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“Caunt, the ‘Champion of England,’ arrived on Monday week last in the packet ship ‘Europe,’ bringing with him the Champion’s Belt. He has appeared several times at the Bowery Theatre, in ‘Life in London,’ being introduced in the scene opening with Tom Cribb’s sparring-room. He is an immensely powerful man, two or three inches above six feet in height, and well proportioned. Caunt’s reputation at home is that of a liberal, manly fellow; prodigious strength and thorough game have won him more battles than his science, though he is no chicken. The following challenge has appeared in some of the daily papers: ‘Challenge—​To Caunt, the Champion of England,—​Sir, I will fight you for 500 dollars, three months from this date, the forfeit money to be put up at any time and place you may name. You can find me at 546, Grand Street.—​Yours, James Jerolomon.”

This challenge, of course, was mere “buncombe.” After a profitable and pleasant tour, in which, as he declared on his return, he met nothing but hospitality and civility from our American cousins, Ben returned to England early in 1842, accompanied by a magnificent specimen of humanity named Charles Freeman, dubbed, for circus and theatre purposes, “Champion of the World;” and truly, if bulk and height were the prime requisites of a boxer, Charles Freeman was unapproachable in these respects.

The first mention of Freeman is in a letter from Caunt, dated from New York, December 20th, 1841, in which we suspect the hand of some Yankee Barnum, rather than the fist of burly Ben, may be detected. Caunt says, “I declared my intention of not fighting in America, but if anything can tempt me to change my intention, it will be the following circumstance:—

“When at Philadelphia I intended taking a Southern tour, but an unexpected circumstance brought me back to New York. There appeared a challenge in the papers of New York from the Michigan Giant to me; my friends at New York went to try to make a match with him; they offered to back me for ten thousand dollars a side, and sent for me to return as soon as possible. There is no match made yet, but it is likely there will be soon. I am quite prepared to fight him—​he is the only man who could draw me from my first determination. This Giant is seven feet three inches high, proportionally stout, and very active; he can turn twenty-five somersets in succession, can hold a large man out at arm’s length, he weighs 333lb., and has nothing but muscle on his bones. I have all reasons to believe a match will be made. I expect to be in England in a short time if the above match is not made, when I shall be ready to accommodate Bendigo. You will oblige me by inserting some or the whole of the above in your valuable columns.

I remain, Yours, &c. “BENJAMIN CAUNT.”

“New York, December 20th, 1841.”

That there were showmen before Artemus Ward, as ingenious, if not so “genial” or witty, the reader must allow. The bathos of being ready for little Bendigo, after disposing of a monster “seven feet three inches high, and proportionally stout,” and “weighing 23st. 11lb.,” is overwhelming. The “gag” is sufficiently indicated by another paragraph from a New York paper, in which the “Michigan Giant” becomes the “New York Baby,” without any mention of fistic collision between the so-called “Champions.”

“The amateurs of the Ring have been on the ‘ki wivy’ (according to a notorious ex-justice of police) since the arrival of the English Champion, Caunt. He has just concluded a successful engagement at one of the Philadelphia theatres, after having appeared several nights here at the Bowery, in ‘Life in London.’ Caunt has put on the gloves for a friendly set-to with most of our amateurs at Hudson’s ‘Sparring Rooms and Pistol Gallery,’ corner of Broadway and Chambers Street; he hits hard, and is as active as a bottle imp. But ‘a baby’ has at length been found who promises to show both fun and fight, in the shape of a young New Yorker, standing seven feet in his stockings, and whose weight is three hundred and fifteen pounds. His name is Charles Freeman, and he is about the tallest specimen of our city boys that ever came under the notice of the ‘Tall Son of York.’ He has immense muscular developments, and is well put together, with arms and legs strong enough for the working-beam or piston-rod of a Mississippi steamboat. Freeman has lately returned from a visit through the British Provinces, where he was sufficiently successful to lay claim to Cæsar’s motto, ‘Veni, vidi, vici.’ At Halifax, recently, some one sent him a challenge, which was accepted, but upon seeing the ‘New York Baby,’ waived the honour of meeting him, except with the muffles on. It is, we believe, arranged that our specimen youth shall accompany the English Champion back to the Old World, where, we’ll lay a pile, they’ll be gravelled to match him.”

These pilot balloons were soon followed by the return of the doughty Ben with his Giant protégé, in the month of March, 1842. The “sparring tours” were carried out by Ben and his Giant partner, including appearances at provincial theatres, &c. with an undercurrent of pugilistic challenges and “correspondence” kept up in the sporting papers, in which the Tipton Slasher challenged the American Giant, and Bendigo now and then offered terms to Ben himself. These do not belong to a history of pugilism, and we pass them by, with a mere reference to our notice of Freeman’s fiasco with the clumsy Tipton Slasher in another place. (See Life of William Perry, Chapter IV.)

We may here interject a paragraph to say that the cup which Ben was wont to exhibit to visitors to St. Martin’s Lane, as the “Champion of England’s Cup,” was a handsome piece of plate, subscribed for by a number of Ben’s admirers and friends in Newcastle, Gateshead, Nottingham, &c. and presented to him at a “spread” at Izzy Lazarus’s, “Cross Keys,” Gateshead, on the date given in the inscription, which was as follows: “Presented to Benjamin Caunt, Champion of England, by his Newcastle friends, as a token of respect for his abilities as a pugilist and his conduct as a man, July 6th, 1842.”

