Читать книгу Pugilistica - Henry Downes Miles - Страница 9

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​No sooner had the seconds retired to their corners, on leaving the men at the scratch, than Caunt rushed to his man and threw out his arms, left and right, with the quickness and vigour of a just-started windmill; his kind intentions were, however, evaded, and he missed his blows, especially a terrific upper-cut with his right, which, had it reached its destination, would have “told a tale.” Brassey in like manner was wild, and missed his blows, but finding Caunt closing upon him, he hit up with his right, and on closing instantly went down.

2.—​Caunt again hit out left and right, but without precision. He made his right slightly on Brassey’s nob, when the latter rattled in left and right, like Caunt, missing, and again went down. It was pretty obvious that Brassey was fearful of the Russian hug of ursa major, and had made up his mind to the falling system, which, however obnoxious to the spectators, was evidently his only safe game.

3.—​“Steady,” cried Dick, “and hit straight.” Caunt led off right and left, and succeeded in planting his left on Brassey’s forehead, but he had it in return. Brassey got to him and delivered a tremendous left-hander on his cheek, and was as quick with his right on his nozzle; the claret flew in abundance, and the big ’un was posed. He hit out wild, left and right, and missed, while Brassey got down. (Loud cheers for Brassey. The spectators were electrified by the effect of these blows. A gaping wound ornamented Caunt’s right cheek, and his nose emitted the purple fluid, which Dick quickly mopped up with his sponge.) This decided the first event—​first blood for Brassey. (The Cauntites looking queer.)

4.—​Caunt came up by no means improved in beauty. He led on as before, wild left and right; but his deliveries wanted precision. Brassey fought with him, but, like sticks in an Irish row, their arms were the only receivers, and little mischief was done. Brassey got down grinning.

5.—​Caunt planted his left on Brassey’s eye, but missed his right, which, had it reached its destination, would have been a poser. It went over Brassey’s shoulder. Brassey, finding he could not well stand the overwhelming rush of his antagonist, got down.

6.—​Brassey popped in his left, and escaping the visitation of Caunt’s left and right, pursued his tumbling system, while Caunt laughed, and pointed at him with contempt.

7.—​Caunt, more successful, caught Brassey left and right on the nob, when Brassey went down, but Caunt’s blows did not seem to tell.

8.—​Caunt delivered his left and right, but so wildly as to be ineffective, and Brassey went down, throwing up his legs and knees in the rebound.

9.—​Caunt, as usual, opened the ball with a wild rush right and left, catching Brassey on the forehead with his right. Brassey hit left and right, but was stopped, and went down, Caunt with difficulty escaping treading on him as he stepped over him.

10, 11, 12.—​All of the same character, Caunt doing no great execution, and Brassey invariably getting down.

13.—​Caunt hit out of distance with his right, when Brassey caught him on the smeller with his left, again drawing his cork. Caunt, stung, hit out heavily with his right, and caught Brassey on the back of the ear. Brassey went down.

14.—​Caunt, the first to fight, planted his right on Brassey’s left eye; Brassey fell. (First knock-down blow claimed, but doubtful, as the ground became inconveniently slippery.)

15.—​Caunt missed one of his tremendous right-hand lunges, and Brassey went down.

16.—​Caunt dropped heavily with his right on Brassey’s ribs, who fought wildly, but again caught Caunt with the left on his damaged cheek; more blood, and Brassey down.

17.—​Brassey in with his right on Caunt’s ogle, and went down.

18.—​Caunt, in his wild rush, hit Brassey left and right on the pimple, and on his going down, as he stepped over him, scraped his forehead with his shoe, peeling off a trifle of the bark.

19.—​Caunt, more steady, planted his left on Brassey’s dexter peeper, and hit him clean down with his right. (First knock-down blow unequivocally declared for Caunt.)

20.—​Caunt delivered his left heavily on Brassey’s snout, and his right on the side of his head. Brassey made play, but missed, and went down. On being lifted on his second’s knee, he bled from mouth and nose.

[The friends of Caunt, who had been silent up to this, regarding the issue of the battle anything but certain, now again opened their potato traps, and offered 2 to 1, which was taken.]

21.—​Caunt delivered another heavy body blow with his right, which made a sounding echo. Brassey rushed to a close, and clung with his legs around Caunt’s thighs. Caunt tried to hold him up with his left while he hit with his right, but he found this impossible, and flung him down with contempt. It was here clear that if once Brassey suffered himself to be grasped in a punishable position by his opponent it would be all over.

22, 23, 24, and 25 were all pretty much in the same style—​the hitting wild and ineffective, Brassey either clinging to his man or throwing himself down.

26.—​Another heavy blow on the ribs from Caunt’s right told smartly on Brassey’s corporation. Brassey attempted to close, but Caunt threw him heavily with his head on the ground.

27, 28, 29.—​Not much done, Brassey going down every round, after slight and wild exchanges.

30.—​Caunt hit Brassey down with one of his swinging right-handed hits on the side of his head, which made his left eye twinkle again. (3 to 1 offered and taken on Caunt.)

In the next three rounds there were some heavy exchanges left and right, but Brassey pursued his falling tactics.

