorily said it should be “no go.” Some disposition arose to question this gentleman’s authority in Cambridgeshire; but all argument was at an end on the arrival of Captain Robinson with his assistants. He plainly told the assemblage that it was in vain for them to attempt getting the fight off in Hertfordshire, Essex, Cambridgeshire, or Bedfordshire, for he was empowered to act in all, and must stick by them till night if they remained. This was conclusive. “To the right about,” was the word, and away all returned to Royston. There was some talk of stopping all night, to fight the first thing in the morning, to which the Slasher said he was agreeable; but a gentle whisper having been given that if the belligerents stopped longer in that neighbourhood the warrants might be enforced against them, a general retreat was ordered, and away the Cockney division scampered――Broome, with the Slasher, back to Chesterford, from whence they had had their last relay of horses――and Spring, Freeman, and friends, by Buntingford to London. All were too late for the trains, and thus many remained on the road all night, while others did not reach “the village” till a late hour. Again were hundreds collected in front of Spring and Broome’s houses to know the result, among whom conflicting accounts were afloat till the authentic courier arrived and diffused fresh dissatisfaction.

The chances, changes, and fortunes of this incongruous match were thus sung in some contemporary verses, of sufficient merit to warrant their preservation.

THE UNFINISHED FIGHT OF THE AMERICAN GIANT
AND THE TIPTON SLASHER.

Freeman, of giant frame! to thee a welcome warm we gave,
When wafted to the British shores across the Atlantic wave;
In harmony we saw thee move with gallant champion Caunt,
As muscular as Hercules, and tall as John of Gaunt.

We hail’d thee of thy countrymen the model and the flower,
And modest was thy bearing, though possessed of giant power;
Against thee Slander never dar’d her poisoned tongue to wag,
And never was it thine to bounce, to bluster, or to brag.

You came not to our land the gauntlet down to fling.
Here to no conquest you aspired within our battle ring,
But ready to come forward still at Friendship’s special call,
To take a fragrant pipe of weed and cordial cup withal.

“But yet I love my native land, and scorn each action base,
And never _Craven_ act of mine a _Freeman_ shall disgrace;
Whoever dares me to the fight, by no proud threat’ning scar’d,
Will find me anxious still for peace, and yet for war prepared!”

“By Heavens!” cried Johnny Broome, “my pink, tho’ nothing you’re
afraid of,
I have a Novice in the Ring who’ll try what stuff you’re made of;
Deposits shall be duly made, and matters go on snugly,
And there you’ll meet a customer as rum as he is ugly.

“One who professes bull-dog game I to the scratch will bring,
Welcome to whom is punishment as flowers in early spring;
One who in contest fierce and long, ‘Enough!’ has never cried,
But rushes forward to his man, and will not be denied.

“The same to him is Briton bold and Transatlantic foeman,
With courage at the sticking-place like ancient Greek or Roman;
Regardless still of body hits, or on the snout a smasher,
BILL PERRY is the trump I mean, the slaughtering Tipton Slasher!”

“Bravo! bold Johnny,” Freeman cried, “then to your text be steady,
Fixed be the time, as well as place, and Freeman’s tin is ready;
Into condition get your friend as early as you can,
And trust me I will do my best to floor your Tipton man.”

The heroes trained as fine as stars, with gallantry untam’d,
And in December’s dreary month the day of fight was nam’d;
“Who heeds,” the Slasher cried, “dark days, cold blast, or storm?
We’ll have sufficient work cut out to keep our systems warm.

“Tho’ twixt the Giant and myself the difference is great,
I care not for his stature high, I care not for his weight,
Nor for his wondrous length of reach does Perry care a whit;
And where so huge a carcase shows, the easier ’tis to hit.”

Thus to Big Caunt the Giant cried, “My friend, ’tis time to trot,
But bear me witness ere we start, this fight I courted not;
My manly foe, I do not doubt, possesses thorough game.
But if he falls ’tis he alone and Johnny Broome to blame.

“Tho’ with your gallant countrymen peace was my only aim,
Boston, New York, and Washington my prowess can proclaim,
And never in my proud career white feather did I show;
Nor ever cut a friend in need, nor shrunk before a foe.”

December sixth in darkness broke, the dawn was chill and damp,
And numerous Fancy toddlers betimes were on the tramp;
Corinthian swells and commoners made simultaneous rush
To Sawbridgeworth, in Hertfordshire, through muck, and mire, and
slush.