That Ben kept himself before the public, may be gathered from the following comprehensive challenge, which we select from several of the same character, and which served for gossip for the gobemouches in 1843 and 1844:—

“A WORD FROM THE CHAMPION.

“To the Editor of Bell’s Life in London.

“Sir,—​Seeing a challenge from Bendigo this week, I shall be happy to meet him on his own terms, £200 a ride (in which I heartily hope he will not disappoint me). I will meet him at my own house, on Tuesday evening next, to stake not less than £20 as a first deposit. Should this challenge not be accepted, I will fight Bendigo, Tass Parker, and the Tipton Slasher, once each within six months, for £200 a side, and shall be prepared to deposit £60—​viz., £20 each match—​as the first deposit, any time at my house, or at Tom Spring’s, the Castle Tavern, Holborn. Should this not be ‘a go’ within four months, I shall beg most respectfully to decline the Ring altogether.

“B. CAUNT.

“January 21st, 1844.”

By many it was thought that the severe accident which had occurred to Bendigo, and occasioned a forfeit by him of £75 to Tass Parker, had placed another contest between him and the ponderous Ben out of the question. This did not, however, prove to be the case. At a sporting dinner at Owen Swift’s, at which, besides a full muster of Corinthians, Tom Spring, Peter Crawley, Jem Burn, Frank Redmond, Tom Oliver, Dan Dismore, Bill Jones, and many of the “professionals” were present, the matter of the Championship was formally discussed.

Therein, with the consent of Caunt, Bendigo was matched to fight him for £200, Caunt’s subscription belt, and the Championship, and the Tipton Slasher staked £10 as a first deposit to fight the winner. How the first of these events did come off (unsatisfactorily), and how the second did not come off at all, are fully recorded in the lives of Bendigo and of William Perry. Suffice it here to say that Caunt lost his third battle with Bendigo by falling without a blow. (See Chapter I., page 28, ante.)

A fearful catastrophe, by which the Champion suffered a heavy domestic bereavement, occurred during Caunt’s temporary absence from London on a visit to some country friends in Hertfordshire.

By a fire which suddenly broke out at the “Coach and Horses,” St. Martin’s Lane, of which Caunt was at this time the landlord, two of Caunt’s children, and the servant by whom they were attended, were burnt to death. The facts of the case will best be gathered from a condensed report of the evidence at the coroner’s inquest, held at the Board Room of St. Martin’s parish, on the Thursday following the melancholy event.

The jury having viewed the bodies of the unfortunate victims, the first witness called was Mrs. Anne Tomlins, who identified the bodies as those of Ruth Lowe, aged 18 years, Martha Caunt, aged 9 years, and Cornelius Butler Caunt, aged 6 years, the two latter being the children of Benjamin and Martha Caunt, and the former a cousin of Mrs. Caunt.

Susanna Thorpe was next examined: She said she came to town on Sunday last, on a visit to Mrs. Caunt, who was her cousin. Mrs. Caunt and herself were in the bar when the clock struck two on Wednesday morning, shortly after which they both went upstairs to bed. Ruth Lowe and the children had gone to bed some hours previously. Mr. Caunt being away in the country, Mrs. Caunt asked witness to sleep with her. Witness consented to do so, and had already got into bed herself, when she heard Edward Noakes, the cellarman, who slept upstairs, give an alarm. Mrs. Caunt had not got into bed when this happened, and she immediately opened the door, and found that the furniture in the middle room, on the second floor, was on fire. Witness got out of bed, and went downstairs with Mrs. Caunt to call for assistance. Witness saw fire and smoke in the middle room as she crossed the landing to go downstairs.

Coroner: Does it occur to you how the fire originated there? No, sir. I was in that room just before I went to bed. I went to fetch my nightdress, which I had left on a chair near the window, having slept in this room on the three previous nights. I had a common candlestick in my hand when I went into the room. There were two beds in the apartment. I passed them both, but not closely, and I have no recollection of any circumstance which might account for the origin of the fire.

Corroborative evidence was given by Edward Noakes, the cellarman and waiter, by Sarah Martin, the barmaid, and by Dominic Carr, sergeant of police.

John Short, conductor of the fire escape stationed by St. Martin’s Church, proved having attended with his machine immediately after the alarm was given. He first directed the machine to the second floor window, through which he entered. He found no person in this room, and as the fire prevented his getting further, he came down, and having thrown up the top ladder, reascended to the parapet. He tried to make an entrance through the parapet window, but the flames and smoke at this time shot through with such violence that all his efforts were unavailing, and he again descended. He heard no cries coming from the attic window while he was there.

The coroner briefly charged the jury. It was a most deplorable case, but he apprehended, after the testimony they had had from the various witnesses, the jury would have little difficulty in arriving at a conclusion.

The jury, after consulting for a few moments, found “that the deceased parties were suffocated in a fire, the origin of which they had no evidence before them to determine.”

Caunt did not return from the country till the following morning. His feelings may be more easily conceived than described. Both himself and his wife were so deeply affected as to excite the commiseration of all classes.