34.—​Tremendous counter-hitting with the right, and equally heavy exchanges with the left. Both down on their knees, from the stunning severity of the deliveries. (Caunt’s beauty improving. A splendid likeness of the “Saracen’s Head” without his wig.)

35.—​Again did Caunt nail his man on the nose with his left, and the claret came forth freely.

From this to the 53rd round there were some heavy exchanges left and right. To all appearance, the punishment was most severe on Caunt’s face, whose left cheek was cut, as well as his right, but the heavy deliveries on the left side of Brassey’s head, as well as his ribs, had evidently weakened him, although he still came up as game as a pebble. In his frequent falls, Caunt occasionally could not avoid falling on him, and his weight was no trifling addition to his other punishment. It is but just to state, however, that Caunt fought in a fair and manly style, and avoided everything like unfair advantage.

In the 55th round the ground became so muddy that the men, from fighting in the centre of the ring, could scarcely keep their legs, and Brassey went down without a blow. This was claimed, but rejected by the referee, who cautioned him, however, against giving such another chance away.

56.—​Caunt planted his left heavily on Brassey’s winker, but Brassey, in return, hit him on the jaw with his right, and making up his mind for further mischief, repeated the blow with terrific effect a little below the same spot, Caunt countering at the same moment, and with the same hand. The collision was dreadful—​both fell in opposite directions—​Caunt as if shot by a twenty-four pounder, end Brassey all abroad.

Here was a decided change; Caunt was evidently unconscious, and was with difficulty held on his second’s knee. His head rolled like a turtle in convulsions. Curtis, however, steadied his tremulous pimple, administered a slight dash of water, and on “time” being called he was enabled to go to the scratch, but with such groggy indications that we doubt whether he knew if he was on his head or his heels.

57.—​Brassey now endeavoured to improve his advantage, but instead of steadily waiting to give his man the coup de grace, he rushed in, and bored Caunt through the ropes, and he fell on his back, while the force of Brassey’s fall on him was stayed by his own chin being caught by the upper rope, on which he hung for a moment.

58.—​Caunt recovered a little, but Brassey again rushed in, hitting left and right, and in the struggle both down, Brassey uppermost.

59.—​Caunt steadied himself, and went in to fight. Some heavy exchanges followed, and Brassey went down, but Caunt was far from firm on his pins. It was now seen that Caunt’s right hand, from its repeated visits to Brassey’s head and ribs, was much swollen; his left, too, showed the effects of repeated contact with the physog. of his antagonist. This, in the following rounds, led to a good deal of contention, on the ground that Caunt had unfair substances in his hand; but he showed it was only paper, and threw it away, although entitled to the use of any soft material to steady his grasp.

The rounds which followed, to the 100th, offered but little variety; both men became gradually exhausted, and it required all the care and encouragement of their partisans to rouse them to action. Each was assured that victory smiled upon him, and that it only required another effort to make all safe. Brassey came up manfully round after round; but although he occasionally stopped and hit, the pops of his opponent, who now and then saved him the trouble of falling by hitting him down, told with increasing effect. Caunt repeatedly tried to hold him in the closes, with the view of fibbing; but Brassey was too leary, and got down without this additional proof of kind intention. In some of his tumbles, however, Caunt fell heavily on him, and once more, in trying to evade him, scraped his foot on his nose, a casualty almost unavoidable from his sudden prostrations.

The weakness of Brassey gradually increased, while Caunt evidently got stronger on his legs; and although his right hand was gone, he continued to hit with it. He was entreated to use his left, which he did three times in succession in one round on Brassey’s muzzle, till he dropped him. Such was the prejudice in favour of Brassey, however, from the vigour with which he occasionally rallied, that it was still hoped he might make a turn in his favour, and if encouraging shouts would have effected that object, he was not without stentorian friends. Caunt, too, had his anxious attendants; and all that cheering could do to rouse his spirits was heartily afforded him.

From the 90th to the 100th round poor Brassey came up weak on his legs, and either fell or was hit down, but to the last made a manly struggle against superior strength and weight. In the 100th round Broome said he should fight no more, and Crawley stepped into the ring to claim the battle; he was, however, called out, and Brassey came up once more, but he was incapable of prolonged exertion, and being hit down with a right-handed smack on the head, he reluctantly submitted to the calls of his friends to give in, and all was over. Caunt was proclaimed the conqueror, after fighting one hundred and one rounds, in one hour and thirty minutes.