But how the beaks in wrath proclaim’d, amid the motley race,
That no prize fight or milling match should then and there take
place;
And how the pugilists themselves looked very down and blank,
While the spectators made a move both retrograde and flank――

And how they managed after all to give the traps the slip,
And hastening back to Sawbridgeworth prepared at once to strip;
How seventy gallant rounds were fought ’till deepening shades
of night
With its extinguisher forbade the finish of the fight――

And how the assembled multitude with sundry rueful shrugs,
Homeward retraced their weary way with disappointed mugs;
And how in Despond’s dismal slough a lot of worthies fell――
Next week the bard of “London Life” will accurately tell.

But tho’ no victory was achieved by well intended thumps,
Both men have proved undoubted game, and turn’d out genuine trumps;
And all uninjur’d and unscath’d in Tuesday’s battle fray,
Slasher and Freeman both survive to fight another day.

The referee having been called on to name the next time and place, the parties interested met at his house the next day (Friday). The Slasher was present, and expressed an anxious desire to have the fight over; he declared he had no wish to evade the meeting, and was quite ready to fight the following day (Saturday). To this Spring replied that as the Commissary had not yet returned to London with the ropes and stakes, and as his whereabouts might not be known in time, the proposal would not be accepted. The Tipton objected to a long delay, and as Bungaree the Australian and M’Ginty were to fight on the following Tuesday, it was suggested that both couples should be “asked out” at the same place and time. It was then found that the backers of Bungaree and his opponent had selected a locality where it would be most imprudent for such noticeable men as the Giant and Slasher to show themselves without certainty of interruption. The Bungaree division, however, proposed to alter their plans and effect an amalgamation, by jointly hiring two steamboats for the conveyance of the men and their friends to the field of battle――that the vessels should leave London Bridge on the Tuesday morning at eight o’clock, and proceeding down the river, pick up the “big’uns” at places appointed; and that, with the view of securing the absence of undesirable voyagers, two sets of tickets of contrasted colours should be issued by Spring and Broome only, no person to be admitted on board except those presenting the one for the downward the other the homeward voyage.

On the next day, Saturday, Freeman took a benefit, previously announced, at the Westminster Road Baths, the immense area of the “Mechanics’ Bath” being crowded to excess. That these affairs, of which there was too much at this period, were profitable speculations may be gathered from the fact that exclusive of free admission and tickets sold elsewhere, £178 was taken at the doors, although the performers were the humbler outsiders of the Ring, with the exception of Freeman (who showed, but did not set to, in view of the impending contest) and Caunt, whom Tom Spring kindly assisted by putting on the gloves with him. Although Big Ben showed some improvement, his style, as compared with the accomplished ex-champion of a long bygone day, could not fail to awaken unpleasant comparisons in the minds of such men as Mr. John Jackson, old Tom Cribb, and Thomas Belcher, all of whom were recognised at this gathering Freeman, who stripped, had not a bruise upon his body, and except a little swelling of the lip and an injury of the right thumb, bore no marks of the recent encounter.

On Tuesday, December 20th, 1842, at 8 a.m., we embarked on board the “Father Thames” steamer at the Old Swan Pier, London Bridge, Freeman having been put on board from a row-boat half an hour previously, while the vessel lay in midstream, and privately ensconced in the after-cabin, his immense stature being rightly considered as placing him in great peril of arrest if exposed to the public gaze. At Blackwall the Slasher came on board, looking rough and hardy in the sou’wester and blue frieze of a river pilot. The other combatant couple, M’Ginty the Scotchman, and Bungaree the Australian, had quietly embarked at London Bridge. The company on board, about four hundred in number, was truly representative of the Ring patrons of the day. A Scotch marquis, two or three scions of the peerage, a sprinkling of military men, a veteran “salt,” sundry hunting and university men, doctors, barristers, with some sporting clubbists from “the sweet shady side of Pall Mall” and the dingy smoking snuggery of the now resplendent “Limmer’s,” formed the “upper-crust.” The Church, of course, was not represented, unless we may enumerate the Right Rev. the Bishop of Bond Street in that category. That facetious worthy was indeed prominent, and, with the forethought gained by long experience, had brought on board a capacious hamper, accompanied by a handsome basket of white willow, which, to the delight of the Corinthians, who formed “the excursionists” thus “personally conducted,” disclosed at an after period a wealth of game-pie, pigeon-pie, chickens, ham, tongue, salad, and the various comestibles for which Fortnum and Mason are renowned. That the white willow basket was a worthy auxiliary of the big hamper “goes without saying.” “Schnapps,” in several square-shouldered and short-necked bottles and flasks, cognac, sherry, and a battalion of silver and gold-necked champagne, came forth at intervals in such succession as made us think that the Bishop had really the supernatural gift boasted by Glendower, “I can call spirits from the vasty deep,” and that “they do come when I do call them.” But we are anticipating. The “old familiar faces” of Ned Painter, from Norwich, Tom Spring, Peter Crawley, Oliver, and Burn were on deck, together with Adams, Johnny Walker, Langham, Orme, Parker, Johnny Broome and his brother Harry, Tom Maley, Jemmy Shaw, &c., &c.; while the “sporting publican” division was represented by Owen Swift, Jem Cross, Jack Gardiner, Jemmy Moore, “Stunning” Joe Banks, and a host of “hosts.” On her downward course the “Father Thames” was followed by several craft, and by the time she arrived at the Lower Hope Point, about six miles below Gravesend, there was quite a “mosquito fleet” in sight, not including a “tail” of Gravesend wherries which were permitted to hang on to her stern tow-rope.

