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THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Spring never looked so big, nor so well, in any of his previous contests; he appeared perfectly at his ease: coolness sat upon his brow, and his deportment altogether was a fine personification of confidence; indeed, it was observed by a noble lord, “There is something about the person of the Champion, if not truly noble, yet manly and elegant.” Langan also looked well; his face exhibited a tinge of the sun, and his frame was robust and hardy; his loins appeared smaller than in his former contest. His countenance was as pleasant as his opponent’s, and his eyes sparkled with fire and animation. Previous to setting-to, Langan went up to Spring, opening his drawers, and observed, “See, Tom, I have no belt about me,” the Champion immediately followed his example, and said (also opening his drawers), “Nor I neither, Jack!” This circumstance elicited great applause from all parts of the ring. “Well done, Langan; bravo, Spring!” Spring now shook his brave opponent by the hand. Cribb laid hold of Tom Belcher’s fist, and Ned Painter shook the bunch of fives of big Paddy O’Neil (shortly afterwards beaten by “my nevvy,” Jem Burn.^[5]) The men placed themselves in attitude. The glorious moment had arrived, and the seconds, in compliance with the articles, retired to the corners of the stage. This time Langan stood up within the reach of his adversary, and it was pleasing to witness the activity displayed by the combatants moving over the stage to obtain the first hit. A stand still, steadfastly looking at the eyes of each other; at length Langan made an offer, which Spring stopped well. The Champion made a hit, which told slightly on Langan’s nob; the latter fought his way into a close, in which Spring endeavoured to fib his antagonist. Here the struggle began for the throw—it was desperate; the art of wrestling was not resorted to by either of the boxers, and main strength was the trial. Langan broke from the arms of Spring, and a stand still was the result. Langan observed, “First blood, Tom;” which slightly appeared at the corner of Spring’s mouth. The Irish Champion made a good stop, but was blowing a little. Spring planted another facer, when Langan fought his way into a close: a desperate struggle ensued: fibbing was again attempted, when Langan went down on his knees. Spring patted the Irish Champion on the back with the utmost good humour, as much as to say, “You are a brave fellow,” (A thundering report of approbation, and “Well done, Spring!”) Four minutes and a few seconds. The referee, on being asked who drew the first blood, replied, “He did not see any on Spring; but he saw a little on the left cheek of Langan, just under his eye.”

2.—Langan made play; but Spring, with the nimbleness of a harlequin showed the utility of a quick step. The Irish Champion made a rush, when they were again entangled for a short time, until Langan broke away. A pause: breath wanted: and consideration necessary. Langan gave Spring a facer with his right hand, and tried to repeat the dose; another quick movement prevented it, Spring smiling. A little bit of in-fighting: a desperate struggle for the throw: downright strength, when Spring went down, Langan falling heavily upon him. (“Bravo, Langan!”)

3.—The attitudes of the combatants were interesting, and both extremely cautious. Spring got away from one intended for his nob. The science displayed on both sides was so excellent in stopping, that in the ecstasy of the moment the Commander-in-Chief^[6] loudly exclaimed, “Beautiful.” Another skilful stop by Spring; and one by Langan, “Well done: good on both sides,” observed Mr. Jackson. Langan planted a hit. A pause. (“Fight, Langan,” from Belcher, “you have all the best of it.”) Spring drove Langan to the corner, but the hero of the black fogle got out of danger in style. He made also an excellent stop while on the retreat: Langan made himself up to do mischief, and Spring received loud applause for stopping a tremendous hit. The Champion also bobbed his nob aside, in the Dutch Sam style, from what might have been a floorer. The Champion again broke ground, and bobbed cleverly away from the coming blow. Spring now took the lead famously. He planted a facer without any return; repeated the dose, and administered a third pill. Langan again got out of the corner, by fighting up like a trump. A short stand still. Heavy counter hits. A pause: Spring made another facer; a stand still. The Champion stopped well, and also drove Langan into the corner, but the hero of the black wipe would not be detained; he fought his way out manfully, and, in closing, though the struggle was terrible, Spring obtained the throw. (Loud applause.) This round occupied nearly seven minutes. The left hand of Spring was already going, if not gone.

4.—The “good bit of stuff from ould Ireland” endeavoured to take the lead, and had the best of this round; he fought first. He planted one or two hits, and not light ones either, and would have kept it up, but Spring said “it wouldn’t do,” and stopped him. In fact, this was a well-contested round on both sides; and Langan, after a terrible try for it, got Spring down. (Applause.)