Remarks.—​We have seldom recorded a fight in which we experienced more difficulty to render the details interesting. It will be seen that in ninety minutes one hundred rounds were fought, deducting the half-minute time, often prolonged to nearly a minute by mutual delay in coming to the “scratch” when “time” was called; therefore, the average time occupied by each round did not much exceed twenty seconds. There was no attempt at stopping (except in a few instances by Brassey), nor any of those scientific manœuvres which give interest to such an exhibition. Caunt was invariably the first to fight, but led off with nothing like precision, repeatedly missing his blows and upper cuts, many of which, had they told, might have been conclusive. Brassey seemed to be fully aware of this mode of assault, and generally waited till he got within Caunt’s guard, and thus succeeded in administering heavy punishment. This point once gained he lost no time in getting down, feeling quite confident that in close contact he would not have had a chance. This, although far from a popular mode of contest, is certainly excusable considering the inequality of the men in height and weight, and the only surprise is that the lesser man should have endured so much before he cried “enough.” The repeated visitations to his ribs from Caunt’s right, or “sledge-hammer,” were searching in the extreme, and led to the belief that three of his ribs had been broken, although subsequent examination proved that he was only labouring under the effects of severe contusions and inward bruises. In like manner the right-handed deliveries behind his left ear, on the ear itself, and on the left eye and jaw, as well as the left-handed jobs, were so far from jocular that we were not surprised the vis comica had ceased to be displayed on his “dial,” and when to these visitations are added his repeated falls, with the weight of Caunt occasionally superadded to his own, and this in such rapid succession, the only surprise is he should have held out so long. Caunt in his modus operandi evinced a sad ignorance of the art. Like the yokels of old before the principles of mechanism were discovered, he has to learn the proper application of his strength, of which, did he possess the requisite knowledge, he might bid defiance not only to such a man as Brassey, but even to the caperings of an avalanche. He is not, like most men of his size, slow—​on the contrary, he is too quick; and for the want of judicious deliberation, like a runaway steam-engine without a controlling engineer, he over-shoots his mark. This, if it be possible, he ought to correct, and while he husbands his strength, where he does apply it, he should measure not only his distance but the tactics of his opponent. Had he waited for his man, instead of leading off with a rush, he must have brought Brassey down every round, for nothing could resist the force of his heavy metal if properly applied. Strange as it may appear, on examining both men on Wednesday morning, the punishment on the part of Caunt was greater than that of Brassey, and viewing both frontispieces and saying, “Look on this picture, and on this,” our opinion would have been, “Caunt has received the greater and more effective punishment.” Added to this, his hands, and especially the right, were essentially hors de combat, while Brassey’s were uninjured. Upon the whole, therefore, although Caunt is the victor, and entitled to praise, Brassey, as the vanquished, deserves almost an equal degree of credit, if not of profit. That this is the feeling of others was demonstrated at Newmarket after the battle, for there was not only £30 collected for him by voluntary contributions, but a promise of still more liberal consideration was held out, and in the end fulfilled.

On the Monday following, at Peter Crawley’s, “Duke’s Head,” Smithfield, the battle money was paid over to Caunt, in the presence of an overflowing muster of the patrons of British boxing. Brassey was present, and confessed himself fairly conquered. A subscription was made to console him for his honourable defeat, and £40 presented to him as a reward for his valiant conduct, some merriment being excited by one of the donations being announced as from “the parson of Cheveley.”

Caunt, in a short speech, stated that he once again claimed the “Championship of England,” and was ready to make, then and there, a match for £100 a side with any man, to fight within fifty miles of London. Nick Ward, he added, had challenged him, and “he hoped he had pluck enough to prove that his challenge was not mere bounce.”

Jem Ward lost no time in responding to Caunt’s remarks on his brother Nick, as follows:—

“Mr. Editor,—​The friends of Nick Ward have consulted, and consider (as his efforts in the Ring have been but few, and as you, whose judgment, from long experience, is entitled to great weight, have expressed an opinion that Nick Ward would never be a first-rate man) that Caunt, who lays claim to the Championship, should, as a set-off to his superiority of weight and position, give odds to make a match. Nick Ward, without bouncing, is willing to fight Caunt if he will deposit £150 to Ward’s £100.

“JAMES WARD.

“Star Hotel, Williamson Square, Liverpool.

“November 12th, 1840.”

The preliminaries were arranged without delay, and at Caunt’s benefit, at the Bloomsbury Assembly Rooms, in the following week, a deposit was made, and the next week articles drawn for the men to fight for £100 a side, within two months, not more than sixty miles from London.

On February 2nd, 1841, in the seventh round and twelfth minute of the fight, Caunt lost this battle by delivering a foul blow under irritation of feeling at the shifty tactics of his opponent. (See Life of Nick Ward, post.)

Of course the matter could not rest thus—​that is, if, as many surmised would not be the case, “brother Nick” could muster courage to face once again his gigantic opponent.

In pursuance of appointment, Caunt and his friends met Nick Ward and Co. at Young Dutch Sam’s, the “Black Lion,” Vinegar Yard, Brydges Street, on Thursday, the 18th of February, 1841, to draw up articles, which set forth that—