When off Cliffe Marshes, the welcome sounds of “Ease her!” “Stop her!” “Easy astarn!” sounded from the bridge. All on deck were in a bustle of delight. The facetious Joe Banks, backed up by jolly Jem Burn, having, with impressive gravity, informed a group of listeners, the destination of the craft being as yet a secret, “that the swells below had arranged with the captain for a trip to the coast of France, as they were determined to have no more stoppages from beaks nor blues,” the horrid rumour ran from stem to stern; and not a few were sorely exercised in their minds as to how a limited knowledge of the French language, and a slender exchequer, would serve them in a trip to the Continent, much more bring them back again, should they miss the boat. Great, then, was the laughter at those who were beginning to believe in “the sell” when the paddles were backed, the chain-cable run out, and the smartest of the boatmen hooked their craft on to ropes hanging from the sponsons of the “Father Thames.” The ground was well chosen, under the lee of a high ridge of the river bank, in a level intersected by broad ditches, and approachable only by crossing a deep drain, bridged by a couple of stout scaffold planks, at each end of which was a cluster of ring-constables, who secured comparative safety to the single file of pilgrims, many of whom carried folding-seats from the steamer, forms, trestles, bundles of straw, baskets, and other conveniences, to say nothing of two enterprising Israelitish speculators, who, with dubious steps, staggered over the wooden bridge, amid the cheers and laughter of the admiring crowd, carrying a beer-barrel slung on a slight, springy pole. This bridge of Al Sirat passed, and “the land of promise” reached, the cheerful groups assembled round the outer rope, while the privilege-ticket holders, press-men, and officials, seated themselves on the stools aforesaid, or, with the best waterproof protection procurable, assumed recumbent positions on the damp and springy morass. The outer circle was soon after materially increased by a crowd of East Enders, conveyed by sundry steam-tugs, which, at a very low tariff, conveyed the multitude to the Kentish _Champ de Mars_.

And now the doughty champions hove in sight from a hovel where they had been ensconced. The American Ajax had for his armour-bearer Ben Caunt, and for his page King Dick, who certainly, in this instance, carried in his little noddle the larger portion of the scientific knowledge of the trio. The Slasher loomed large, enveloped in a long white frieze coat, his head surmounted by an Indian fur cap, with a ferocious wild-cat mask as a vizor, which he wore upon his forehead over his own hard, grinning physiognomy. Ben Terry and Harry Broome were his henchmen. On stripping it was evident that Freeman had increased in bulk by a stone and a half――18 stone 12 lbs. being the result told by the weighing-chair that morning. His confidence, too, seemed to have increased in a corresponding degree. The Slasher, on stripping, looked thinner, and certainly paler than when he last peeled in Cambridgeshire; but he had lost none of that careless, “dare-devil” expression for which his countenance is remarkable. A Scotch sportsman, and backer of M’Ginty, having accepted the onerous and difficult position of referee, the first battle was brought to the arbitrament of attack and defence.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――At thirteen minutes after twelve precisely
the men were conducted to the scratch, shook hands, and
threw themselves into position, the towering height and
great bulk of Freeman presenting the same fearful odds
we have before described. The Slasher dodged round his
man, waiting for an opening, but he found the Giant
ready to hit with him, and he had already felt the
weight of his feelers with sufficient force to have the
prudence of keeping at a distance. The Slasher tried
his left and right, but was out of distance. The Giant
followed him in his _pirouettes_, and at last, getting
closer, hit out left and right; the former passed over
the Slasher’s head, but the latter caught him slightly
on the nut, and the Slasher went down.