The last appearance of our ponderous hero in the P.R. was one that adds no leaf of laurel to his pugilistic biography. Some absurd family quarrels (Nat Langham had married a relative of Mrs. Caunt), together with some petty trade jealousy, (Nat being the popular landlord of the “Cambrian Stores,” Castle Street, Leicester Square, hard by Big Ben’s “Coach and Horses”), gave rise to all sorts of unpleasant personalities on more than one occasion. Nat, though a civil and, except professionally, non-combative sort of fellow, having over and over again expressed his opinion that Caunt had no pretensions to pugilistic honours beyond the possession of unwieldy bulk and clumsy strength, and further, that “he couldn’t hit him (Nat) in a month of Sundays,” the feud, aggravated by crabbed old Ben Butler and Mrs. Caunt, assumed the bitterness of a family feud, and finally Ben proposed and “Ould Nat” accepted a challenge to settle this “difference of opinion” in the manner and form prescribed by the fair rules and regulations of British boxing. The articles were formulated on the 16th of May, 1857, by which, and a deposit of £10 a side, the parties agreed to stake £200 a side in instalments, the battle to come off on the 23rd of the ensuing September. It is regrettable to find that the “feud of kindred” received yet another proof of its exceeding intensity over all ordinary quarrels among strangers. At the second deposit Nat (he was going out of town) actually left his £10 with the final stakeholder a week before it was due, whereon Caunt and Co. appealed to the “letter of the articles,” which declared that the “said deposits should be made at the times and places hereinafter mentioned,” and claimed forfeit of the money down; although the “final stakeholder, to whom all deposits should be paid over in time for insertion in Bell’s Life in London” had actually given notice to “uncle Butler,” (Caunt being away at Brighton,) of the previous deposit of the money in his hands. This quibbling plea was, however, repudiated by Caunt himself, as will be seen below, and the match went on:—

“Mr. Editor,—​I respectfully ask that you will admit into your columns this declaration on my part: That my match with Langham is the result of a dispute that can only be settled, so far as I am concerned, by an appeal to the fists. That the articles will be strictly abided by on my part, and that so far from throwing any impediment in the way of the match it is my anxious desire to bring it to an issue in the Ring. Thus far, I beg my friends will take my assurance of ‘honourable intentions.’ Were they but aware of the personal nature of the affair, such assurance would not be needed; but, as many must necessarily be unacquainted with its cause of origin, it is due to my own character to take the course I have now done in writing to you an emphatic statement of my intentions, which I solemnly assert are unalterable, until that result comes to pass which shall prove either me or my antagonist the better man.

“Yours, &c. BENJAMIN CAUNT.

“‘Coach and Horses,’ St. Martin’s Lane, London,

May 27th, 1857.”

To which the editor adds:—

“Ben has also paid us a personal visit, and repeated the statements contained in his letter, and in addition has given up all claim to the forfeit, which, from the first, we believe was not his own doing.”

The atmosphere thus cleared, all went on serenely, the bona fides of the match, which had been sorely doubted and even ridiculed in sporting circles, being now placed beyond dispute. If “there is only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous,” however many gradations there may be before arriving at the last step but one, we think the reader will agree that it was taken by Caunt in the affair we will now briefly relate. In the month of June Tom Sayers (see Life of Sayers, post) beat the “Old Tipton Slasher” (Wm. Perry) in a battle for the Championship and the “Belt,” from all claim to which Caunt had years before publicly retired. Among the challengers of Sayers’s remarkable position as a 10-stone Champion we find—​risum teneatis, amici?—​Caunt, although then engaged in articles with an 11-stone man. Ben shall here speak for himself:—

“To the Editor of ‘Bell’s Life in London.’

“Sir,—​Unaccustomed as I am to public challenging, long laid upon the shelf as I have been, it may perchance startle the sporting world to learn that Ben Caunt is once more a candidate for the Championship. Win or lose with Langham, I challenge Tom Sayers for £200 a side and the Championship, the contest to take place within six months of my forthcoming fight. My money is ready at your office, and I trust that this offer will be accepted, in order that the world may be as speedily as possible undeceived with regard to the merits of the much-vaunted new school of British boxing.

“Yours obediently, BENJAMIN CAUNT.

“June 18th, 1857.”

“Note.—​Caunt has left £10 in our hands to prove he is in earnest.”

This Waterloo Day flourish of trumpets was followed the next week by the fearless little Tom covering Big Ben’s “tenner,” announcing that, if his match with Caunt did not go on, he was prepared to meet his other challenger, Tom Paddock. The “lame and impotent conclusion” of Caunt’s challenge is soon told. Ben proposed that Sayers should come to his house (of course as a “draw”) to draw up articles, &c. Tom didn’t see it; and as he was engaged in the provinces making hay while the sun shone, he offered to sign articles, if transmitted to him, and duly post the needful with the editor of Bell’s Life. This, on the other hand, didn’t suit Ben’s fireside, and so the incongruous affair ended in smoke. Meantime Paddock had a severe accident, which put his right hand hors de combat, and a disabling illness followed. Ben now announced his departure for “sea breezes and strict training,” and Nat did the same, which brings us to the 22nd day of September, 1857.