“The said Benjamin Caunt agrees to fight the said Nick Ward a fair stand-up fight, in a four-and-twenty-foot roped ring, half-minute time, according to the New Rules, for one hundred pounds a side, half-way between London and Liverpool; the place to be decided by toss at the last deposit; neither place to exceed twenty miles from the direct line of road, unless mutually agreed upon to the contrary. The fight to take place on Tuesday, the 11th of May. In pursuance of this agreement twenty pounds a side are now deposited. A second deposit of ten pounds a side to be made on Thursday, the 25th inst., at Mr. Swain’s, the ‘Greyhound,’ Woodside, Hatfield. A third deposit of ten pounds a side at the ‘Black Lion,’ Vinegar Yard, on Thursday, the 4th of March. A fourth deposit of ten pounds a side at the ‘Bell,’ Hatfield, on Thursday, the 11th of March. A fifth deposit of ten pounds a side at the ‘Black Lion’ aforesaid, on Thursday, the 18th of March. A sixth deposit of ten pounds a side at the ‘Cherry Tree,’ Kingsland Road, on Thursday, the 25th of March. A seventh deposit of ten pounds a side at Jem Ward’s, Williamson Square, Liverpool, on Thursday, the 1st of April. An eighth deposit of ten pounds a side at the Castle Tavern, Holborn, on Thursday, the 8th of April; and the ninth and last deposit of ten pounds a side at Young Dutch Sam’s, the ‘Black Lion,’ Vinegar Yard, on Thursday, the 22nd of April. The said deposits to be made between the hours of eight and ten o’clock, or the party failing to forfeit the money down. The men to be in the ring between twelve and one o’clock, or at an early hour if mutually agreed upon, or the money down to be forfeited by the party absent. Two umpires and a referee to be chosen on the ground; the decision of the latter, in the event of dispute, to be conclusive. In case of magisterial interference the stakeholder to name the next time and place of meeting, unless a referee shall have been chosen, to whom that duty shall be assigned. The fight to come off on the same day if possible; but the money not to be given up till fairly won or lost by a fight. The ropes and stakes to be paid for by the men, share and share alike. Neither man to use resin or other powder to his hands during the combat. The party winning the toss for choice of place to name the ground seven days before fighting to the backers of the party losing the toss.”

The parties, after signing, shook hands with great good humour, and joined in drinking the general toast, “May the best man win!” Caunt expressed much mortification at the assertion which he said had been made that the cause of his loss of the late fight was attributable to design rather than accident. He protested that he acted from the ungovernable impulse of the moment, irritated by Ward’s going down at the moment he was within his reach. He said, further, that he would profit by his experience, and be specially careful to avoid a similar “accident.” The backers of Ward offered to take six to four on the issue; but odds were refused.

The deposits duly made, Young Dutch Sam, who acted on Nick Ward’s behalf, won the toss for choice of ground, and named Stratford-on-Avon for the place of meeting. The selection of Shakespeare’s birthplace proved judicious, as the proceedings from first to last passed off without interruption. We may perhaps note that one inducement of Ward to the choice of Stratford-on-Avon might be that there, in July, 1831, his brother Jem closed his brilliant career by defeating Simon Byrne at Willycuts, three miles from the town.

Caunt reached Stratford on Monday afternoon, in company of Tom Spring, and made the “Red Horse” his resting-place. Nick Ward, accompanied by his brother, put up at the “White Lion.” Every inn in the place was crammed to overflowing, and many who were unable to procure beds at any price returned to Warwick or Leamington, and some even to Coventry, necessitating a return journey the next morning. We must, in justice to the many followers of the four-square Ring, state that the utmost order and regularity prevailed in the town throughout the evening, and that hilarity, joviality, and good temper prevailed among the partisans of both men, a fact which we would commend to electors and political factions.

All were astir early, and there was a strong muster of Corinthians of the first water—​indeed, the “upper crust” was unusually well represented by numerous hunting men from the “shires,” who, by liberal expenditure, gave the good, hospitable fellow-townsmen of the immortal Will every reason to be grateful for the selection which had been made; and they, on their part, showed their sense of the obligation conferred by their civility and the moderation of their charges.

The scene of action was in a field at Long Marsden, on a farm belonging to a Mr. Pratt; and thither the Commissary proceeded to make his arrangements, and thither also the immense cavalcade of equestrians and charioteers, as well as innumerable groups of pedestrians, took their way in due time. On the last occasion the unlucky “footpads” were thrown out entirely, but on this they had undoubtedly the best of it, for they, by means of short cuts and familiar paths, shortened their pleasant journey, while those who were on four legs—​or worse, on wheels—​were compelled to scramble and jolt over roads of the most villainous description, in which the most imminent risks of spills or a break-down were only avoided by care and good luck. In fact, many of those who endured the miseries of both roads declared, that the sixteen miles between the Andover road and Crookham Common, with all its horrors, was surpassed by the shorter journey from Stratford to Long Marsden.

The spot was admirably selected, and the ropes and stakes pitched upon a piece of sound, elastic turf that delighted the cognoscenti. The immense multitude, as they arrived, arranged themselves in a most orderly, methodical manner. The day was beautiful, the country around green, fresh, and odoriferous with the blossoms of the may. Everything was conducted in a style to ensure general satisfaction.