2.――The Slasher again cautious and _à la distance_.
Freeman followed his dodging manœuvres, and at last
rushed in to hit, but the Slasher in getting away fell
without being struck, and got up laughing.

3.――The Slasher got near to his man and let out with
his left at the nob, but did not get home. Trifling
exchanges with the left, the Slasher retreating,
Freeman at him left and right, just reaching him, when
the Slasher tumbled down. No mischief done.

4.――After renewed dodging the Slasher made himself up
for mischief, feinted once or twice, and then hit out
with his left. This brought the men to a rally, in
which favours were exchanged, and the Slasher catching
it on the nozzle showed first blood. After some wild
fighting, in which hits were exchanged, the Slasher was
down.

5.――Slasher cautious and getting away from the Giant;
he at last steadied himself, and counter-hits with the
left were exchanged. The Giant followed up his man to
the corner, but missed both left and right, and Slasher
got down.

6.――Counter-hits with the left, but no sting in them.
The Giant hit out well with his right, but the Slasher
dodged and got away. The Slasher was short with his
left and right, and again got away. He returned to the
charge, and caught Freeman slightly on the body with
his left. Freeman returned the compliment on the
temple, but it was more of a shove than a blow. Slasher
hit short with his left, ducked, and got away laughing.
The Giant steadied himself, waited for the attack,
stopped the Slasher’s left, and caught him a stinger on
the left ear with his right. The Slasher scrambled down
in a sort of rally.

7.――The Slasher planted his right on the Giant’s
shoulder, and got away; the Giant after him, and after
exchanging left and right out of distance, the Slasher
got down.

8.――Pretty exchanges left and right, and flesh marks
left. The Slasher tried at the body with his left,
stooped, and got away. The Giant pursued him, hitting
wildly left and right. He at last caught the Tipton in
his arms and chopped him on his head several times with
his right, but without administering any serious
punishment. The Slasher slipped down to avoid further
hitting.

9.――The Slasher tried his left, was short, and got
away. The Giant followed him as he dodged round the
ring, but his blows did not reach their destination.
After a wild scrambling rally the Slasher got down.
There was a want of precision in Freeman’s deliveries
which forbade the hope of execution.

10.――The Slasher dropped a heavy smack on the Giant’s
ivories with his left, which, coming in contact with
his teeth, inflicted a wound on his own finger, that
bled profusely. He tried it again, but was short, as
was the Giant in his attempt to return, and the Slasher
fell on his knees.

11.――The Giant’s mouth showed the effect of the blow in
the last round, his lips were swollen a little, and a
tinge of blood was perceptible. The Slasher led off
left and right; the former on the ribs, and the latter
on the shoulder, and rushing in after a struggle, went
down on his knees.

12.――The Slasher came up laughing, the Giant looking
serious; counter-hits with the left. The Slasher
dodged, and retreated towards the ropes; the Giant
followed him impetuously, and missed his one two. The
Slasher dropped, looked up, and laughed.

13.――The Slasher hit open handed, and retreated; he
then tried to drop his left on the Giant’s dial, but
his hand went over his shoulder; he then retreated, but
finding the Giant rushing in for mischief, he dropped.
[Cries of “foul,” but the umpires did not interfere.]

14.――The Slasher got home with his left, and dropped on
the Giant’s jaw. The Giant returned the compliment on
the cheek and ear, right and left, when the Slasher
went down. It scarcely could be called a knock-down
blow.

15.――The Slasher led off, and popped his left on the
Giant’s mouth. The Giant after him, and caught him
heavily with his right on the ear, which became
seriously swollen. A rally, in which there were some
heavy hits exchanged, and in the close the Slasher got
down.

16.――The Slasher, as usual, commenced hitting out left
and right, but did no execution, his blows being wide
of their mark. Freeman to him left and right, but the
deliveries were not effective. The Slasher down.

17.――Freeman popped a heavy smack with his right on the
Slasher’s neck. The Slasher, stung, rushed in wildly.
The Giant steadied himself, hit out well with his left,
and the Slasher dropped.

18.――The Slasher made play left and right, was short,
and went down. His second was observed rubbing his
neck, and there was a little of the _doldrum_
appearance in his phis.

