Читать книгу Pugilistica - Henry Downes Miles - Страница 15

“Battles bravely fought, and hardly won!”

BILL NEAT.

yet his qualifications were so promising, his patronage so high and imposing, that with the improving value of ten weeks’ training under the immediate auspices and tuition of Cribb, the advice of Gully, and the generally sound judgment of Captain Barclay, he soon became the favourite; the Bristolians anxiously anticipating, through the exertions of this new candidate for milling fame, to realize the days of another Jem Belcher.

Oliver, nothing loth, accepted the cartel, and the subjoined articles were drawn up:—

“W. Neat engages to fight Thos. Oliver on the 10th of July, 1818, within thirty miles of London, for 100 guineas a-side. A fair stand-up fight, in a twenty-four feet ring. Mr. Jackson to name the place. The whole of the money to be made good on the 23rd of May. Neat not to exceed thirteen stone seven pounds. Ten guineas a-side are now deposited.

“Witness, W. Teast.”

Upon the deposit being made, the odds were decidedly in favour of Oliver; but previous to the day of battle, they changed to five to four on Neat; the good judges observing that if freshness, length, strength, and height were points towards victory, Neat, who possessed them all, ought to win the fight. The latter, however, sustained some drawback from being an entire stranger to the London fancy.

In opposition to these pretensions, Oliver, the darling of Westminster, who had bravely conquered, in succession, Kimber, Hopping Ned, Harry Lancaster, Ford, Cooper, and the determined Painter—but who was rather cast in the shade from his defeat at Carlisle by Carter, if not considered to have received a check to the championship of England—again presented himself to the attention of the amateurs. Many of the old fanciers were partial to Oliver; and if some of them thought him slow, others viewed him as sure, and the odds against him were taken with much confidence. Previous to the fight the betting varied repeatedly, and on Thursday evening both Oliver and Neat were favourites in turn; it might almost be termed even betting.

Not a bed could be had at any of the villages at an early hour on the preceding evening; and Uxbridge was crowded beyond all precedent. At four o’clock in the morning vehicles of every description were in motion; and the road from Hyde Park Corner to Gerrard’s Cross was one cloud of dust. The ring was formed upon one of the most delightful spots the eye of a landscape painter could imagine. The scenery was truly picturesque. Bulstrode House, the seat of the late Duke of Portland, was on the left of it; the foliage of the trees, the verdure of the ground, the swelling eminences, and the grandeur of the prospect, rendered the tout ensemble captivating, and the company congratulated each other on the excellent choice which had been made for the display of gymnastic sports. Yet before an entrance could be gained to this elysium of the fancy a handsome tip was demanded at the gate, guarded by more heads than were in the possession of Cerberus of old. But such is the uncertainty of human affairs, in an instant this enchanting scene was changed; all was anxiety and suspense—the stakes were pulled up, the carriages rolled off with the utmost celerity, and the bustling scene became as it were a desert. A magistrate had fixed his paw upon Neat, and no milling could be permitted in Buckinghamshire on that day. Cerberus had now taken flight from the gate, and lots of Johnny Haws stood laughing at the flats who had been drawn of their tin. Rickmansworth, nine miles off, was the scent, and the string of carriages on the road exceeded all calculation. In a field, within a mile of the above place, the ring was again formed; and a few minutes before three Neat appeared and threw up his hat. Oliver immediately followed, bowing to the spectators, and was received with great applause. The latter, on stripping, showed good condition, and was seconded by Tom Jones and Clark; Cribb and Tom Belcher performing that office for Neat. Cribb tied the yellow colours of his man to the stakes, and Jones placed the blue handkerchief of Oliver upon them. Lord Yarmouth, Sir Henry Smith, and a long et cetera of amateurs, were round the ring. The ceremony of shaking hands took place, and at three o’clock the fight commenced. Neat five and six to four the favourite.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On setting-to, Neat looked formidable. His attitude was springy and ready for quick action. His legs, decorated with silk stockings, not only evinced fine form, but vast strength; and his arms were equally sinewy. Upon the whole, he had the appearance and make of what is generally considered a prize pugilist. He had also excellent symmetry. Both were anxious to commence in good style, and some sparring occurred. Neat hit short, and Oliver planted the first blow. Some hits were exchanged, and Oliver put in a body hit and got away; however, in following his opponent, he received a blow, and, slipping at the same time, went down. Two minutes and a half had elapsed.

2.—It was evident that experience was on the side of Oliver; but the right arm of Neat was truly dangerous. Oliver put in a bodier, and Neat returned short. The combatants then got into a sharp rally, which terminated with Oliver fibbing down his opponent. (Great applause.) The claret was now seen on the mouth and neck of Neat.