Caunt made his appearance first, with an oddly assorted pair of seconds as ever handled a champion in the P.R. They were old Ben Butler, his uncle, well known in after times in the parlour of the “Coach and Horses;” a man well stricken in years, and a cross-grained old curmudgeon to boot. With him appeared Atkinson, of Nottingham, a 9½ stone man, whose disparity of size with the man he was supposed to pick up excited the risibility of old ring-goers. Benjamin himself, however, seemed particularly well satisfied, and remarked laughingly, in reply to a jocose observation of a bystander, “Never thee mind—​I’m not goin’ to tummle down; he’s big enow for me!” Had the fight which ensued been of the desperate character of Ben’s late encounter with Brassey, the ill-assorted pair could about as much have carried Colossus Caunt to his corner as they could have carried the Achilles in Hyde Park. Nick had with him, as on the former occasion, Harry Holt and Dick Curtis, certainly the two ablest counsellors on the Midland, Northern, or any other Circuit. Tom Spring, who was in friendly attendance upon Caunt, addressed an emphatic warning to the big one to keep his temper, cautioning him not to play into the hands of his opponent by allowing himself to be irritated by his shifty dodges. Caunt listened with a grim, self-satisfied smile, and nodded his head, as much as to say he was not going to be caught this time. Each man, in reply to a question, declared he “never felt better in his life,” and their looks justified the assertion. Caunt was a little “finer drawn” than at their previous meeting, and weighed, when stripped, exactly 14st. 6lb. He never went to scale so light before—​indeed, it was not an excessive weight for a big-boned man measuring 6 feet 2½ inches. He had, however, a narrow escape in his training, for, on the Sunday week previous, in his walking exercise, he trod on a stone, and turned his foot aside with such suddenness as to strain the muscles of his leg and ankle so severely that he was unable to walk for several days, exciting the serious apprehensions of his friends; with rest and constant surgical care, however, he overcame the mischief, and was as well as ever. Ward looked to us a trifle too fleshy. He weighed 13st. 6lb., 10lb. more than when he fought in February.

Some time previously a subscription had been raised to produce a “Champion’s Belt,” to be given to the victor on this occasion, and to be hereafter transferable, should he retire from the Ring or be beaten by a more successful candidate for fistic honours. This belt, under the superintendence of a committee, was completed, and now for the first time was held forth as an additional incitement to bravery and good conduct. Previous to the commencement of the battle, Cicero Holt, the well-known orator of the Ring, and second of Nick Ward, approached the scratch, and silence being called, held up the belt, pronouncing that in addition to the stakes this trophy had been prepared by a number of liberal gentlemen, as a spur to the honest and manly feeling which it was desirable should ever pervade the minds of men who sought distinction in the Prize Ring. “Honour and fair play,” it was their opinion, should be the motto of English boxers, and it would be their proud gratification to see this belt girded round the loins of him, whoever he might be, who entitled himself in spirit and principle to the terms of that motto. They were influenced by neither favour nor affection, nor by prejudice of any kind; all they desired was that the best man might win, wear this trophy, and retain it so long as he was enabled to maintain the high and distinguished title of Champion of England. On resigning, or being stripped of the laurels of Championship, it would then be his duty to transfer this proud badge to his more fortunate successor, and thus a prize would be established which it would ever be the pride of gallant Englishmen to possess, and its brightness, he trusted, would never be tarnished by an act of dishonour. It was to be finally presented, he said, when complete, at a dinner to be given at Jem Burn’s, where the subscription originated, on Monday, the 31st instant.

The belt was then exhibited to the gaze of the curious; it is composed of purple velvet, and lined with leather; in the centre are a pair of clasped hands surrounded by a wreath of the Rose, the Thistle, and the Shamrock, entwined in embossed silver; on each side of this are three shields of bright silver, at present without inscription, but on these are to be engraven the names of all the Champions of England which the records of the Fancy preserve, to conclude with the name of the conqueror on the present occasion. The clasps in front are formed of two hands encased in sparring-gloves. It is due to state that this belt is altogether very beautifully executed, and highly creditable to the motives and good feeling to which its origin is attributable. Its inspection afforded general pleasure, and the oration of “Cicero” was received with loud cheers. Caunt, on taking it in his hand, significantly said to Nick Ward, “This is mine, Nick,” to which Ward replied, “I hope the best man may win it and wear it.”

These preliminaries, so novel in the P.R., having been concluded, the colours of the men were entwined on the stake, and umpires and a referee having been chosen, no time was lost in preparing for action.

The betting at first was 5 to 4 on Ward, though we never could understand the quotation, and did not see any money posted at the odds. At twenty minutes to one all was ready, and the champions toed the scratch for

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​The men faced each other with an expression of good humour on their countenances that could hardly be expected by those who knew how they had expressed themselves at former meetings. Caunt’s rough lineaments bore a grin of satisfaction, that seemed to say he had his wishes gratified. Ward, though he also smiled, it was a vanishing smile, and he looked eagerly and anxiously at his antagonist. Ward’s attitude was scientific and well guarded, his left ready for a lightning-shot, as he poised himself on his left toe, with his right somewhat across, to parry the possible counterhit. Caunt stood erect, as if to make the most of his towering height, but a trifle backward. Ward moved about a little, as if measuring his distance, and then let go his left. It was not a determined hit, and did not get home. Caunt dashed out his left in return, but Nick stopped it prettily. However, as he meant it for a counter, his friends were pleased at his quickness, and cheered the attempt, especially as he almost instantly followed it with a lunge from the right, which just reached Ward’s neck. The big one now bored in for a close, meaning mischief. Ward bobbed his head aside, delivered a slight job, and was down on his knees. It was clear that Nick meant to fight in the evasive style of their former encounter, but it was also clear from Caunt’s coolness that he was likely to have more trouble over this day’s business, and we heard no more about odds upon Ward.