As we have already remarked, the match from its first inception was considered so extraordinary, not only from the great disparity in the size of the men, but from the supposed irreparable state of Nat’s constitution (he having, as was known to many, sought the advice of the principal physician of the Brompton Hospital for Consumption), that the public generally looked upon it with distrust and suspicion, and up to the very last deposit sporting men refused to believe that it would ever come to a fight. Indeed, so strong was this impression on the minds of many, and not a few of them influential patrons of the P. R., that they pooh-poohed the whole affair, absented themselves from the houses where deposits were made good, and also from the fight itself. Great therefore was their disappointment, and no less their disgust, when they learnt that not only had the men met, but that they had actually fought a battle which was certainly as well worth seeing as almost any modern battle between big men.

Those with whom we conversed appeared to hold but two opinions on the subject. Either one or the other of the men would be apprehended and held to bail, or there would be police interference on the day. At one time, indeed, so infectious is suspicion, we began to participate in the general distrust, and awaited expectantly the bursting of the bubble, by the news of a domiciliary visit from Sir Richard Mayne, or some of his satellites, to one or other of the rival houses; both Caunt and Langham announcing flying visits to their respective hostelries on more than one occasion. Up to the eleventh hour this or some other obstacle was confidently predicted. On the Monday, however, it was known that arrangements had been agreed on by Dan Dismore on the part of Nat Langham, and Jemmy Shaw and Ben Butler on the part of Ben Caunt, to hire two steamboats between them, one for first and the other for second-class passengers. It was also arranged that the boats should rendezvous at Tilbury, and that the men and their friends should proceed to the same place by the 7.50 a.m. train on the eventful morning. In the course of Monday, however, it seems that apprehensions arose in the minds of Nat’s friends that it would be unsafe to start from Tilbury, and they telegraphed to the owner of the boats to change the venue and muster at Southend. They did not seem to think it necessary to communicate with Caunt or his uncle, concluding of course that they would be at the London terminus at the time arranged, and that then everything could be settled. At the time appointed Ben Butler and Young Ben (Caunt’s son) were at Fenchurch Street, but Caunt did not show, and we thought of course he had adopted some other means of conveyance. At Tilbury, however, Uncle Ben and Jemmy Shaw came to us, and said that Caunt expected the boat at Tilbury, and had not heard of any alteration. Here again our suspicions arose that some casualty had happened, and that there would be no fight. Ben’s friends could give no reason for his not being at the appointed station in the morning, and all seemed quite nonplused. To add to other difficulties there were no signs of young Fred Oliver, who, as the deputy of Old Tom, had charge of the ropes and stakes, although he had distinct notice on Friday at what time the expedition was to leave London. This state of things cast a gloom on the travellers, many of whom had serious thoughts of returning to town. On persuasion, however, they made up their minds to “see it out,” and as the train could not be stopped, all resumed their seats and sped on to Southend, hoping to find Caunt there, or, at any rate, to hear some tidings of him. On reaching this spot all at once made their way to the pier head, but not a word could be heard of the ex-Champion, or of the ropes and stakes. Butler at once went on board one boat (that reserved for first-class passengers), while Dan Dismore remained on the pier to supply tickets for the voyage.

The party now repaired on board the second-class boat, where Nat was found installed, waiting impatiently for the appearance of Caunt, of whom nothing could be heard; Dan Dismore also came on board this vessel.

It was now nearly twelve o’clock, and all began anxiously to look for the half-hour, at which time the next train was due at Southend, by which it was, of course, expected that Ben would come. Half-past twelve, one o’clock arrived, the train had been in some time, but still there was no appearance of Ben on the pier. At length an emissary was sent ashore, and he ascertained that Caunt and the ropes and stakes had been embarked on board an opposition tug, singularly enough called the “Ben Bolt,” at Tilbury, and that they were on the way to join the flotilla as quickly as possible. It was two o’clock or nearly so before the “Ben Bolt” hove in sight, with “’tother Ben” on board. By a quarter-past two o’clock, everything being settled, the office was given, and an experienced pilot conducted the flotilla, which now numbered four steamboats, besides innumerable small craft, to the proposed scene of action, within a very short distance of the spot where Tom Sayers and Aaron Jones settled their differences. Against a strong ebb of course progress was very slow, and it was past three before the first vessel arrived off the point. The ropes and stakes were at once sent ashore, and Fred Oliver with due diligence proceeded to erect the ring. Poor Old Tom was sadly missed, and many expressions of regret were uttered at his continued ill health. The number of persons present was extremely large, but of Corinthians there was a lamentable absence, arising, no doubt, from the before-mentioned suspicions as to the men’s intentions. As soon as the arena was ready, the combatants, who were evidently all agog to be at it, tossed their caps into the ring, Nat being the first to uncover his canister, Ben being not two seconds behind him. Both looked hard and healthy, but their mugs bore distinct traces of their being veteran boxers. Ben, of course, looked the older man, his not handsome dial being as brown as mahogany, and looked as hard as a nutmeg-grater. Nat’s phiz was smoother, softer, and of a lighter tint, and there was a hue of health upon it that we had not seen there for many a day. They shook hands, but it was evident that the ceremony was against the grain. As four o’clock was fast approaching, it was hinted that no time ought to be lost, and the men at once proceeded to accomplish their toilettes. Nat Langham was assisted by the Champion (Tom Sayers) and the accomplished Jack Macdonald—​certainly the best second out—​while Ben Caunt was waited upon (we cannot say picked up, for he never once was down throughout the fight) by Jack Gill, of Nottingham, and Jemmy Shaw, who, between them, could never have carried him to his corner, had occasion required it, in the time allowed between the rounds, indeed they must have inevitably have carried him a limb at a time. How he could have been persuaded to select two such assistants we are at a loss to conceive. Jack Gill could not have had much experience in his new vocation, and Jemmy Shaw will excuse us for saying that, however staunch a friend and good fellow he has proved himself in other ways, his stature and proportions by no means qualify him as a porter to either Gog or Magog, should those gigantic worthies need to be picked up from a horizontal position.