3.—Oliver again made a hit on the body, which Neat returned short with his left hand. Oliver also planted successfully several body blows, and Neat frequently missed in return. Some good counter hits occurred. Oliver followed Neat closely up; some exchanges took place, when Neat turned round and went down from a hit. (Slight disapprobation.)

4.—Oliver found his opponent was a novice, and felt confident of success. This was the longest round in the fight, displaying the various tactics and style of fighting of both the combatants: it may serve as a sort of criterion for the whole battle, and save much of the minute routine of the rounds. Oliver, with much gaiety, planted a severe facer, and Neat in return hit short. Oliver gave another facer. Neat, with his right hand, gave Oliver a tremendous blow under his ear that seemed to send his head from his shoulders, the claret flowing copiously, and a large lump instantly rose. Oliver here showed a good acquaintance with the science, and fought better than usual; he frequently planted body hits and facers without experiencing returns, and broke away in good style. Oliver was tired and put down his hands. Several counter hits occurred. Neat put in a severe body blow, when Oliver soon afterwards was observed to spit, as if his inside had suffered. Oliver made a good right-handed hit, and stopped a tremendous blow with his left. Several other incidents also occurred in Oliver’s favour. The latter again spat, and, in a rally, both went down from exhaustion. The round lasted eight minutes. (Six to four on Oliver.)

5.—The hands of Oliver were covered with claret from the work he had done upon his opponent’s mug. Oliver took the lead, and finished the round by sending Neat down. (Shouts, and three to one on Oliver.)

6.—Oliver planted a good facer, and counter hits again took place. This was a singular round. Oliver followed Neat to the ropes, and in a sort of scuffle, caught the latter by the thighs, when Neat fell, and Oliver also went down. Both exhibited severe marks of punishment: Neat’s mouth was open, and he appeared distressed. Oliver was now decidedly the favourite.

7.—This round had nearly decided the fight. Oliver went down like a dead man from a tremendous right-handed blow under the ear. His senses were completely hit out of him; and Jones, by extraordinary exertions, placed him on the bottle-holder’s knee and used every means to recover him again to meet his opponent. (“Time, time,” was loudly vociferated from all parts of the ring, and many persons with stop-watches in their hands insisted a minute had elapsed.)

8.—Oliver’s second at length brought him forward, with his arm round his body, up to the scratch, when the bottle-holder on Neat’s behalf, insisted on his letting go his man. Oliver, staggering, put himself in position to fight, when he was immediately floored.

9.—Time was again called by the spectators, on the difficulty of Oliver’s coming to the mark. The latter was evidently stupefied, and was again hit down. (Ten to one on Neat, and hats were thrown up.)

10.—The gameness of Oliver astonished the oldest amateur; and he now so far recovered himself as to have the best of it, and fibbed his opponent down at the ropes. (Great applause.)

11.—Oliver kept the lead, and not only gave a staggering hit to Neat, but caught him again as he was falling.

12.—Oliver in this round was everything. His science in getting away was excellent: he gave his opponent a severe facer, a blow on the eye, and finally floored him, Neat frequently hitting short. (“Bravo, Oliver!” and the odds rising rapidly.)

13.—Neat gave Oliver, in following him, a tremendous right-handed hit on his mouth, so that his upper works were in a complete state of chaos. Neat, notwithstanding this superiority, went down, and it was loudly asserted without a blow. It occasioned marks of disapprobation. (£100 to £5 was offered on Oliver, but no one took it.)

14.—Oliver, after having the best of the round, threw Neat.

15.—Neat hit down, and Oliver fell upon him.

16.—Oliver planted a severe blow under the left ear of his opponent, who went down much distressed.

17.—Oliver made a hit, but Neat stopped it with much dexterity; counter hits, yet Neat was floored.

18.—Neat made three blows, but went down.

19.—Oliver floored his opponent, but was, nevertheless, punished in the round.

20.—Neat’s right hand was at work, and Oliver quickly followed him up till he went down.

21.—Oliver floored his antagonist, and fell upon him, and hit Neat in the face as he was in the act of falling upon him. (This produced “Foul, foul,” from the friends of Neat.)

22.—Oliver received a hit from Neat, when the latter fell. (Hissing.)

23.—Oliver, in closing, fell upon his opponent.

24.—Neat planted some sharp blows; but Oliver had the best of the round, when Neat went down. (“Bravo, Oliver! well done, Tom!” and the betting greatly in his favour.)

25.—Neat, it appeared, now felt the use of his right arm, and with two blows, right and left-handed, not only sent Oliver staggering away, but hit him down like a shot. (The hats were again thrown up, and the odds had all vanished.)

26.—It was evident Oliver could not recover from the severe effects of the last round. (“Time” was again loudly vociferated; and he came up staggering, only to be hit down.)