5.—The left ear of Langan was much swelled; he was also piping. The superior science of String enabled him to get away from a number of heavy blows. Langan followed his opponent, trying to do something. Two counter-hits, which reminded both the men they were milling; the claret ran from Spring’s nose. Spring planted a facer; and after a determined struggle on both sides, as Langan was going down, the Champion cleverly caught him a hard blow on the nose. (“That’s the way, Spring; you’ll soon win it.”)

6.—A stand-still for a short time—Spring always taking his time to do his work. Counter-hits that were a little too much for the combatants. Langan began to shift: indeed, Spring had drawn his claret liberally. Both down, Spring uppermost.

7.—This was a bustling round. Langan stopped well. Counter-hits, and good ones. The stopping on both sides was excellent, and obtained loud applause, “Be ready, my boy,” said Belcher, “fight first; he can’t hurt you!”—“Walker,” replied Tom Cribb; “gammon him to that if you can.” Langan followed the advice of his able second, put a tremendous hit under Spring’s left ogle, and tried to repeat it, but it was “no go.” A pause. Spring planted a facer; Langan got away from another intended for him. The left hand of Spring told well on his opponent’s body: he also planted three facers without any return. Counter-hits, of no consequence to any but the receivers; the hero of the black fogle touched Spring’s body with his left hand. A stand still. “Keep up your head, Langan.” Spring followed his opponent, administering pepper, and Langan’s face clareted. Langan endeavoured to put in a heavy blow, but the harlequin step of Spring prevented it. Langan napped two or three hits in succession; in fact, he was quite groggy; nevertheless he fought like a man, was mischievous, and gave Spring a nobber. In closing, Spring could not throw him, when they separated; in closing again, after another struggle, Langan received a topper as he was staggering and going down.—(Great applause. It won’t last long—five to two, and three to one, Spring will win it in a few rounds the backers of the Champion were smiling, and said, “It is all right.”)

8.—Belcher got his man up very heavily, but on his being placed at the scratch, he showed fight and got away from a hit. However, Spring had decidedly the best of the round, and Langan was thrown. Twenty-six minutes.

9.—This was also a short round, but against the Irish Champion. Spring planted two or three nobbers, and also got his opponent down.

10.—It was evident to every one that Langan up to this time had had the worst of it, and the general opinion was, that he must lose the battle. Spring planted two successive blows, without any return. Langan was getting better, and made an exchange of blows with some effect. Belcher again cried out, “Fight, Jack.” In struggling for the throw, Paddy O’Neil sung out, “Give him a back fall, Jack, but don’t hurt him;” and, sure enough, Mr. Spring did receive a back fall.

11.—Langan was now fast recovering his second wind and went to work. An exchange of blows; a pause. Langan planted a slight body hit with his left hand. Counter-hits. Langan down, Spring on him.

12.—In the struggle for the throw, Spring was undermost. (“Bravo, Langan!”) The head of the Champion had an ugly knock against the lower rail of the stage.

13.—Spring proved himself a most difficult boxer to get at; however, Langan got in a body blow. In closing, both down, Spring uppermost.

14.—Spring getting weak, Langan improving: so said the most experienced judge of boxing belonging to the P. C. Indeed, it is accounted for without difficulty; as a superior fighter Spring ought not to have wrestled so much with his opponent. The strongest man in the world must have felt weakness had he been engaged in such violent pulling, hauling, grappling, and catching hold of each other’s hands. This round was little more than a struggle for the throw; Langan undermost.

15.—It was now known to all the ring that the left hand of Spring was gone; indeed; it was swelled and puffed like a blister. Langan planted a left-handed blow, but Spring stopped his right. In closing, the struggle was great, and, as Langan was going down, Spring hit his nob. (“Foul, foul!” It was unintentional on the part of Spring; he was in the act of hitting, and therefore, it could not be decided wrong.)^[7]

16.—Under all circumstances, Langan was a troublesome customer. The remarks made by some persons were, that he did not fight well, though they were compelled to allow that he was an extraordinary game man. The counter-hits in this round were again well placed; but it was regretted, by several sporting men, to see such numerous struggles. Yet, to their credit be it spoken, neither of the men wished to go down unhandsomely, which accounts for so much wrestling. Both went down together; Langan patted the back of Spring with the utmost good humour, both smiling.

17.—The fine science of Spring was again exhibited in skilfully stopping his opponent; but, in closing, he received a dangerous cross-buttock, which shook him terribly, and his legs rebounded from the ground. (A cheering burst of applause for Langan.)