At a quarter to four the seconds proceeded to knot the colours on the centre stake—​a blue, with white spot, for Langham, orange with a blue border for Caunt. The betting on the ground was trifling in the extreme; nothing was laid between the men, and but small sums at 5 and 6 to 4 on Caunt. As to Nat’s training, he went first to Dover and then to Stockbridge, in Hampshire, where by steadiness and perseverance he got himself into extraordinary fettle; to our eye, he looked bigger, stronger, and healthier, though of course somewhat older, than when he fought either Harry Orme or Tom Sayers. And now, having brought our men to the “post,” we will start them for

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​On toeing the scratch the disparity between the men was of course extraordinary. Ben Caunt, barring his mug, was a study for a sculptor. His massive frame and powerful legs and arms—​the former set off to the best advantage by pink silk stockings and well-made drawers—​presented a sight worth going some distance to see; and as he stood over old Nat any one would have agreed with Jerry Noon, who declared that it was “Chelsea Hospital to a sentry-box” in his favour. He smiled good-humouredly, and had clearly made up his mind to win in a trot. Nat was, as usual, clear in skin, and neatly made at all points. His shoulders and arms were well covered with muscle, and for an encounter with a man of his own size he looked all that could be desired; but as to his being a match for Ben Caunt it seemed too absurd to be credited, and few, we think, expected to see him “perform” with anything like effect. His attitude, as of yore, was perfection, and his dangerous left was playing about close to his side all in readiness for one of his neat deliveries as Ben came in. Caunt stood just as he ever stood, very square on his pins, his brawny arms almost straight out before him, which he ever and anon moved backward and forward with all the deliberation of a couple of pendulums. He had come, however, not to spar, but to fight, and after very little feinting he went up to Nat, who retreated towards the ropes, and Ben at length lunged out left and right, just catching Nat with the former on the ribs, and Nat was down laughing.

2.—​Both very quick to time. Caunt walked after Nat, sawing the air with both fins, and as he got close he sent out his left, but Nat, quick as lightning, shot out his left on the kisser, drawing first blood from Ben’s upper lip and got down.

3.—​After a little dodging Nat feinted, and then let fly his left straight on the jaw. Slight exchanges followed on the side of the wig block, and Nat was again down out of harm’s way.

4.—​No time cut to waste, Caunt went to his man and poked out his left, just catching Nat on the chin, and Nat dropped.

5.—​Nat fiddled Ben to within distance, and then popped his larboard daddle on Ben’s jaw, a cracker; this led to heavy exchanges, Caunt getting on to Nat’s forehead above the left peeper, and receiving on the cheek; Nat fell.

6.—​After one or two passes the men got close, and very slight exchanges took place, when Nat got down by a roll over.

7.—​Caunt stalked up to Nat, swung his mauleys slowly round, and then dropped the left on Nat’s left cheek, Nat nailing him prettily at the same time on the left eye; Nat down clumsily, Caunt carefully stepping over him.

8.—​Caunt again approached Nat, and lunged out his left, Nat countering him quickly on the right peeper. Ben got home on the left cheek, and Nat fell.

9.—​Nat dodged about for an opening, and then got sharply home on the left cheek. Caunt returned very slightly on the side of the nut, and Nat was down.

10.—​Both sparred a little for wind, but soon went to close quarters, when, after a very slight exchange on the forehead, Nat sought Mother Earth. The 11th round was precisely similar, Caunt missing with both hands.

12.—​Nat, after a few passes, got within distance and shot out his left as straight as a dart on Ben’s conk, inflicting an ugly cut on the bridge, and drawing more claret. The blow had double force from the fact that Ben was coming in at the time. He, nevertheless, bored in, and had Nat down at the ropes.

13.—​Nat again timed his man judgmatically with his left on the proboscis, and slipped down from the force of the blow. He recovered himself, however, and after a little sparring got sharply on Ben’s potato-trap. Ben retaliated, but not effectively, on Nat’s cheek, and Nat fell.

14.—​Nat feinted, and dropped smartly on the snorer. He tried again, but missed, and in getting away slipped down.

15.—​Langham missed his left, and slight exchanges followed at the ropes, where Nat got down, Caunt again, in the most manly way, refraining from falling on him, as he might have done as he was going down.

16.—​Ben took the first move, and got home, but not heavily, on Nat’s jaw. They then sparred a bit, and on getting close Caunt lunged out his one, two, on Nat’s left cheek, but the blows appeared to have no steam in them. Nat popped a straight one on the left brow, and dropped.

17.—​Slight exchanges, no damage, and Ben bored his man down at the ropes.

18.—​Nat let fly his left, but Ben was too far off. Ben, however, went to him, and slight exchanges took place, Nat on the mark and Caunt on the side of the head, and Nat down.

19.—​After slight exchanges, Ben got home sharply on the back of Nat’s brain pan, and Nat fell.