27.—Neat again went to work, and planted more tremendous blows; but, in closing, Neat was undermost.

28.—Oliver, game to the last, and more than anxious that his backers should not find fault with him, contended for victory as if the fate of an empire hung upon the event. The stunning blows he had received had put aside all his science, and he now incautiously followed his opponent, who, with his right hand, gave Oliver the coup de grace, which took him off his legs in a singular manner: he fell flat on his back as senseless as a log of wood. “Time” was called, but the brave Oliver heard not the sound. One hour and thirty-one seconds had elapsed.

Remarks.—Neat, notwithstanding the decisive victory he obtained over Oliver, appeared little more than a novice in scientific boxing. It is true, he might be improved under the tuition of skilful and accomplished boxers, for he possesses a requisite above all that teaching can achieve, namely, “one hit with his right hand, given in proper distance, can gain a victory, and three of them are positively enough to dispose of a giant.” Neat hits from the shoulder with an astonishing and peculiar force; and, in one instance, the arm of Oliver received so paralyzing a shock in stopping the blow, that it appeared almost useless. The admirers of fine fighting are decidedly of opinion that Neat has no such pretensions; but as a hard hitter (of steam-engine power), it is asserted there is nothing like him on the present list. He fought very awkwardly; and had he used his right hand to advantage in the early part of the fight, in all probability it must have been over in a few rounds; but it should be recollected it was his first appearance in the London ring. One word for the brave but fallen Oliver before these remarks are closed. He fought like a hero; and the courage of human nature was never witnessed in a higher point of view than exhibited by him in this contest. The battle was never safe to him, notwithstanding his exertions were more scientific than in any of his previous fights. It was also far from being safe to Neat till the twenty-fifth round. The latter was in bad condition, while Oliver could not be finer; but a chance blow from Neat can floor one hundred to one in a twinkling, although he is a round hitter.

Oliver, although defeated, was not disgraced; on the contrary, it was asserted that he had fixed his claims more strongly upon the amateurs in general by his brave conduct. In eight battles he had proved himself a good man—six of them he won. It was upon the whole a good fight; but Oliver was too slow for an active man like Neat. Several minutes elapsed before Oliver recovered sensibility, and his situation for a short period was thought to be critical. He was bled in the ring, and Neat shook hands with him. He was taken from the scene of action in a landau, and every attention paid to him that humanity could suggest. Neat was also assisted to his vehicle in a very distressed state, his face completely altered from the severity of punishment it had undergone.

Neat did not remain long in the metropolis; and, in his way home, he called at Sam Porch’s booth, at Lansdown Fair, where the latter, in honour of the victory of his countryman, had for his sign portraits of Neat and Oliver in battle. The amateurs who made the match for Neat now suggested to him the propriety of taking a benefit in London, which the latter rather reluctantly complied with. However, he again arrived in the metropolis; and on Tuesday, the 23rd of February, 1819, the Fives Court was respectably attended for his benefit. Neat, followed by Shelton, attracted considerable attention. It was Neat’s first appearance with the gloves at the Fives Court; his severity of hitting in the ring had been previously ascertained, and his knowledge of the science was now only to be developed. He proved quick in his movements, and stopped with skill, and the set-to, upon the whole, was entitled to praise. It is true that Shelton planted the most nobbing hits, and one on the mouth told rather heavily; but a bodier from Neat out-valued the whole of them in calculation and effect, and seemed to operate so sharply upon the frame of his opponent that the interior appeared in sudden motion. Shelton evinced improvement, and was pronounced to have rather the best of this bout. Richmond and Harmer showed the advantages of science: their play was light and pleasing to the amateur. Neat and Harmer wound up the sports of the day in a light contest, when the former complained of not being able to return thanks as he wished, being no orator. Cribb, Oliver, Randall, Reynolds, Owen, and Gregson were present, but did not exhibit. It appeared that one of the small tendons of Neat’s right arm had been injured, which prevented him from using it with any strength or activity, and three months must elapse, it was said, before a cure could be pronounced, or Neat returned fit for service.

In calculating his loss of time, the neglect his business sustained at home, and his expenses in London, it is said Neat scarcely cleared himself by this appeal to the patronage of the public.

Cribb and Spring being on a sparring tour, and making Bristol in their route, a match for 100 guineas a-side was made between Neat and Spring, and £50 a-side put down at the Greyhound Inn, Broadmead, Bristol. The fight to take place on the 6th of October, 1819, half-way between Bristol and London; but, in consequence of Neat’s breaking his arm while in training, this match was off, not only to the chagrin of both the combatants, but to the great disappointment of the sporting world.

Symptoms of a “screw being loose” between the Champion of England and Neat, the following appeared in most of the London newspapers:—

“TO MR. T. CRIBB.