18.—The manner with which Langan had got round did not look very promising for the backers of Spring. The Irish Champion went resolutely in, and planted two hits. In closing, Spring tried the fibbing system, when Langan broke away. Both combatants in turn retreated from the blows of each other. Both down.

19.—The Champion showed weakness: it would have been singular if he had not. He bobbed his head aside from a tremendous right-handed blow of Langan’s, which might have settled the account in favour of the hero of the black fogle; however, he closed the round by throwing Langan cleverly.

20.—Spring stopped several blows, and the Irish Champion was thrown violently on his head; Spring also fell heavily on him. Forty-five minutes had elapsed. (“That fall is a settler: he can’t fight above another round or two.”)

21.—Spring nobbed his opponent. A severe struggle took place at the corner of the stage, and some fears were expressed that the men might fall through the rails upon the ground. Langan received another heavy fall.

22.—Langan, according to the advice of Belcher, fought first, but his efforts were stopped, and he again went down, Spring uppermost. During the time the Champion was sitting on the knee of his second, he nodded, and gave a smile to his friends, intimating “It was all right.”

23.—This was a short round, and Spring fibbed Langan down severely, to all appearance, yet, on being picked up and placed on his second’s knee, when asked to have some brandy and water by Belcher, who told Harmer, who was below the stage, to hand it up, Langan said, “Stop a bit, Harry; only keep it cool.” The president of the Daffy Club, who was standing close by at the time, observed, “What a strange fellow!”

24.—After three heavy falls in succession, and severe fibbing, Langan came to the scratch as if nothing serious had happened; he contrived to put in a body blow, but was thrown.

25.—Spring, although he had got the lead by his superior science and length, was determined not to give a chance away, and was as cautious as when he first commenced the battle. He retreated from Langan’s blows, planted some returns with success, and ultimately Langan was down.

26.—Langan made play, but Spring was too wary. Both down, Spring uppermost.

27.—The Champion was evidently distressed, and his right hand also getting bad. Some exchanges took place; but, in a trifling struggle at the corner of the stage, it appeared to Spring’s umpire that Langan went down without a blow, when he observed to Belcher, “Tell your man not to go down without a blow, or I shall notice it.” “I assure you, gentlemen,” replied Tom, “blows had passed in the round, and it could not be termed going down without a blow, according to the rules of fighting.” Blows certainly had passed between the combatants.

28.—Langan walked up to the umpire, and said, “Sir, I did not go down.” Time had been called, when Cribb sung out, “Why don’t you come to the scratch? what manœuvres are you about, Mr. Belcher?” “I want nothing but fair play,” replied Tom; “lick us fairly, and I shall be satisfied.” Langan again made play, but was thrown.

29.—Spring planted a heavy facer. (“That’s a little one for us, I believe,” said Cribb; “our hands are gone, are they?” Laughter.) Langan was thrown heavily.

30.—It was quite clear that Langan could not get the lead, yet he was not to be viewed with indifference; he was still dangerous, as a throw might win the battle. Both down, Spring undermost.

31.—This round, more particularly at this stage of the fight, exalted the character of Langan as one of the gamest of men. Langan planted a body blow, but napped three facers in succession. A pause. Langan received a heavy body blow, seemed exhausted, and fell on his latter end.

32.—This round it was thought would have proved the quietus of Langan. He was thrown heavily, and his head touched the lower rail. (“That’s a finisher!” “He’ll not come again,” were the remarks of the spectators.)

33.—Spring’s conduct towards Langan was generous and manly, and deservedly applauded. Langan rushed in and made a blow at his opponent, which Spring parried, then, laying hold of Langan, let him down without punishment.

34.—Langan’s determination not only astonished the amateurs, but a little alarmed the backers of Spring. Without an accident it was booked almost to a certainty that Spring must win; still an accident might happen. Langan could not persuade himself that anything alive could master him. His backers were aware of his opinion, and therefore would not oppose his resolution. The Irish Champion had again the worst of it, and went down very much distressed. One hour and seven minutes had elapsed, therefore all the bets that Spring proved the conqueror in an hour were lost.

35.—This was a milling round. Langan would not go away, although hit staggering: he went down as if he would not have been able to come again. (Four to one on Spring.)