2.—​The men faced each other as before, no harm as yet having been done on either side. Caunt now began manœuvring in rather an ungainly manner; but as some of his movements suggested a plunge in, Nick was resolved to be first, and let go his left on Caunt’s mouth, who heeded not the blow, but dashed out left and right. The blows were wild, but his right reached Ward’s cheek; and Caunt was pulling himself together for heavy punching, when once more Ward slipped his foot, and was on both knees. Caunt threw up both hands, and gave a sort of guttural “Hur, hur!” as he looked at the cunning face of his opponent, then walked to his own corner. The big one’s friends were delighted at this proof of caution, and cheered lustily.

3.—​Ward came up with a keen and anxious look at his opponent. Ben nodded, and flourished his long arms like the sails of a windmill. He seemed ready to let Ward lead off and then take his chance of going in for the return. Ward drew back at arm’s length, and Caunt hit short more than once, but Nick did not get near enough for an effective return. Caunt, with a grim smile, almost rolled in, sending out left and right as he came. His right just reached Ward’s head, who hit up sharply and then slipped down, as though from his own blow. It was a very questionable get-down, but there was no appeal.

4.—​Nick seemed to feel that he was by no means taking the lead, and he was told that unless he hit, and kept Caunt employed in defending himself, he would bore in on him continually. The advice was doubtless sound, but it wanted more pluck than Nick possessed to put it in practice. Nick hit out with his left, but not near enough, and Caunt stopped him, amid some cheering; Caunt paused, as if expecting Ward to come closer, but he did not, so he let fly, and in a sort of ding-dong rally gave Ward a tidy smack on the nose; Nick jobbed him heavily three or four times, then dropped so close to Caunt that they both rolled over, the big one falling heavily on Nick. On rising blood was seen oozing from Ward’s nose, and the first event was awarded to Caunt, amidst the cheers of his friends, and to the astonishment of Ward’s backers.

5.—​The faces of both men were flushed from the blows received, and Caunt, who was anxious to be at work, went in at once, left and right, again catching Ward upon the nose, and increasing the appearance of claret. Ward made no return, he was too anxious to get away, and on Caunt grappling him, he got quickly down, Caunt stumbling forward and falling over him.

6.—​The rounds were too short and hurried to admit of much in the way of description. Caunt, still eager to be at work, tried his left, but was stopped. Counter-hits with the left followed, but though Nick was a fine counter-hitter, he never exhibited any great relish for that mode of fighting—​the most telling in its effects and most exciting to witness of all practised in the P. R. Caunt lashed out with his left, and on Nick’s cleverly avoiding the smash, rushed to in-fighting. Nick, however, pursued his plan of getting down, but Caunt came heavily upon him. Although up to the present time Caunt had not done much execution, yet he was certainly getting the best of the fight, and he maintained his improvement in his style of hitting, substituting straight hits from the shoulder for the overhanded chops which had formerly marked his attempts.

7.—​Ward tried to regain the lead—​if he had ever had it—​and let fly with his left, but he had not sufficient courage to go close to his man, and once again the blow fell short. He stopped Caunt’s attempt at a return with his left, which came pretty heavy and quickly, and on the latter’s rushing in for close work Nick dropped on his knees. There was no blow struck in this round, and Caunt, who was about to deliver, wisely restrained his hand, and with his deep, short laugh, shook his finger menacingly at Ward as he knelt, and walked away.

8.—​Up to this period no material damage had been done on either side, few of the hits having more than a skin-deep effect. Ward still preserved his elegant attitude, and tried his left, but did not get home, and Caunt hit short at the body with his right. Nick now steadied himself for mischief, and, after a short pause, threw his left with the quickness of lightning, and caught Caunt over the right eyebrow, on which it left a gaping wound, from which a copious crimson stream flowed over the undamaged optic and down his cheek. Caunt hit out wildly, left and right; Ward, in retreating, fell on his knees, and Caunt tumbled over him.

9.—​Atkinson was seen to be busily engaged in stopping the flow of claret from Caunt’s eyebrow when “Time!” was called. At the sound Caunt jumped up vigorously, and continued the contest with a figurehead anything but improved by the crimson stain which marked its right side. Nick smiled at his handiwork, waited for his man, and as Caunt came plunging in, met him with a heavy hit from the left on the cheek, opening an ancient wound originally inflicted by Brassey, and starting a fresh tap of claret. Caunt was stung by the hits, and dashed in left and right; but Ward adhered to his dropping tactics, and again fell on his knees, amidst strong expressions of disapprobation.

10.—​Ward again tried his left, but was unsuccessful; Caunt came in, and after a couple of slight exchanges, left and right, Nick got down.

11.—​Caunt came up nothing daunted, stopped an attempt with Ward’s left, and made a terrific rush, which if as clumsy as the elephant’s was almost as irresistible. Nick retreated, stopping left and right, till he fell under the ropes, amidst cries of dissatisfaction, Caunt dropping on him.