“I observed in a report of the sparring match for the benefit of Harry Harmer, that you, being flushed by the juice of the grape, took an opportunity of paying me a compliment, which I did not expect you had liberality enough to do; namely, that ‘Neat was the best of the bad ones,’ and that ‘you would fight him for from £500 to £1,000.’ In answer to which, I inform you that I will fight you as soon as you like (the sooner the better) for from a glass of gin to £200.

“WILLIAM NEAT.

“All Saints’ Lane, Bristol, August 14, 1820.”

Neat’s next match was with the terrific “Gas” for 100 guineas a-side, and the spot fixed was Newbury, Berks. On Monday, December 11, 1821, the day before the fight, as soon as daylight peeped, the bustle on the road to Maidenhead was tremendous. Nothing particular, however, occurred, except the staring of the good people of Reading at the fancy as they passed through that place. At the entrance of the town of Newbury a strong muster of the yokels stationed themselves throughout the whole of the day grinning at the Londoners as they arrived. Indeed, the road on Monday, and all night, up to Tuesday morning at twelve o’clock, from the metropolis, was thronged with vehicles of every description. The roads leading from Oxford, Gloucester, etc., and likewise from Bristol, were in the same state with persons anxious to reach the rallying point, Newbury. All the inns were filled, and the beds engaged some days previous: it was a prime benefit to the town.

About three o’clock in the afternoon, Hickman, with his backer and Spring, in a barouche and four, with Shelton outside, drove rapidly through the town, the Gas-light Man laughing and bowing, on being recognised and cheered by the populace, till they alighted at the Castle, Speen Hill. Here he was visited by numerous gentlemen, to all of whom he declared his confidence of success, and that victory would crown his efforts in a short time. After the bustle of the day was over, the President of the Daffy Club took the chair at the Three Tuns, in the Market Place, Newbury, which, as soon as the office had been given, became the head quarters. Thither the swells and the sporting men mustered round the holder of the stakes. It was a complete betting stand, and numerous wagers were made on the coming event. In consequence of the Newmarket people, with Mr. Gully and Mr. Bland at their head, taking Neat, the odds fell on the Gas: a few persons who were funking a little got off some of their money, but the principal part of the fancy stood firm, and many of them laid it on thicker, although Mr. Gully, in the most candid manner, declared his opinion, “that if a fine, young, strong, fourteen stone man could not defeat a twelve stone boxer, then there was no calculation on prize milling.” Tuesday morning, long before the darkness had cleared off, presented a scene to the Johnny Raws, in the numerous arrivals from London, most of them having been on the road all night, with their peepers half open and their tits almost at a stand-still. About ten o’clock Newbury presented an interesting appearance. The inhabitants were all out of doors; the windows of the houses crowded with females, anxiously waiting to witness the departure of the fancy to the mill. Indeed it was a lively picture—barouches and four, curricles, post-chaises, gigs, carts, stage coaches, wagons, myriads of yokels on horseback, chawbacons scampering along the road, Corinthians and bang-up lads tooling it along.

The fun and gig was kept up by the lads till Hungerford Downs, the wished-for spot, appeared in sight. It was a delightfully fine morning, the sun adding splendour to the scene, giving the whole a most picturesque appearance. The prospect was quite attractive. A charming country on both sides of the road; the town of Hungerford at a distance, with the spire of the church; the ring on the Downs, surrounded with wagons and coaches, marquees, etc., rising grandly like an amphitheatre, formed so pleasing a feature as to render description no easy task. The spot was selected under the judicious management of Mr. Jackson, and the ring was so well arranged that 25,000 persons, who were present, had an excellent sight of the battle. Not the slightest accident occurred, and the whole was conducted with the greatest decorum. It was curious to witness the anxiety displayed by this great assemblage of persons, waiting with the utmost patience, without the slightest murmur, for two hours, the ring having been formed so early as eleven o’clock.