19.――The Slasher hit short and only reached Freeman’s
shoulder with his right. He then fought on the retreat
to the corner, where he got down.

20.――The Slasher showed symptoms of blowing. He led off
in his old wild way, evidently afraid of the return,
and on the Giant lunging out right and left, he went
down anyhow.

21.――Slasher short with his left, and caught it heavily
from the Giant’s right on the ear; trifling exchanges,
and the Slasher down.

22.――The Slasher again short in his deliveries. The
Giant nailed him left and right, but not with much
severity, then seized him in his arms and flung him
down, walking contemptuously to his corner.

23, 24, 25, and 26.――Scrambling work, and Slasher down
in every round.

27.――The injury to the Slasher’s left hand appeared to
increase, but in this and the two following rounds no
mischief was done, and he invariably dropped grinning.

28.――A wild blundering round, in which there was no
precision on either side――the Slasher slipped down, but
was up again and renewed the round. After a scrambling
rally, the Slasher again got down, and slipped
completely under the Giant’s fork, at whom he looked up
and grinned.

29.――The Slasher hit short left and right, and threw
himself down with a whop to avoid. Freeman laughed and
shook his head, seeming to consider that it was
intended to induce him to strike foul.

30.――The Slasher succeeded in planting a right-handed
chopper on the Giant’s pimple, and got away. The Giant
dashed after him, hitting left and right, and then
endeavoured to seize him, but the Slasher slipped away
and fell.

31, 32, 33, and 34.――The fighting wild and indecisive;
in the last round, the Giant hit the Slasher down; but
it struck us as rather a push than a blow.

35.――The Giant in left and right――the Slasher
retreated――the Giant after him, but it was no go――he
let fly right and left, and then went down. The ground
now became extremely slippery for both men.

36.――Freeman led off, but was short and wild, and did
not reach his man. Slasher popped in his right on the
Giant’s shoulder, and in getting away went down.

37 and last.――Freeman ready, when the Slasher rushed to
close quarters, struck him on the shoulder with his
right, but, on the Giant attempting to return, he went
down without a blow.

A call was made by the seconds of Freeman on the
umpires, who disagreed, and on appealing to the referee
he pronounced “foul;” and, no doubt, had a similar
appeal been made to him before, he would have given a
like decision.

The Giant was immediately proclaimed the winner, and
was taken out of the ring after fighting thirty-nine
minutes.

The Slasher came up again “fresh as paint,” and
evidently but little injured by the contest. His left
ear alone showed serious marks of punishment; it was
much swollen and filled with coagulated blood. The
finger of his left hand was likewise cut; but the
contusions on his index were few and of trifling
consequence. He seemed anxious to renew the contest,
and denied that he had fallen purposely. The judgment
had been pronounced, however, and there was no
recalling it.

Johnny Broome was evidently mortified, and offered to
put down a score for the Slasher to fight Ben Caunt,
“then and there.” Spring said such a proposition
savoured too much of passion and folly, but said Caunt
was prepared to fight the Slasher or any man in England
for from £100 to £500, and the money was always ready
at his house.

REMARKS.――This was altogether an unsatisfactory
contest. The match was unequal, and the difference in
the size of the men, Freeman having already shown no
lack of personal bravery, left no room for speculation
on the issue. Everybody foresaw that the Giant must be
triumphant, notwithstanding he fought badly. In fact he
did not hit at points, and missed most of his
well-intentioned but ill-directed blows from the shifty
character of his opponent, as well as from his own wild
and uncertain mode of delivery. He hits round with his
right, as the Slasher’s ear testified, and his
left-handed deliveries are more like pokes than
punishing hits. That he is a game man we have no doubt,
but he is unwieldy, and possesses too much of “the milk
of human kindness” ever to become a “star” in the Ring,
even if his equal could be found. We are inclined to
think, however, that this will have been his last
appearance in the P.R., and should recommend him to
choose some more suitable occupation――although as a
sparrer, from his great size, he will always be an
object of curiosity. The Slasher is a mere rough, who
must be beaten by a well-scienced man. That he would
have shown to more advantage with a man of his own
pretensions and size we have no doubt; but with Freeman
he felt he could not hope to win, and therefore became
reckless and careless――seeking only how to escape those
visitations which, had he made a “fair stand-up fight,”
must have ended in more serious punishment. As it was,
both escaped with comparatively trifling injuries, and
remained to witness the subsequent fight. The
contusions on the Slasher’s ear were reduced by a
surgeon who was on board the steamer, and after a
little ablution he was himself again, repeating that
his going down without a blow was the effect of
accident, and not of design――an assertion the truth of
which few who saw the performance were disposed to
admit.