20.—​No time lost. They walked up to one another, and at once let fly, Caunt on Nat’s forehead, and Nat on the left brow. Nat down.

21.—​Good exchanges, but Nat straightest, getting another good one on Ben’s conk, and renewing the crimson distillation. Caunt touched Nat’s forehead, and Nat down without a visible mark of punishment.

22.—​Caunt rushed at Nat, who being close to the ropes, slipped down. An appeal of “foul” was made, but not by the umpires. The referee, however, sent Nat’s umpire to him to caution him.

23.—​Nat fiddled and dodged until Caunt drew back his arm, when pop went the left on Ben’s cheek. Exchanges followed, Nat getting on Ben’s left peeper, and Ben on the brow, and Nat down.

24.—​Slight exchanges; Ben on the forehead, and Nat down.

25.—​Nat missed his first delivery, but in a second effort caught Ben on the body, Caunt retaliating with a swinging round hit on the cranium, and Nat down.

26.—​Sharp exchanges; Nat on the kisser, and Ben on the side of the canister, and Nat down, Ben as usual stepping over him, but asking him why he “did not stand up and have a round.”

27.—​Ben went to his man, and began business by lunging out both hands, but he missed, and Nat popped his left on the whistler. Ben, however, returned on the cheek, just drawing claret, and Nat down.

28.—​Ben again succeeded in reaching Nat’s cheek with his right, drawing the ruby, and Nat fell.

29 and 30.—​After trifling exchanges in these rounds, Nat got down, much to the annoyance of Ben, who, however, preserved his good temper, and merely remonstrated with his cunning opponent.

31.—​Nat dodged, and popped his left sharply on the mazzard, received the merest excuse for a blow, and dropped.

32.—​In this round the exchanges were very slight, but Nat’s were straightest. As usual, he was down.

33.—​Nat crept in, let go his left on Ben’s lip, which he cut, and Nat fell on his back from the force of his own blow.

34.—​Ben, whose warbler was bleeding, rushed at Nat furiously, and regularly bored him down.

To go into details of the next few rounds would be merely a repetition of what we have already written. Nat feinted, dodged, timed his man with the greatest precision whenever he moved his arms, and, although his blows did not seem very heavy, they still were always “there, or thereabouts,” and poor old Ben’s mug began to be all shapes. The manly fellow, however, never grumbled; he went straight up to be planted upon, and although he occasionally got home a body blow or a round hit on the side of Nat’s knowledge box, still he left no visible marks. Once or twice Jemmy Shaw claimed “foul,” on the ground that Nat fell without a blow; but Nat was cunning enough to keep just within the pale of the law. There was not one round in which he did not go down, and Ben invariably walked to his corner. In the 43rd round Ben got the first knock-down blow on Nat’s forehead. In the 48th, he bustled in with desperation, but Nat met him full in the mouth, and then on the snorter, with his left, drawing the crimson from each, Ben returned on the top of the forehead, and Nat got down.

49.—​Nat crept in craftily, and popped a little one on the snuffer-tray, and this led to a tremendous counter-hit, Caunt on the cheek, and Nat on the jaw very heavily, drawing more ruby. Nat fell, his nut first reaching the ground, and Ben staggered to his corner, evidently all abroad. By great exertions, and a little extra time, his seconds got him up to the scratch. Nat, however, was not in a much better state. Both were severely shaken.

50.—​Nat on coming up, was evidently slow, but, to the surprise of every one, showed no mark of the hit in the last round, while Ben’s kisser was considerably awry, and he was scarcely himself. Now would have been Langham’s time, but he had not strength to go in. After a short spar, Ben got on to Nat’s jaw, staggering him; Nat returned sharply on the left eye and nozzle. After heavy exchanges on the body, Nat fell.