At a few minutes after one, Neat, arm-in-arm with his backer and Belcher, appeared in the outer space, and threw up his hat, but the sun being in his eyes it did not reach its intended destination, when Belcher picked it up and threw it in the ring. Shortly afterwards the Gas, in a white topper, supported by his backer and Shelton, repeated the token of defiance, and entered the ring sucking an orange. He immediately shook hands with Neat, saying, “How are you?” Mr. Jackson was the referee. Belcher and Harmer were the seconds for Neat, and Spring and Shelton for the Gas. The odds had completely changed on the preceding evening; and on the ground Neat was backed five to four, besides numerous even bets, and being taken for choice. Upwards of £150,000, it is calculated, eventually changed owners on this battle. The Gas weighed twelve stone, Neat nearly fourteen. The colours, deep blue for Gas, and the Bristol yellow man for Neat, were tied to the stakes.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Both men appeared in the highest condition; in fact the backers of Neat and Gas asserted that they were to all intents and purposes fit for milling. The frame of Neat was a fine study; and the comparison between the pugilists was remarkable. The Gas, on placing himself in attitude, surveyed his opponent from head to foot, and Neat was equally on the alert. Hickman kept dodging about in order to get an opening to plant a determined hit; but Neat was too leary to be had upon this suit, and whenever the Gas moved, he likewise altered his position. On Neat’s preparing to give a blow, the Gas, smiling, drew himself back; but immediately afterwards, as if resolutely making up his mind to do some mischief, he went right bang in, and with his right hand put in a nobber, Neat retreating. Hickman planted a second blow on his shoulder; he also put in a third hit upon Neat’s left eye, and, elated with his success, he was on the rush to place a fourth blow, when Neat stopped him with a tremendous hit on his throat, which made the Gas stagger a little. Hickman, however, undismayed, attacked Neat with great activity, and the result was, the Bristol hero went down (more from a slip than the severity of the blow) between the legs of Hickman, the Cockneys shouting for joy, and the regular fanciers declaring “it was all right, and that Gas would win it easy.” (Seven to four on Gas.)

2.—Hickman came laughing to the scratch, full of confidence; but on his endeavouring to plant his tremendous right-handed hit on the throat of his antagonist, the length of Neat prevented it, and the blow alighted on his shoulder. The Gas again endeavoured to make it, when the Bristol hero gave Hickman so hard a blow on his box of ivories that he chattered without talking, and went back from his position as if he could not keep it; he also was compelled to make a pause before he again commenced the attack. The Gas got away smiling from a left-handed hit, when he rushed in with uncommon severity, and, after an exchange of blows, they both went down, Neat undermost. (Another loud shout for Hickman, the odds rising on him, and “he’ll win it to a certainty,” was the cry.) While sitting on the knee of his second the Gas winked to his friends, as much as to give the office “it was all right.”

3.—If the backers of the Gas could not see the improvement of the Bristol hero, Hickman was satisfied that he had a dangerous customer before him, and found that the length of arm possessed by his opponent rendered it highly necessary for him to act with great caution; he, therefore, on coming to the scratch, made a pause, and did not appear, as heretofore, eager to go to work. Neat was all caution and steadiness, and determined to wait for his opponent; the Gas, in consequence, was compelled to make play, and he planted a sharp hit on Neat’s head, and, laughing, nodded at him. Encouraged by this success, he was about furiously to repeat the dose, when Neat caught him with his left hand on his nob, which sent the Gas down on his knee; but his courage was so high and good, that he jumped up and renewed the fight like a game cock, till he was hit down by another tremendous blow. (The Bristolians now took a turn with their chaffers, and the shouting was loud in the extreme. The partisans of the Gas-light Man were rather on the fret, and several of them had “got the uneasiness.”)

4.—It was now discovered by the knowing ones that they had not consulted Cocker; it was also evident (but rather too late to turn it to their advantage) that Neat was as quick as his opponent, a better in-fighter, with a tolerable knowledge of the science, and not such a roarer as he had been said to be. The severe nobbers the Gas had received in the preceding round had chanceried his upperworks a little, and, on his appearing at the scratch, he again made a pause. He saw the length of his opponent was difficult to get within; and he also saw that, if he did not commence fighting, Neat was not to be gammoned off his guard for a month. Hickman went in resolutely to smash his opponent, but he was met right in the middle of his head with one of the most tremendous right-handed blows ever witnessed, and went down like a shot. (The Bristolians now applauded to the echo, and the London “good judges,” as they had previously thought themselves, were on the funk. “How do you like it?” said one of the swells, who was pretty deep in it. “Why,” replied the other, “that blow has cost me, I am afraid, a hundred sovereigns.”)

5.—Gas came up an altered man; indeed, a bullock must seriously have felt such a blow. He stood still for an instant, but his high courage would not let him flinch; he defied danger, although it stared him in the face, and, regardless of the consequences, he commenced fighting, made some exchanges, till he went down from a terrible hit in the mouth. (The Bristol boys hoarse with shouting, and the faces of the backers of Gas undergoing all manner of contortions. “That’s the way,” said Tom Belcher. “It’s all your own. You’ll win it, my boy: only a little one now and then for the Castle.”)

6.—The mouth of the Gas was full of blood, and he appeared almost choking when time was called. He was getting weak; he, nevertheless, rushed in and bored Neat to the ropes, when the spectators were satisfied, by the superiority displayed, that Neat was the best in-fighter. He punished Gas in all directions, and finished the round by grassing him with a belly puncher that would have floored an ox. This hit was quite enough to have finished the pluck of two good men. (The long faces from London were now so numerous, that no artist could have taken their likenesses. The Bristolians were roaring with delight, “Didn’t I tell thee what he could do? The Gas is sure to go out now!” “Not this time,” replied a few out-and-outers from the Long Town, who endeavoured to face it out in favour of Hickman, while anything like a chance remained.)