36.—This was ditto, with repeated, if not increased, punishment; yet Langan returned, and Spring, with a caution that all his backers must give him credit for, got away when anything like a heavy blow was levelled at him. Langan fell exhausted. (“Take the brave fellow away. Where are his backers?” “Very good, indeed,” replied Belcher; “you are not hurt yet, Jack; and Spring’s hands are too far gone to hurt you now.” “I will not give in,” said Langan; “I shall win it.”)

37.—Langan fought this round better than any of the spectators could anticipate. He planted a couple of hits; it is true they were not effective, but it showed the fight was not out of him. The Irish Champion fought under the black flag, “death or victory,” and went down, out-fought at all points.

38.—Belcher brought his man to the scratch, nay, almost carried him,^[8] when, singular to relate, gamecock like, all his energies appeared to return, and he commenced milling like a hero. Spring planted four blows without any return, and Langan went down.

39.—Langan was again down.

40.—The hero of the black fogle showed fight till he went down quite exhausted.

41.—A short round, but it was surprising to witness the strength exhibited by Langan in the struggle for the throw. Both down, when Spring patted him on the back.

42.—Langan was undermost in this round, but Spring really had his work to do to place his opponent in that situation.

43.—Langan again undermost, and Spring fell heavily upon him.

44.—Spring planted a facer, but met with a return. In struggling for the throw, Langan took hold of the drawers of Spring, when Cribb and Painter called out “Let go his drawers.” Langan immediately relinquished his hold. The Irish Champion was thrown.

45.—Langan hit Spring on the side of his head, and fought well in an exchange of blows. Spring, however, obtained the throw.

46.—It was astonishing, after getting the worst of it in the previous rounds, to witness the resolute manner in which Langan contested this round. He was still dangerous in the exchanges, and, in struggling, both fell upon the stage. Langan undermost.

47.—Langan, on being placed at the scratch, was ready for the attack. In a short time, after struggling, both went down. (The John Bull fighter roared out—“I’m sorry for you, Tom Belcher; you will certainly be ‘lagged’ if you don’t take your man away.” “Well done, Josh,” replied Belcher, “that comes well from you; but we shall win it; Spring can’t hurt a mouse now.”) Langan took a little brandy and water.

48.—Spring exhibited weakness, but threw Langan.

49.—Langan still made a fight of it, to the surprise of all. In an exchange of blows, however exhausted the brave boy from Paddy’s land appeared to be, Spring used his harlequin step to prevent accidents. In struggling for the throw, both down.

50.—Langan again showed himself ready at the scratch. “My dear boy,” said Belcher, “it’s all your own if you will but fight first.” Langan put in a body blow, and also countered with his opponent, but had the worst of it, and went down.

51.—Seeing is believing; but to the reader who has perused the whole of the above rounds, it must almost appear like romance to state, that Langan held Spring for a short time against the rails to get the throw, till they both went down, and Spring fell on him.

52.—Spring stopped a blow, and also got away from another; ultimately Langan was hit down.

53.—Langan went to work and hit Spring on the nose; but the Champion returned the favour, with interest, by nobbing his brave adversary down. (“Is there anything the matter with that hand, I should like to know? Lord! how Spring did hit him in the middle of the head!” exclaimed Cribb.)

54.—“’Pon my soul, it’s no lie!” Langan threw Spring cleverly. Great applause followed this momentary turn. (“He’s an extraordinary fellow,” said Mr. Jackson; “he is really a very good man.”)

55.—Spring again had all the best of this round; but Langan kept fighting till he went down.

56.—This round, it was thought, had settled the business. Langan exchanged several blows, but, in closing, Spring hit up terrifically on the face of his opponent, who went down like a log of wood.

57.—Langan commenced milling, and planted a blow on the side of Spring’s head! “Do that again,” said Belcher. Langan endeavoured to follow the directions of his master, but the Champion got away. Spring now hit him staggering, repeated the dose, and Langan went down.

58.—This was a good round, considering the protracted period of the battle. Langan returned some blows till he went down.—(“Take him away,”—“he has no chance.”)

59.—Langan appeared so exhausted that every round was expected to be the last. He went down from a slight hit, little more than a push.

60.—“Wonders will never cease!” said a cove who had lost a trifle that Langan was licked in forty minutes—“why he has got Spring down again; it’s not so safe to the Champion as his friends may think.”

61.—Langan was now as groggy as a sailor three sheets in the wind, and a slight blow sent him down. “I never saw such a fellow,” said Jack Randall; “he’ll fight for a week! He don’t know when to leave off.”