51.—​In this round Ben just missed Nat as he was falling, and caught the stake very heavily with his left, which was thereby rendered useless, or nearly so. From this to the 60th and last round there was nothing to call for particular notice. Nat pursued his defensive tactics, and his pop for nothing when there was a chance. Still, however, old Ben kept swinging his dangerous limbs about, and every now and then got heavily on Nat’s body and left shoulder, and occasionally on the top of his head. Nat fell every round, but oftentimes be had to do it so quickly, owing to the close proximity of Ben, that he fell most awkwardly for himself, and must have been shaken severely. He gradually got tired, and Caunt, whose dial was much cut about, was evidently puzzled what to be at. At length, in the sixtieth round, after a little sparring and a slight exchange, they stood and looked at one another, and rubbed their chests. Neither seemed disposed to begin, and it was pretty clear that each had the same end in view—​namely, to protract the battle until it was dark. Each, doubtless, felt that he was unable to finish that day, and did not feel disposed to throw a chance away by going in, and getting an unexpected finisher at close quarters. After standing several minutes, Dan Dismore came to us and said it was a pity that men who had been such close friends should proceed any further with hostilities, and suggested that it would be much better if they forgave and forgot their quarrel, and shook hands. We coincided with Dan in his kindly opinion, and he then took upon himself to go into the ring and suggest some such arrangement, and in doing so he said he would gladly give £5 out of his own pocket to see them bury their animosity there and then, and draw their stakes. Caunt said he was willing if Nat was, and after a little consideration Nat held out his mauley, which was cordially shaken by Ben, and then Langham went with Caunt into the corner of the latter, where he shook hands with Ben Butler, and also with Caunt’s son. Dan Dismore now left the ring, and on the referee asking him what had been done, Dan said, “It is all over; it’s settled.” The referee inquired whether they intended drawing altogether, and Dan said again, “It’s all done with; there will be nothing more done in it;” or words to that effect, but we believe these were Dan’s exact expressions. The referee at once, on hearing this, expressed his pleasure at so amicable an arrangement, and on the men quitting the arena he also left the ring side, his office of course ceasing, and on the faith of Dan’s statement he at once gave up what bets he held. After being some time on board the boat, however, he was somewhat staggered at being accosted by one of Nat’s Corinthian patrons and Jack Macdonald, who told him that Nat was quite astonished when they had mentioned to him that a draw had been agreed to, and had declared that such a thing never entered his head. He thought Dismore merely wished them to draw for the time being, and that the referee would name another day in the same week to fight again. The referee replied that his impression certainly was that an arrangement had been made to draw stakes, or he should not have vacated his post, and this application on Nat’s behalf took him so much by surprise that he did not know how his position was affected. It was a case that had never occurred before, and he must think it over. Nat’s backer said he also was impressed at the time with the notion that everything was arranged, and had left the ring side with that belief, but still he thought the referee had the power to name another day, as Nat had been no party to any final arrangement. At the railway station, on the arrival of the boats, the referee called both the men together, and asked them in the presence of each other what they had understood on leaving the ring. Caunt said he understood they were friends again, and were to draw their money, while Nat repeated the statement that had been conveyed to the referee by Jack Macdonald. Caunt seemed quite taken aback, as did also his friends. Dan Dismore now came up, and repeated the statement that he had previously made, to the effect that he had recommended the men to shake hands and be friends, and that he had certainly said he would give £5 out of his own pocket to see the matter settled. They had shaken hands at his recommendation, and at the time it certainly had been his impression that they would not fight again. He declined, however, to take upon himself the responsibility of saying that either man had actually said anything about drawing stakes. The referee was now completely nonplused, and said, at that time, and in such a crowd, he could not undertake to give an opinion either way. He then suggested that the men and their friends should meet at the Stakeholder’s office the following day to discuss the matter, when all were calm, and had had time to think over the affair.

Owing to the low state of the tide when the fight was over, and the narrowness of the causeway to the boats, a great deal of time was lost in embarkation, and not a few of the travellers obtained mud baths at much less price than such a luxury would have cost in Germany. The consequence of the delay was, that the 8 o’clock train was missed, and there being no other until 9.30, the travellers, weary, muddy, and wet, but tolerably well satisfied with their entertainment, did not reach the Metropolis until twelve o’clock.

The following morning the referee took the opportunity of laying the case before a Corinthian patron of the art, who, although no longer a frequenter of the Ring side, was for many years one of the staunchest attendants. That gentleman, after thinking the matter over for a few minutes, said he was of opinion there could be no doubt as to the course of the referee. There had been, he said, no appeal to him to stop the fight—​there was no reason for his interference, as he could see both men perfectly, and he had stated there was sufficient daylight for eight or ten more rounds. The men had shaken hands in the ring, and, putting Dismore and his statement out of the question as unnecessary adjuncts to the case, he was of opinion that the men, by voluntarily quitting the ring without any appeal being made by themselves or their umpires, had clearly taken the whole affair out of the referee’s hands, and altogether deprived him of any power in the matter.

At the appointed hour both men and their friends were in attendance—​Nat all but scatheless, while Ben had an ugly cut on his nose, and his left peeper was partially closed. He had also other severe marks of punishment on various parts of his dial, and his hands were much puffed. Both men made their statements. Caunt repeated that he fully believed Nat had agreed to draw stakes when he shook hands with him and his uncle, or he should never have consented to leave off fighting, as there was still daylight for ten or a dozen rounds. He was then warm, and felt confident he could have won. He was as strong as ever on his legs, and was convinced that Nat had done all he knew. Langham, in reply, denied that this was the case. He understood that Dismore only proposed a postponement until another day, as it was not likely they could finish that evening. He shook hands with Caunt and his uncle because he did not think he ought to leave the ring without performing that ceremony. Dan Dismore repeated the statement he had already made, adding, that he certainly was not authorised to say they had agreed to draw their money, whatever his own impression might have been. He was of opinion then that it would have been a proper course, and that opinion he still entertained; and he would willingly give £5 or £10 out of his own pocket to see them shake hands and make up their differences. Tom Sayers, who was also present, said he had left the ring with the idea that his principal had agreed to draw the money, and he had no idea until some time afterwards that Nat had contemplated a renewal of hostilities. The referee, after hearing both sides, said that he had thought the matter over very carefully, and had come to a conclusion in his own mind, before consulting the gentleman above referred to, and he was glad to find that conclusion coincided with the opinion of his adviser. The men had taken the matter quite out of his hands. They had made an arrangement between themselves, had shaken hands and left the ring without asking his opinion, or appealing to him in any way, although he stood close to the ropes and stakes at the time they were shaking hands, and what other conclusion could he arrive at than that they had amicably settled their differences? That a misunderstanding had arisen as to future arrangements was to be regretted, but he had no power whatever to name another day. If his advice were asked it would be that they should shake hands, but if they did not choose to do this, they must agree upon another day and place between themselves. Nat at once proposed fighting again on Saturday, to which Caunt objected. He said he was now stiff, and his hands were injured, and required time to get round. He believed a bone in one of his fingers was broken. As he had before said, he could have finished it the same night, but he should decline agreeing to fight again at present. Nat then asked what he proposed, to which Ben said he proposed that on the next occasion Nat should stand up and fight like a man. He could not fight a man who was always on the ground. A good deal of angry discussion followed, Ben Butler again going beyond the bounds of decorum, while Caunt remained perfectly quiet. Nat was, of course, incensed at being baulked of his rights, as he considered them, but still there was no prospect of an arrangement. At length Nat asked Caunt to give him some portion of the stakes, as an inducement to draw, a proposition indignantly scouted by Caunt. This was the last offer. The men were then informed that the referee had given his decision, that he could not interfere, and it remained for them to agree between themselves upon a time and place.