7.—Spring and Shelton were very attentive to their man, and led him up to the scratch at the sound of time. The Gas was sadly distressed, and compelled to pause before he went to work; but Neat waited for him. The Gas was about to make play, when Belcher said to Neat, “Be ready, my boy, he’s coming.” The Bristol hero sent the Gas staggering from him by a nobber, but Neat would not follow him. On the Gas attempting to make a hit, Neat again put in a tremendous blow on his mouth that uncorked the claret in profusion. The Gas recovered himself to the astonishment of all present, went to work, and, after some desperate exchanges, sent Neat down. This change produced a ray of hope on the part of his backers, and “Bravo, Gas! you’re a game fellow, indeed.” The anxiety of Tom Belcher to be near his man, occasioned Shelton to remark to Mr. Jackson, that if Tom did not keep away from Neat, according to his order, he should likewise keep close to the Gas. “Tom,” said Shelton, “you had better come and fight for Neat.”

8.—The Gas, laughing, commenced the attack, but received such a giant-like blow on his right eye that he was convulsed; such were the terrific effects of this hit, that Hickman, after standing motionless for about three seconds, appeared to jump off the ground, his arms hanging by his sides, when he went down like a log on his back, and the shock was so great that his hands flew up over his head: he was totally insensible; so much so that Shelton and Spring could scarcely get him off the ground. The whole ring seemed panic-struck. Spring, vociferating almost with the voice of a Stentor to awake him from his stupor, with the repeated calls of “Gas! Gas! Gas!” The head of Hickman had dropped upon his shoulder. The spectators left their places and ran towards the ropes, thinking it was all over; indeed, the anxiety displayed, and the confusion which occurred in whipping out the ring, had such an effect that several persons observed a minute had passed away. On time being called, the Gas opened one eye wildly, for he had now only one left, the other being swelled and bleeding copiously.

9.—The battle was now decidedly Neat’s own, and every eye was on the stretch, in expectation of the Bristol hero going in to administer the coup de grace. An experienced boxer of the London ring would have taken advantage of this circumstance, and not have given the chance away; but Neat, in the most manly manner, waited for Hickman at the scratch till the Gas felt himself enabled to renew milling. On recovering, he shook himself, as it were, to remove the effects of the overpowering stupor under which he laboured, and every person seemed electrified with his manner. He commenced the attack with much activity, and, after an exchange of blows, strange to say, sent Neat down. (Loud shouts of applause, and the whole ring expressing their admiration at the almost invincible courage Hickman possessed.)

10.—The Gas came to the scratch staggering, his knees almost bending beneath his weight; he, however, showed most determined fight, and contended like a hero till he was hit down.

11.—The state of the Gas was truly pitiable, and on setting-to he scarcely seemed to know where he was, and made a short pause before he attempted to put in a hit. Neat’s left hand again was planted on his nob, which sent the Gas staggering from him. Neat endeavoured to repeat the dose, but he missed his opponent; it might be considered fortunate that this blow did not reach its place of destination, as, in all probability, it would have proved Hickman’s quietus. The latter, after some exchanges, was again hit down. (Four to one.)

12.—It was quite clear that the Gas was not yet extinguished, for this round was a complete milling one. Hickman followed his adversary, exchanging hit for hit; but it was evident, however desperate the intention of Hickman might be, his blows were not effective; while, on the contrary, the hits of Neat were terrific, and reduced the strength of his opponent at every move. Still the confidence of the Gas was unshaken, and he returned to the charge till Neat went down. (Tremendous applause. “What an astonishing game fellow!”)

13.—The Gas had scarcely attempted to make a hit, when Neat’s left floored him like a shot. (The shouting from the Lansdown and the St. James’s Churchyard natives was like a roar of artillery. Ten to one; but all shy, and scarcely a taker.)

14.—It was now a horse to a hen, although Hickman seemed determined to contend. He was distressed beyond measure, and his seconds were compelled to lead him to the scratch.^[18] On putting himself in attitude, he was quite upon the see-saw, and to all appearance would only take a touch to send him down. “Give him a little one for me,” said Shelton. “I will,” replied Hickman; “but where is he?” Some exchanges took place, till both went down. (Any odds.)

15.—The intention of Hickman was still for fighting; or, to speak more accurately, it should be called instinct, for as to reflection it seemed quite out of the question. This round was short; and, after a blow or two, the Gas was again hit down. (Loud cries of “Take the brave fellow away, he has no chance; it is cruel to let him remain.”) As Hickman lay on the ground he appeared convulsed.