62.—The distress exhibited by Langan was so great that every time he went down it was thought he could not again toe the scratch. If the spectators did not think Langan dangerous, Spring got away from all his hits, to prevent anything being the matter. Langan was once more sent down.

63.—Langan, still determined to have a shy for the £500, made a hit at Spring, but was shoved, rather than hit, down.

64.—For the last fifteen minutes it was next to an impossibility Spring could lose, yet, contrary to all calculations on the subject, Langan still contested the fight. The hands of Spring were in such an inefficient, not to say painful, state, that he could not hit. Here was the danger, as it was possible that he might be worn out, but his caution and generalship did everything for him. Langan was so distressed that a slight touch on his arm sent him down. A good blow must have put an end to the fight, but Spring could not hit effectively.

65.—Langan, when at the scratch, not only showed fight, but hit Spring on the head; the latter, however, had the best of the round, though Langan got the throw, Spring undermost. (“Where’s the brandy?” said Belcher. “Here it is,” replied Tom Cribb; “a brave fellow shall not want for anything in my possession.” “Bravo!” cried Belcher; “that’s friendly, and I won’t forget it.”)

66.—The chance was decidedly against the Irish Champion; nevertheless, he attempted to be troublesome to his opponent. Spring put in a nobber, and also threw him.

67.—Exchange of blows. A pause. Langan on the totter, but he planted two slight hits on the Champion’s face. Spring followed him up, and gave Langan two blows, one in the body and one in the head, which dropped the hero of the black fogle.

68.—The bravery of Langan was equal to anything ever witnessed in the prize ring. The hands of Spring were in such a swollen state that he could scarcely close them, and most of his blows appeared to be open-handed. Langan was hit down. (“Take him away!” “Do you hear what they say, Jack?” said Belcher. “Yes,” replied Langan: “I will not be taken away; I can win it yet.”)

69.—In struggling for the throw, Langan’s head fell against the rails. Both down.

70.—Langan again napped on the nobbing system, and was sent down. One hour and forty-two minutes had elapsed. (Loud cries of “Take him away!”)

71.—The backers of Spring were anxious to have it over; and the spectators in general cried out, on the score of humanity, that Langan ought not to be suffered to fight any more. Colonel O’Neil, the friend and backer of the Irish Champion, assured the umpire that he did not want for humanity; and he was well satisfied in his own mind that, from the tumefied state of Spring’s hands, no danger could arise. Langan was fighting for £200 of his own money, therefore he had no right to interfere; he had, previous to the fight, left it in the hands of his skilful second, Belcher, who, he was certain, would not suffer the fight to last longer than was safe to all parties. Langan, after a short round, was sent down.

72.—Langan was brought to the scratch by Belcher, who said, “Fight, my dear boy; Spring can’t hurt you.” Langan, with undaunted resolution, plunged in to hit his opponent; but, after receiving more punishment, was sent down. (Repeated cries of “Take him away!”)

73.—It was now evident to all persons that Langan, while he retained the slightest knowledge of what he was about, would not give in. Spring fibbed Langan as severely as he was able, to put an end to the fight, till he went down. (Here Jack Randall came close to the stage, and said, “Tom Belcher, take him away; he cannot win it now.” “He says he will not, Jack, and that he can fight longer,” replied Tom Belcher.)

74.—This round was a fine picture of resolution under the most distressing circumstances. Langan, without the slightest shadow of a chance, seemed angry that his limbs would not do their duty; he came again to the scratch, and, with true courage, fought till he was sent down. While sitting on the knee of his second, Cribb thus addressed him: “You are a brave man, Langan!” “A better was never seen in the prize ring,” rejoined Painter; “but you can’t win, Langan; it is no use for you to fight, and it may prove dangerous.” “I will fight,” said Langan; “no one shall take me away.”

75.—When time was called, Langan was brought to the scratch, and placed himself in attitude. He attempted to hit, when Spring caught hold of him and again fibbed him. (“Give no chance away now,” said Cribb; “you must finish the battle.”) Langan went down quite stupid. (“Take him away!” from all parts of the ring.)