12.—​Ward stopped Caunt’s left and right, and almost immediately dropped on his knees, and while in that position instantly hit up left and right, delivering both blows heavily; that from his right, on Caunt’s ear, from whence blood was drawn, was evidently a stinger. Spring, who witnessed this, exclaimed against so cowardly a practice, and observed that the blows of Ward were obviously foul, inasmuch as Ward had no more right to hit when down on his knees than Caunt had a right to strike him in that position. The umpires, however, did not interfere, and the referee cautioned Ward to be more circumspect in his conduct.

13.—​Caunt, lively as a young buffalo, rushed to the scratch the moment time was called, and immediately made play. Nick, as usual, retreated, when Caunt endeavoured to close, but Nick in his cowardly way dropped on both knees. Caunt’s right hand was up, and he was unable to restrain the falling blow, but it fell lightly, and although “down” no claim was made. (Spring and Atkinson both cautioned Caunt to be more careful, for, however unintentional, if he struck his opponent when down the consequences might be serious.)

14.—​Caunt led off, and caught Nick on the side of his head with his left, and repeated the dose on the opposite side with his right. Nick popped in a touch with his left on Caunt’s nasal promontory—​Caunt missed a terrific hit with his right, and Nick went on his knees to avoid punishment.

15.—​Caunt, who was now evidently provoked by the cowardly game of Ward in getting down in every round, the moment he came to the scratch rushed to him, and endeavoured to get him within his grasp in such a way as to be enabled to fall with him. Unluckily, however, instead of catching him round the body he caught him round the neck, and, in this manner, lifting him off the ground, for a short time held him suspended. He then let him go, but did not succeed in giving him the scrunch he contemplated. Instead of this, he hit the back of his own head against the stakes, and incurred an ugly concussion.

16.—​Caunt came up full of life and frolic, and was first at the scratch. Nick made play with his left, but Caunt stopped and got away. Caunt hit short with his right, and after a short pause right-hand hits were exchanged—​Nick at the head, Caunt at the body. Caunt immediately closed, and caught Nick’s pimple under his arm, but Nick slipped down, and looked up as if expecting to be hit.

17.—​Trifling exchanges, when Nick again provokingly slipped on his knees.

18.—​Caunt led off, planted his left slightly, and Nick down on his knees. Caunt looked at him derisively and laughed, exclaiming, “It won’t do to-day, Nick.”

19.—​Caunt still fresh as a four-year-old, and first to the scratch, Nick evidently fearful of approaching too near. Caunt made a feint, with his left, and then delivered a tremendous round right-handed blow on the base of Ward’s ribs; the blow was too high, or it might have told fearfully. Nick let go his left, and Caunt jumped back, but again coming to the charge Ward retreated. Caunt following him up again seized him with a Herculean grip round the neck, lifted him clean off the ground, and then fell squash upon him.

20.—​Some tolerably good exchanges, in which Nick hit straightest, but immediately went down—​Caunt pointing at him with contempt.

21.—​Nick tried his left and right, but missed, his timidity evidently preventing his getting sufficiently near to his man. Caunt again seized him, lifted him up, and fell upon him, but lightly.

22.—​Caunt hit short at the body with his right, and tried his left, which was stopped. Counter-hits with the right, ditto with the left, when Nick went down.

23.—​Ward planted his left heavily on Caunt’s mug, and opened his previous wounds; this he followed with a touch from his right on the ear. Caunt rushed wildly to the charge, but Nick, as usual, tumbled, this time rolling over away from Caunt.

24.—​Caunt rushed forward, and delivered his left and right on Ward’s nob, the first on his nose, the second on the side of his head; Ward’s nose again trickled with the purple fluid. Nick went down on his knees, amidst shouts of disapprobation.

25.—​Caunt delivered his left on the head and right on the body, with stinging effect, and Nick went down.

26.—​Nick again had it on his nose from the left, and dropped on his knees. Caunt, who had his right up with intent to deliver, withheld the blow, and walked away.

27.—​Nick slow in approaching the scratch, and Caunt impatient to be at him. Holt cautioned Caunt not to cross the scratch till his man reached it. Caunt let fly with his right, and again caught Nick heavily on the body, following this up with a smart touch from his left on the mazzard. Nick again went down on one knee, and, while in that position, struck Caunt with his left. Caunt stooped, nodded, and laughed at him, as he looked up in his face. Nick also nodded and laughed. “We’ll have a fair fight to-day, Nick,” said Caunt.

28.—​Good counter-hits with the left, when Caunt once more grasped Ward, and held him up; but Ward slipped from his arms, and got down.

29.—​Ward slow, when Caunt planted two right-handed hits on Ward’s jaw and neck. Ward slipped down on one knee, but Caunt refrained from striking him, although entitled to do so by the rules of the Ring.

30.—​Caunt lost no time in rushing to his man, and planted his right heavily on the side of his head. Ward hit widely left and right, and went down on his face.

31.—​Ward evidently began to lose all confidence, and fought extremely shy. Caunt rushed in, caught his head under his arm, and although he might have hit him with great severity, he restrained himself, and let him fall.