The ring being cleared, and M’Ginty, the Scotchman, having defeated Bungaree (John Gorrick), the Australian, after a game battle of one hour and forty-seven minutes, the voyagers possessed of “return tickets” re-embarked on “Father Thames;” οι πολλος [oi pollos] betaking themselves to their tugs, row-boats, and ten toes, as necessity might compel. Although it was dark ere the boat passed Blackwall, all were safely landed by seven p.m. at “Old Swan,” highly gratified with the good order preserved by the ring-constables, and the perfect arrangements of the managers for this great day’s “outing.”

As a compliment and a help to Dick Curtis, who, on the Tuesday, assiduously seconded both the Giant and Bungaree, his benefit was fixed for the following Thursday, at the Westminster Baths, which were crowded to excess by all classes, from the Corinthian to the costermonger. The crowd assembled was scarcely less numerous than at the Giant’s benefit, and the spirit in favour of boxing certainly more apparent. We were gratified to recognise Mr. Jackson, Tom Cribb, Tom Belcher, Tom Spring, Jem Burn, and most of the old originals. Freeman, the Slasher, and Bungaree showed, but M’Ginty was _non inventus_. Freeman and the Slasher scarcely displayed a scratch; but Bungaree showed a few marks of _chasing_ and hammering on the mug, and his left hand was in a sling, the sinews of the knuckle having been divided. The setting-to was excellent and abundant, and included a long list of talented exhibitors. Among others, Johnny Broome and Johnny Hannan displayed great vigour and determination, and, after a matchless exhibition of talent, it would be difficult to say which “bore the bell.” Their exertions were rewarded by thunders of applause. Freeman and Caunt also elicited the warmest approbation, the Giant sparring with a freedom and ease that surprised many who were disinclined to believe in his improvement. The appearance of Tom Spring with the veteran Tom Belcher――who made his first appearance after a retirement of fourteen years from the sparring-schools――produced an enthusiastic sensation, and the set-to between these men afforded the greatest satisfaction. Belcher, by the beauty of his position, and quickness and neatness of his stops and hits, reminded us of what were indeed the palmy days of the Ring. Spring had the advantage in length and bulk of frame; still, the display was, upon the whole, a finished specimen of the science of self-defence. King Dick and Owen Swift, the retired champions of the light weights, wound up the sports, and were most favourably received.

Johnny Broome then mounted the stage, and announced that the Slasher would take a benefit in the same popular arena on Monday, January 2, at which Freeman and Caunt had kindly promised again to appear; and, by way of opening the New Tear, the Slasher would then be prepared to make a match with Caunt, at 13st. 4lb., for £100 a side. [This proposition had been previously made to Caunt, but he had declined.]

Tom Spring immediately mounted the stage, and said Johnny Broome well knew his challenge would not be accepted, as it was impossible for Caunt to reduce himself to the weight proposed. Caunt was ready to fight Slasher or any man in England, from £100 to £500, “catch weight;” but he (Tom Spring) knew too well the consequence of men reducing themselves below the natural standard to sanction such a proceeding. For himself, he could only say that he never fought 13st., and never barred weight, country, or colour, for he was satisfied 13st. was weight enough for anything living who meant fighting. He had stated Caunt’s terms, and if Slasher did not choose to accept them, there was no harm done.

Broome said he would not have made the proposition had not the Slasher told him that Caunt himself made the offer.

Thus ended this sensational burlesque on boxing. On the ensuing Tuesday the “Castle” was crowded to excess, on the occasion of the giving up of the stakes to the undoubted winner. Freeman, the Slasher, Caunt, Johnny Broome, Bungaree, _cum multis aliis_, were present. The Stakeholder, in rendering his due to the victor, observed that he should refrain from offering any comments on the character of the fight, but at the same time give Freeman every credit for his unassuming conduct since his arrival in this country, as well as for his strict observance in the ring of those principles of fair play which formed the groundwork of the rules of British boxing. He had never offered a challenge, but being challenged he could not with honour decline the invitation, but at the same time he entered the arena without the most remote hostility towards his opponent. He had come to this country on a friendly speculation in conjunction with Caunt, and he (the Stakeholder) believed the match had been made on the part of the Slasher rather to try the value of the weight of metal which Freeman carried when placed in competition with the old English breed, than from any anticipation that so small a craft could compete successfully with a vessel of such magnitude. The issue had shown that “the Giant” was too much for “the pigmy,” but as the experiment had been fairly tried, there was no ground for censure on either side. After some further remarks on the necessity of union among professional boxers themselves, a strict adherence to honesty and fair play, and a due sense of the necessity of propriety in their general demeanour, he handed the “flimsies” to Freeman.