76 and last.—Strange to relate, Langan again showed at the scratch; it might be asserted that he fought from instinct. It did not require much punishment, at this period, to send the brave Langan off his legs; and, to the credit of Spring be it recorded, he did his duty towards his backers as a fighting man, and acted so humanely towards an opponent, that, to the end of life, Langan had the highest respect for him as a man. Langan put up his arms in attitude, but they were soon rendered useless, Spring driving him down without giving punishment. When time was called, Langan was insensible to the call, and thus, after a contest of one hour and forty-nine minutes, the hat was thrown up, and Spring was declared the conqueror, amidst the loudest shouts of approbation. Mr. Jackson and Mr. Sant immediately ascended the stage. Mr. Sant congratulated Spring on his victory, but concluded, “If you ever fight again, I will never speak to you any more, Tom; I never saw such bad hands in any battle.” Spring replied, “Sir, I never will.” He then left the knee of his second, and went up to Langan, and laid hold of his hand. The Irish Champion had not yet recovered, but on opening his eyes, he asked in a faint tone, “Is the battle over?” “Yes,” replied Belcher. “Oh dear!” articulated Langan. Spring immediately shook his hand again, and said, “Jack, you and I must be friends to the end of our lives; and anything that is within my power, I will do to serve you. When I see you in town I will give you £10.”

Remarks.—This contest was one of the fairest battles ever witnessed. The principals had twenty-four square feet for their exertions, without the slightest interruption throughout the mill. The seconds and bottle-holders did their duty like men; they remained as fixtures during the whole of the fight, except when the rounds were at an end, and their assistance became necessary.^[9] The umpires were gentlemen—an Englishman for Spring, and an Irishman for Langan—and they both did their duty. They watched every movement of the men, that nothing like foul play should be attempted on either side, and had the satisfaction of feeling there was no difference of opinion between them in any instance whatever, and therefore no necessity to call on the referee. Langan was beaten against his will; and the conduct of Belcher deserves the highest praise as a second: he stuck to his man; and we must here observe that his humanity ought not to be called in question. He was anxious that no reports should reach Ireland, or be scattered over England, that he had given in for his man. Langan, previous to the battle, requested, nay, insisted, that neither his bottle-holder nor second should take upon themselves that decision, which, he declared, only rested in his own bosom. They complied with it. After thirty minutes had elapsed, it appeared to be the general opinion of the ring, by the advantages Spring had gained, that the battle would be decided in forty minutes; but at that period Langan recovered, and Spring became weaker, and the best judges declared they did not know what to make of it. The strength of Langan, certainly for several rounds, did not make it decidedly safe for Spring. The superior science of Spring won him the battle; and this confirmed a celebrated tactician in the memorable observation that he “always viewed Tom as an artificial fighter—he meant that he had no ‘natural’ hits belonging to him; and hence always placed him in the highest place on the boxing list.” So Tom Spring overcame the defects of nature, and, without what are vulgarly called great “natural” capabilities for fighting, has become the Champion of England. He is the greatest master of the art of self-defence, and, if he could not hit hard himself, almost prevented others from hitting him at all. His stopping in this battle was admirable, and he continually got out of danger by the goodness of his legs. Always cool and collected, he proved himself one of the safest men in the P.R. to back, because he could not be gammoned out of his own mode of milling. Before the company quitted the ground £50 were collected for Langan, which was afterwards increased three-fold. Spring was much bruised by his falls on the stage, and complained of them as his principal inconvenience. He now announced, a second time, his retirement from the ring.

Spring beat all the men he ever fought with in the prize ring; and in the whole of his contests lost but one battle. It is a curious coincidence, that on Whit-Tuesday, 1823, he defeated the formidable Neat, near Andover, and on Whit-Tuesday, 1824, he overcame the brave Langan. Spring, therefore, won three great battles in one twelvemonth, and one thousand pounds into the bargain; for instance—