32.—​Ward came up evidently counter to his own inclinations, being urged forward by his seconds. Caunt caught him left and right, and he fell to avoid further punishment.

33.—​Caunt gave a lungeing slap with his right on Ward’s pimple, when Ward dropped on both knees, and popped his head between Caunt’s knees. He seemed disposed to poke in anywhere out of danger’s way, and any odds were offered on Caunt.

34.—​Caunt rushed in to mill, but Ward had obviously made up his mind to be satisfied, and down he went without a blow.

35, and last.—​Ward was “kidded” up once more by his second and bottle-holder; but it was clear that all the King’s horses and all the King’s men could not draw him to the scratch with anything like a determination to protract the combat. Caunt let fly right and left at his mug, and down he went for the last time. His brother ran to him, but it was all up; and as the only excuse for such a termination to the battle, Nick pretended that his ribs were broken from the heavy right-handed hits of Caunt, and that he was incapable of continuing the contest. Caunt was thus proclaimed the conqueror, and “THE CHAMPION OF ENGLAND,” amidst a general cheer, and expressions of contempt towards Ward—​so strongly emphasised that the usual collection for the losing man was omitted by Holt, who shook a hat with a few halfpence he had himself dropped into it, and then put them in his pocket with a laugh.

We examined the supposed fracture in his ribs, but could discover nothing beyond severe contusions. It will be recollected that Brassey closed his labours with Caunt upon similar grounds, though perhaps with better reason. Nick was immediately conveyed to his omnibus, where he became prostrate in mind and body, exciting but little sympathy in the breasts of the general body of spectators. The fight lasted forty-seven minutes. The ceremony of girding Caunt with the Champion’s Belt then took place, and it was put round his loins, with a hearty wish from those who witnessed his unflinching courage from first to last, as well as his manly forbearance amidst cowardly provocation, that he might long retain it. He afterwards went to Ward’s carriage, and offered him all the consolations of which he was susceptible, hoping that they might hereafter be the best friends, a feeling which Jem Ward, who evidently blushed for the pusillanimity of his brother, good-naturedly reciprocated. Caunt, he said, had proved himself the better man, and should always be an acceptable guest at his house. We ought to have mentioned that Caunt, on quitting the ring, disdained to do so in the usual way, but leaped clear over the ropes, a height of four feet six, and on his way home ran a pretty fast race against a “Corinthian” across a piece of ploughed land for a bottle of wine, which he cleverly won.

Remarks.—​The report of this fight tells its own tale. Nick Ward’s conduct completely confirmed the suspicions of his chicken-hearted pretensions. He wanted that one requisite of all others indispensable to a pugilist—​courage; and although his science was unquestionable, it can only be displayed to advantage in the sparring school. As he said himself after his fight with Sambo Sutton, he “was not cut out for a fighting man;” and the best advice we can give him is to retire altogether from the Ring. Caunt, who from the first booked victory as certain, sustained his character for bravery, and left off as fresh as when he commenced, although somewhat damaged in the frontispiece. His right eyebrow and cheek were much swollen, and the back of his head displayed a prominent bump of combativeness from the fall against the stakes. His hands were little damaged, but the knuckle of his right hand showed that it had come in ugly contact with Nick’s “pimple” or ribs. He was much improved in his style of fighting since his former exhibitions in the Ring; instead of hitting over the guard, as was his former practice, he hit straight from the shoulder, and having learned to lead off with his left, was enabled the more effectively to bring the heavy weight of his right into useful play. He still, however, hit round with his right, and the most severe blows which Ward received during the contest were those which were planted on the ribs and side of the head with this hand. These blows, with the heavy falls, to which was superadded the weight of his antagonist, no doubt tended to extinguish the little courage he might have possessed. Caunt was carefully seconded by his aged uncle and Atkinson, and although, had it been necessary to carry him to his corner, they might not have been able to afford him the requisite assistance, as that necessity did not arise no fault was to be found. Throughout the battle excellent order was maintained, and there were none of those irregularities observable on the former occasion. Jem Ward and his friends conducted themselves with great propriety, and submitted to defeat as well as to the loss of their money with as good a grace as could well have been expected. To the amateurs and patrons of British boxing the conduct of Nick Ward was most displeasing, and they one and all declared that they had never seen a man whose pretensions to the Championship had been more disgracefully exposed. Caunt came to town the same night, accompanied by Tom Spring, and on reaching the “Castle” was received with universal congratulations.

Caunt now resolved, after the fashion of our great public performers, to make a trans-Atlantic trip, to show the New World a specimen of an Old World champion, and to add another “big thing” to the country of “big things;” though in this America sustained her eminence by sending us a bigger champion than our “Big Ben” himself, in the form of Charles Freeman, of whom more anon.

Ben’s departure was thus announced on the 10th of September, 1841—​“Ben Caunt, Champion of England, sailed from Liverpool for New York on Thursday, taking with him the Champion’s Belt, for which, he says, any Yankee may become a candidate.”

In the New York Spirit of the Times of November 13th we find this paragraph:—