16.—Shelton and Spring, when time was called, brought the Gas to the scratch. He stared wildly for a second, when he endeavoured to fight, but was on the totter. His fine action was gone, and he now only stood up to be hit at. (“Take him away,” from all parts of the ring, in which Mr. Gully loudly joined.)

17.—The game of the Gas was so out-and-out good that he preferred death to defeat. He again toddled to the scratch, but it was only to receive additional and unnecessary punishment. He was floored sans cérémonie. (“Take him away,” was again the cry; but he would not quit the field. “He must not come again,” was the general expression of the spectators.)

18 and last.—On the Gas appearing at the mark, instead of putting up his arms to fight; he endeavoured to button the flap of his drawers in a confused state. Neat scorned to take advantage of his defenceless situation, and with the utmost coolness waited for him to commence the round. The Gas, as a last effort, endeavoured to show fight, but was pushed down, which put an end to the battle by his proving insensible to the call of time. The contest occupied twenty-three and a half minutes. Neat jumped and threw up his arms as a token of victory, amidst the proud and loud shouts which pronounced him conqueror. He went and shook the hand of his brave fallen opponent before he left the ring. A medical man bled Hickman on the spot without delay, and every humane attention was paid to him by his backer and his seconds. He remained for a short time in the ring in a state of stupor, was carried to a carriage, and conveyed to the Castle Inn, Speen Hill, near Newbury, and immediately put to bed.

Remarks.—To sum up the behaviour of the fallen hero in the fight, it is only common justice to say of the Gas, that he cut up, without disparagement, gamer than any man we ever before witnessed. His greatest enemy must join in this remark; indeed, if his countenance was anything like an index of his mind, the courage of Hickman was so high that he appeared to feel ashamed, and to quarrel with nature for deserting him. It is true that he was floored, but it is equally true the Gas was not extinct. “Give him,” said an old sporting man, “but a chance with anything near his weight, and the odds will be in his favour; he will again burst forth with redoubled splendour.” It cannot be denied that Hickman made himself numerous enemies by his chaffing. Out of the ring he was viewed as a great talker, often asserting more than he could perform; but in his battle with Neat he decidedly proved himself no boaster; and in the eyes of the sporting world, although suffering defeat, he raised his character higher than ever it stood before as a pugilist. His fault was, he thought himself unconquerable, and laughed at the idea of weight, length, and strength being opposed to him. If any apology can be offered for Hickman, it is that he did not stand alone in this view of his capabilities, for he was flattered by the majority of the fancy to the very echo, who backed him, on the match being made, nearly two to one.

A parallel might be instituted between Hickman and the lion-hearted Hooper; high patronage, without discretion, ruined the former, and however good nobs for milling boxers may possess, it is too commonly seen they do not wear heads to bear sudden elevation. As a friendly hint to all pugilists we trust this lesson will prove useful to them, and if they will endeavour to avoid “putting an enemy into their mouths to steal away their brains,” all will go right. The fists of pugilists are only to be exercised in the prize ring; the tongues of boxers were never intended to excite terror in the unoffending visitor. Hickman, however, wanted discretion and self-control: he had no reason to be ashamed of this defeat, for it was one of the most manly fights ever witnessed. No closing, no pulling and hauling each other at the ropes, but fair stand-up milling from beginning to end. No pugilist strained every point further to win a battle than the Gas did, and although thousands of pounds were lost on him, his backers had no right to complain.

The behaviour of the subject of this memoir was the admiration of all present: it was unassuming and manly in the extreme. In a word, Neat proved a good fighter, and was thought, before he met with Spring, to be superior to any boxer on the list. He retired from the ring without any prominent marks; nevertheless, he received many heavy blows.

Bristol, in the person of Neat, now claimed the championship. Although its hero bore his blushing honours with becoming modesty, and publicly asserted, at the Castle Tavern, Holborn, on the Thursday after the fight, that he took no merit to himself in having defeated Hickman. “The Gas-light Man,” said Neat, “was over-weighted; but I think he can beat all the twelve stone men on the list. He is, I am convinced, one of the gamest men in the kingdom; and, although I have been a great deal chaffed about as a nobody, I will fight any man in London to-morrow morning for £100 a-side of my own money.”

The result of this mill was a pretty “cleaning out” of the Londoners, who returned to town with “pockets to let.” Nevertheless, there was little grumbling, all uniting in the opinion that Hickman was entitled to praise, doing all that he could to win. The news arrived in London by pigeon about half past three o’clock in the afternoon. It is impossible to describe the anxiety of the great crowds of persons which surrounded all the sporting houses in the metropolis to learn the event. In Bristol it was the same, and the editor of the Gazette of that place thus describes it:—“Such was the intense feeling excited in this city, that the streets were crowded as if an election contest was at its height, all inquiring the result, which was known here about seven o’clock.” The following sentences were exhibited by a boy on a board in the road:—

“Bristol illuminated,

London in darkness,

The Gas extinguished by a ‘Neat hand.’”