With Neat	£200
With Langan	300
Ditto	500
	£1,000

On Spring’s return to the Swan Hotel, Chichester, he was received by the shouts of the populace all along the road; the ladies waving their handkerchiefs at the windows as he passed along. Langan, so soon as he had recovered a little from the effects of the battle, left the stage amidst loudly expressed approbation: “You are an extraordinary fellow, Langan,” “A brave man,” etc. The Irish Champion, accompanied by Belcher and his backer, also received great applause on his return to the Dolphin, in Chichester. Spring was immediately put to bed, and bled, and a warm bath prepared for him. His hands were in a bad state, and his face exhibited more punishment than appeared upon the stage, yet he was cheerful, and quite collected. The same kind attention was paid to Langan; and on being asked how he felt himself? he replied, “Very well; I have lost the battle, but it owing to my want of condition; I am not quite twelve stone; I have been harassed all over the country; I have travelled two hundred and sixty miles within the last two days; I was feverish, and on the road instead of my bed on Saturday night; I wanted rest.” After making his man comfortable, Belcher, accompanied by his bottle-holder, and also Colonel O’Neil, in the true spirit of chivalry, all rivalry now being at an end, paid a visit to the bedside of Spring. Here all was friendly, as it should be, and all parties were only anxious for the recovery of both the pugilists. “How is Langan?” said Spring to Belcher. “He is doing well,” replied Tom. “I am glad of it,” said Spring. “We have had a fair fight, we have been licked, and I am satisfied,” observed Belcher. All parties shook hands over the bed of the conqueror. On leaving Spring, Mr. Sant, followed by Tom Cribb and Ned Painter, immediately returned with Colonel O’Neil to the bedside of Langan. Mr. Sant observed, “Well Langan, how do you do—do you know me? You can’t see me.” “Yes, sir,” replied the fallen hero. “I am Spring’s backer,” said Mr. Sant, “but, nevertheless, your friend.” “I am obliged to you, sir,” answered Langan; “if it was not for such gentlemen as you in the sporting world, we should have no fights. Indeed, Spring is a smart, clever fellow, and I wish him well.” “That is liberal,” said Painter; “I am happy to hear one brave man speak well of another.” The visitors now retired, and left Langan to repose.

Spring left his bed early in the evening; and his first visit he paid to Langan, at the Dolphin; they met like brave men, and on taking his departure he shook Langan by the hand, leaving ten pounds in it.

The Champion left Chichester at eight o’clock on Wednesday morning, in an open barouche, accompanied by Mr. Sant. He was cheered out of the town by the populace; and, on his entrance into the metropolis, he was also greeted with loud marks of approbation.

We here close the unstained and untarnished career of Tom Spring, as a pugilist; if we wished to point a moral to his brother professors, a better proof that “honesty is the best policy,” than the esteem which Spring earned and held throughout his long career, could not be desired. This respect has exhibited itself in several public testimonials, to say nothing of innumerable private marks of respect. Spring, who had been keeping a house, the Booth Hall, in the city of Hereford, on the retirement of Tom Belcher became landlord of the Castle, in Holborn; and, as the present seems the most fitting opportunity for a brief sketch of this headquarters of sporting, we shall make no apology for here introducing a brief history of this once noted sporting resort.

The Castle Tavern was first opened as a sporting house about seventy years ago, by the well-known Bob Gregson; and designated, at that period, “Bob’s Chop House.” (See Gregson, ante.)

The Castle Tavern was viewed as a “finger-post” by his countrymen, as the “Lancashire House;” and considered by them a most eligible situation to give their Champion a call on their visits to the metropolis. It is rather singular that Bob Gregson rose, in the estimation of the sporting world, from defeat; he fought only four battles in the P.R., and lost them all. Indeed, Bob’s character as a boxer reminds us of the simile used in the House of Commons, by Charles James Fox, who observed of the fighting Austrian General, Clairfait, who had been engaged in one-and-twenty battles in the cause of his country, that he might be compared to a drum, for he was never heard of but when he was beaten. Just so with Gregson. Nevertheless, the Castle Tavern rose rapidly into note, soon after Bob showed himself the landlord of it.

In mine host’s parlour, or little snuggery, behind the bar—considered a sort of sanctum sanctorum, a house of lords to the fancy, where commoners never attempted to intrude upon the company—Gregson carried on a roaring trade. “Heavy wet,” or anything in the shape of it, except at meal-times, was entirely excluded from this “Repository of Choice Spirits,” where Champagne of the best quality was tossed off like ale, Madeira, Claret, Hock, and other choice wines, handed about, while Port and Sherry were the common drink of the snuggery. It might be invidious, if not improper, to mention the names of the visitors who spent an hour or two, on different occasions, in this little spot, famed for sporting, mirth, harmony, and good fellowship; let it suffice, and with truth, to observe, that persons of some consequence in the state were to be seen in it, independent of officers, noblemen, actors, artists, and other men of ability, connected with the “upper ten thousand.” John Emery, distinguished as a comedian on the boards of Covent Garden, and a man of immense talent in every point of view, spent many of his leisure hours in “the snuggery.” George Kent, the ring reporter, was also eminent here for keeping the game alive. He was of a gay disposition, fond of life in any shape; when perfectly sober one of the most peaceable men in the kingdom, and an excellent companion, but, when he got a little liquor in his noddle, a word and a blow were too often his failings, and which came first doubtful. The late Captain D——, connected with one of the most noble families in the kingdom, and one of the highest fanciers in the sporting world, in consequence of being six feet four inches and a half in height, was likewise a great frequenter of the “Repository of Choice Spirits.” Numerous others might be noted, but these three will be sufficient as a sample of the company to be met with in Bob Gregson’s snuggery—where there was wit at will, the parties sought out each other to please and be pleased, “Dull Care” could never obtain a seat, and fun to be had at all times. Sporting was the general theme, but not to the exclusion of the topics of the day. Heavy matches were made here; and certainly the period alluded to may be marked as the “Corinthian age of the Fancy.”