Freeman immediately rose, and dusting the cobwebs from the ceiling with his “thatch,” expressed his deep sense of the kind and hospitable manner in which he had been received in this country. He confessed he touched English ground with different anticipations, but he was glad of the opportunity of acknowledging that in England neither country nor colour made any difference, and that all were alike sure of fair play. He came in company with Caunt rather to see England than for any other purpose, and being a little in the “glove fancy,” he thought he might bring it to account to pay expenses. He never entertained the idea of fighting, but being challenged, in justice to the United States, of which he was a native, he felt that he could not do less than stand by his flag when its character for courage was at stake. He should have great pride when he returned to Yankeeland in expressing his grateful feelings for the favours he had received, which were those rather to be expected by a brother than a stranger.[19]

An appeal was then made for the losing man, and a few pounds were realised, for which the Slasher returned thanks by giving his pimple an extra pull forwards.

“The British and American Flags,” with an ardent hope that they might never be unfurled but as the tokens of peace and union, was drunk with enthusiasm, and this was followed by the healths of Tom Cribb, Tom Spring, and Ben Caunt, the two past and present champions of England; to which was added the health of Johnny Broome, who denied that the imputations cast upon him of a disinclination to bring his man to “the scratch” had any foundation. He said he was already £115 out of pocket by the match, but that he believed the gentleman who had proposed the match would not suffer him to be the loser.

The year 1842 ended, and 1843 opened for the Slasher with a round of “benefits” in London, Birmingham, Manchester, Liverpool, Dublin, &c., organised and engineered by the clever Johnny Broome, who showed his “golden belt” and intimated the immediate readiness of the Slasher to meet Caunt on “fair” terms, which, however, were, when they came to particulars, far from being “fair” in Big Ben’s estimation. A match with Wm. Renwick, of Liverpool, to fight for £50 on the 22nd of August, 1843, near Newcastle-upon-Tyne, ended in a severe disappointment, Renwick being arrested on the previous Saturday at his training quarters, when the whole of the stakes were down.

Perry lost no time in advertising his readiness for another customer, barring neither weight, country, nor colour, and Tass Parker, of West Bromwich, answered his cartel. Tass had just carried his fame to the summit by his defeat of Brassey of Bradford, after a game and scientific battle of 158 rounds, occupying two hours and fifty minutes, in August, 1841, and subsequently receiving £70 forfeit from Bendigo in June, 1842; the Nottingham champion being arrested at his brother’s instance, which the suspicious did not fail to attribute to Bendy “not fancying the job,” which was not the truth. Broome, who certainly was “nuts” on this match, went straight ahead, and Tass’s backers were equally fond, so that on Dec. 17th, the fight being fixed for Tuesday, Dec. 19th, 1843, we find the coming battle thus announced in _Bell’s Life_:――

“On Wednesday evening the ‘Rising Sun,’ in Air Street, was
crowded to an overflow by patrons of the milling school,
anxious to witness the completion of the stakes for the
match between these men, which was duly accomplished
according to articles. It was mutually agreed by the friends
of both to ‘sport a toe on the water,’ according to modern
usage, and the ‘Nymph’ Woolwich steamer has been chartered
for the occasion. She will leave her moorings off Hungerford
Market on Tuesday morning precisely at eight o’clock, drop
down to London Bridge, and from thence ruffle the stream to
Blackwall Pier, from whence she will make her final plunge
towards the Nore, and we heartily wish her a pleasant and
prosperous voyage. Tickets are on sale at Owen Swift’s,
Johnny Broome’s, and Tom Spring’s, and we recommend an early
application, as the number will necessarily be limited. Tass
Parker has arrived in town, looking so ‘full of bloom’ that
he has been backed at 6 to 4, and even 2 to 1. He certainly
is quite up to the mark, and books winning as a point
already gained. The Tipton Slasher has been finishing his
training at Stockbridge, under the watchful eye of Levi
Eckersley, who pronounces him right well, and fit for the
battle-field. We had heard that the Slasher had hurt his
right arm in setting-to with Harry Broome, at Bristol; but
of this we have no personal knowledge, and learn that the
blemish has been completely removed. Were it otherwise, we
should scarcely anticipate that Johnny Broome, who says he
has had to find almost all the money, would have gone on
with the match, and he certainly speaks with great
confidence. Parker has been visible at Owen Swift’s every
evening since Wednesday, and the Tipton Slasher will be at
Johnny Broome’s, Air Street, Piccadilly, to-morrow evening.
That Parker is a most accomplished fighter none will doubt,
but against this comes the rough and ready tact of the
Slasher, who combines courage with superior weight. All we
can hope is, that we shall have a fair and manly contest,
and that the best man may win.”