The Bristol hero arrived at Belcher’s, the Castle Tavern, Holborn, on Wednesday evening, and made his bow to the Daffy Club. He was received with loud cheers.

The turn of that “tide” which Shakespeare has declared to exist in the “affairs of man” now occurred in the milling career of the “Pride of Bristol,” as he was at this time termed. This was the great match with Tom Spring for the championship, of which full details will be found in pp. 16–22, vol. ii., ante. The battle was for £200 a-side, and took place near Andover, May 20, 1823. Spring’s weight was stated at thirteen stone two pounds, Neat’s at thirteen stone seven pounds, Spring being about four years older than his antagonist. The length to which the report of the battle extends in the pages above referred to, precludes the necessity of farther dwelling on its features here, than by relating a few anecdotes connected therewith.

There is a class of men who always couple defeat with disgrace, and insinuate or assert dishonesty whenever events do not fall in with their hopes, their prophesies, or their wishes. The editor of the Bristol Gazette made the following remarks on the occasion:—“Round the 9th.—Here—publish it not in Gath, tell it not among the Philistines—when time was called, Neat walked up and, instead of clenched fist, stretched out his hand to Spring; it was all U P. The Londoners shouted, the Bristolians looked glum; not the recollection of former victories by all the Pearces and Cribbs, and Gullys and Belchers, could for a moment revive them: every man stared at his neighbour with inquiring eye—‘What does it all mean?’ At last a report ran that Neat had broken his arm in a fall. ‘Pshaw! all my eye!’ Mr. Jackson, the Commander-in-Chief, went round with a hat for a collection for the loser—he confirmed the report of the broken arm. Whether this was a fact or not remains to be proved; this, however, was evident, that Neat neither fought with his accustomed courage nor skill. The battle had lasted but thirty-seven minutes: neither of the men were otherwise hurt. Neat never attempted once to get in to his man; when Spring was at the ropes, he did not follow him as he might have done; he was all on the shy, and fell once with the shadow of a blow. Spring relied chiefly, there is no doubt, upon his superior wrestling, and was always eager for the hug; but Neat either had not quickness to keep him off or wanted courage to strike. The sparring of Spring was much admired; but if Neat had had recourse to the smashing which he practised on Hickman, Spring’s science might have been puzzled. It is supposed that more money was lost by the Bristol boys than at any fight on record. The Londoners went chaffing home in fine style, whilst the return of the Bristol cavalcade was like that of a long country funeral.”

Mr. Jackson collected for the losing man, on the ground, £47 19s. The night previous to the battle, Spring, in company with his backer, walked from Andover to take a view of the ground on which the battle was to take place, when Spring observed, “It was so beautiful a spot that no man could grumble to be well licked upon it.”

The newspaper report respecting Mr. Sant, the backer of Spring, having won £7,000 on the event is erroneous; also that Mr. Gully had realised £10,000. Mr. G. did not win more than £100. It is true that Mr. James Bland picked up a tidy stake; but it was false that Belcher lost a large sum of money upon the battle: Tom was too good a judge to risk too much of his blunt. So much for correct newspaper information.

Painter left his house at Norwich on purpose to perform the office of second to Spring, it being a particular request of the latter boxer. The wags of the fancy, at the conclusion of the battle, proposed that the town of Andover in future should have the letter H neat-ly added to it—to stand thus, Hand-over, in allusion to the great transfer of specie on this occasion.

It was stated in the newspapers that a fine old lady of the Society of Friends, with a couple of her daughters, came in their carriage to the Angel at Marlborough, during the time Neat was training. The two daughters remained in the carriage at the door, while the old lady made her way into the Angel. She ascended the stairs, and found Belcher in a room, sitting by himself, Neat having retired to change his clothes. Tom thought the lady had mistaken the apartment, till she addressed him. “Thy name is Belcher, is it not, friend?” “Yes, madam,” was the reply. Tom was in hopes to get rid of the lady before Neat returned; but she waited till the Bristol hero made his appearance. “I understand, friend Neat, thou art about fighting a prize battle. Dost thou not know it is very sinful? Be advised, friend, and give it up.” Neat urged that he was bound in honour, and that if he gave it up he should not only be a heavy loser of money, but stand disgraced for betraying his friends. “If it be the lucre of gain, friend Neat, I will recompense thee,” thereon, the report went on to say, that the lady offered money to the pugilist. Other journals coupled the name of the worthy and excellent Mrs. Fry with the affair, which called forth the following epistle from her husband:—