Having gone so fully into details of this affair, it will be unnecessary for us to make many remarks either upon the respective styles of the combatants or the untoward result of the battle. Caunt, from first to last, showed not the slightest improvement in his style of fighting; nor was it likely that after a life of ease, and of abstinence from athletic exercises (if from nothing else) the case could have been otherwise. His position was unartistic. He held his arms too high, and never displayed the least head or judgment in his efforts to get at his shifty opponent. He was always too quick and too anxious to be doing something, and thereby threw away many chances, and so put himself at the mercy of the crafty Nat, who seldom or never failed to avail himself of Big Ben’s incautiousness. Unartistic as he was, however, no one will deny that Caunt upheld the character he has invariably borne of a manly upright boxer, disdaining to avail himself of repeated opportunities, which many persons would unscrupulously have adopted, of falling on an opponent when he dropped in the not very manly manner that Nat, on many occasions, certainly did. From first to last Ben never lost his temper. He received all Nat’s props with the greatest sang froid, smiling upon him, and sometimes shaking his head at him for his shiftiness. As to Caunt’s game, there never was, and never can be, a question. He was punished most severely, and yet he never once flinched or showed signs of not liking it. The only remark he condescended to make from time to time in his corner was, that Nat had done all he could, and that he must be getting weak. He did not wish to win by a foul, and on several occasions when his seconds desired to appeal he said he would rather try to win on his merits. In addition to the punishment on his mug, he contrived to seriously injure both hands. Of Nat Langham it is not necessary to say much. As we have before remarked, he was fitter to fight than we thought he ever could be, and was as confident as if all had been settled. There was all the old cunning and extraordinary quickness with his left, and, if possible, he had improved both in his powers of timing his props and his judgment of distance. He, like Caunt, never for a moment flinched from his receipts, which, on many occasions, must have been anything but agreeable; and, so long as he stood on his pins, he faced his man with unruffled indifference.

That he went down on many occasions in a suspicious manner cannot be denied, and that this occurred on some few occasions when he was not in danger is equally true; but he almost invariably kept just within the pale of the law. Several times he was hit, and hit severely, and when Jemmy Shaw appealed to the referee as to his falling, on most such occasions he received a gentle tap, just sufficient to save him; still he persevered in the practice much too constantly to admit of our stating that it was a fair stand-up fight on his part. His friends contend that when a man is opposed to such superior weight and strength he is justified in resorting to such shifts to enable him to withstand his opponent, but this we deny. The rules of the Ring say distinctly “it shall be a fair stand-up fight,” and if a man cannot vanquish an opponent of heavier metal than himself by fair means, he has no business to make a match with him. Nat knew perfectly well Caunt’s superiority in height and weight, and Caunt was perfectly justified in his observation that this knowledge ought to have deterred him from match-making except on the usual terms. That Nat’s shifty tactics arose from cowardice would of course be a ridiculous suggestion. Every one who has seen him fight knows that a braver man never pulled off his shirt, and no one we ever saw enter a ring has impressed us with so just an idea of what may be accomplished by science and judgment; but still we cannot help repeating a remark we have over and over again made—​we do not and cannot admire the hit and drop system. It is not consonant with the principles on which, and on which alone, we can uphold British boxing. The fight lasted one hour and twenty-nine minutes.

The floodgates of newspaper letter-writing were opened by this undecided encounter. It is needless to say that the controversy ended in much ink-shedding and a draw of the £400 staked, leaving the debateable question of “getting down to finish the round” much where it previously and subsequently stood.

From this period Caunt may be said to have finally retired from the Ring, though he still kept his house, the “Coach and Horses” (now the “Salisbury Stores”), in St. Martin’s Lane. The parlour here was a general resort of aspirants for pugilistic honours and their patrons, Ben busying himself in bringing forward and occasionally backing or finding backers for men, among whom may be named Bob Caunt,[13] his brother, David Hayes (thrice beaten by Murray), Perry, the Black, who beat Burton, of Leicester (January 20th, 1846), George Gutteridge (beaten by Nat Langham, September 23rd, 1846), and others.

Caunt was also well known as no mean performer at pigeons, on the various club grounds near the Metropolis and in Hertfordshire. Having caught a severe cold in a long day’s match at “the doves,” in the early part of 1860, it settled on his lungs, and coupled with late hours, and the free living inseparable from his calling as a publican, gave the powerful pugilist his final knock-down blow on the tenth day of September, 1861.