How little these expectations were realised, and these good wishes availed in the event, may be read in the tale we shall now briefly deliver; for we consider that a detailed account of the shifty and contemptible farce performed by Parker, which occupied more than two columns of small print in _Bell’s Life_ of December 24, 1843, would be mere waste of space in a work like the present. This is more especially the case when we find that the second and adjourned fight (which we shall give) was as wearisomely similar in character and incidents to the first.

Suffice it, then, to say, that the voyage per steamer was safely carried out, and that the attendance of amateurs and professionals was immense, notwithstanding the severity of the weather and the dreary and inhospitable character of the Dartford Marshes, whereon the ring was pitched. Peter Crawley having consented to preside as referee, the performance began. In the opening rounds Parker displayed his superior skill, both in getting on to his man and getting away; but the Tipton had certainly greatly improved under the skilful mentorship of the Broomes, and was no longer the mere hardy rough which many yet considered him. He every now and then waited for, timed, and neatly stopped his clever and crafty assailant, inflicting severe punishment with his right upon Parker, who, finding he could not get near enough to deliver without exposing himself to heavy returns, soon began to fight shy. Indeed, round after round, after getting in a blow, Parker resorted to the reprehensible dropping system, not only to avoid hitting, but also to provoke and irritate his less skilful adversary and thus tempt him to deliver a foul blow, or, at the worst, to bring the fight to a “tie,” “draw,” or “wrangle.” In this way sixty-seven rounds were fought, with no prospect of an approach to the decision of the battle. At this period――one hour and thirty-four minutes having been consumed――the Kentish constabulary made their appearance, and stopped the tedious exhibition. The company, of necessity, re-embarked, and the disappointed excursionists returned to the Metropolis.

At a meeting of the men and their backers, at Peter Crawley’s (the referee’s), to arrange when and how their interrupted encounter should be concluded, Johnny Broome, on the part of the Tipton, asked a postponement for three months, and produced the following medical certificate:――

“194, Blackfriars Road. Dec. 25, 1843.

“This certifies that we reduced a fracture of the fore-arm
of William Perry on or about the 7th of November, and a
fracture of the lower jaw on the evening of the 19th of
December. These serious injuries will require a period of at
least three months before he can be in a situation to fight
again.

“CHARLES AND JOHN BRADY, Surgeons.”

Parker, after some protestation against so long a delay, was met by Broome consenting to name that day ten weeks for the renewal of hostilities. Parker insisting on eight weeks, Broome consented to “split the difference,” and, finally, that day nine weeks was agreed upon.

The adjourned battle was fixed for Tuesday, the 27th of February, 1844. Peter Crawley, who had been referee on the first occasion, declaring he had no further interest in the affair, left it to the parties themselves to settle their future proceedings. This was done by Jem Parker (Tass’s brother), on the part of his Birmingham backers, and Johnny Broome, on behalf of the Slasher. It was decided to engage a special train on the Brighton line (an experiment which had proved successful on some recent occasions). The tickets, at 10s. 6d. each, were secured under the guise of “an excursion;” the departure and return being arranged with the manager, so as not to interfere with the order and regularity of the traffic at the London Bridge terminus.

In consequence of the damage received by both men in their previous encounter, they were early sent into training, Tass Parker at Finchley, the Slasher near Tring, and, in point of condition, no two men could have been brought into better trim.

The time appointed for departure was nine o’clock, and before that hour the terminus-platform was crowded by persons of all classes, among whom we distinguished many members of the “upper ten thousand,” some of whom had travelled long distances to be witness of what they hoped would be a fair and manly mill. All were soon seated, and at a few minutes to ten the iron-horse puffed and panted his way out of the station, and after a single draw-up of a few minutes at Croydon, for the passing of a down train, disembarked its living freight at Horley (about twenty-five miles from London) at a little before eleven.