The sun, for a time, shone brilliantly over this Temple of the Fancy; but poor Bob, like too many of his class, did not make hay while it was in his power. The scene changed, the clouds of misfortune overwhelmed him, and, in 1818, the Lancashire hero was compelled to take a voyage on board his Majesty’s “Fleet,” not only for the recovery of his health, but to obtain a certificate against future attacks of the enemy. Thus ended the reign of Bob Gregson, at the Castle Tavern, Holborn.

For a few months a sort of stoppage occurred at the Castle; the sporting world was missing, and comparative silence reigned throughout the house, when the sprightly, stylish, well-conducted Tom Belcher, in the summer of 1814 (under the auspices of his sincere friend, and almost father, Mr. John Shelton), appeared in the character of landlord. The house had undergone repairs; the rooms were retouched by the painter; elegance and cleanliness, backed by civility, became the order of the day, and a prime stock of liquors and wines was laid in. Tom’s opening dinner was completely successful, and the Fancy immediately rallied round a hero who had nobly contended for victory in thirteen prize battles. Tom was considered the most accomplished boxer and sparrer of the day; and the remembrance, likewise, that he was the brother of the renowned Jem Belcher, were points in themselves of great attraction in the sporting world. The Castle again became one of the most favourite resorts of the Fancy in general.

During the time Tom Belcher was the landlord of the Castle Tavern the famous Daffy Club was started by Mr. James Soares.

During the principal time of Tom’s residence at the Castle, the members of the sporting world were in “high feather.” Patrons “came out” to give it support. No man knew better how to get up a purse, make a match, or back a man, than Tom Belcher. He was always smart, and exemplarily well dressed, whenever he made his appearance in the ring, upon a race-course, or indeed in any situation before the public. Belcher was a keen observer of society: he measured his way through life, and every step he took turned to good account. He had lots of sporting dinners, numerous gay little suppers, and plenty of matches on the board to excite the attention of the fancy. “The Daffy Club” became very popular in the sporting world, and for a long time was crowded to excess; indeed,

“Fortune seem’d buckled to his back!”

Everything went right; Tom stuck to the Castle—he was always to be found at his post; and the Castle in turn fortified him at all points; and although Tom was prompt at times to lay a heavy bet, prudence was generally at his elbow to prevent him from getting out of his depth. Tom was far from a gambler; the hazard table had no charms for him, and he scarcely ever sported a shilling, except upon a horse-race or a fight. His principal style of betting was, to use his own words, “Blow my dicky, I’ll bet a guinea and a goose!” and if he did not like to make a bet, he would observe, “I’ll leave it all to the cook!”

Tom Belcher, after fourteen years’ residence at the Castle Tavern, was enabled, by his civil conduct, attention to business, and good luck, to retire from the busy world. If Tom did not retire in a “shower of gold,” he, nevertheless, put by a good quantity of the “sweeteners of life,” to render his retreat to the country safe and pleasant.

At this juncture Tom Spring, who had not only been losing his time amongst his countrymen at the Booth Hall, in the city of Hereford, but, what was worse, his hard-earned money, was determined, when the opportunity offered, to have another “shy” in London: therefore, after several sets-to had taken place between the “two Toms,” the match was made, the money posted, and Tom Spring appeared in the character of “mine host,” at the Castle Tavern, Holborn.

The subject of this memoir did not enter upon his new capacity without possessing the highest claims to the notice of the patrons of boxing, from his victorious career; and no man, from his general conduct and deportment, was considered by the sporting world so eligible in every point of view to succeed Tom Belcher.

With the close of Spring’s life the glories of the Castle were extinguished; but ere we chronicle this event we will pause to notice the testimonials with which his many admiring friends at various times presented him.

The first was a vase in silver, entitled “The Hereford Cup,” of the weight of fifty ounces. The inscription on this local mark of esteem from the inhabitants of his native place sufficiently explains the motive of its donors. Its presentation and inscription will be found at page 23.

In the following year (1824), after his first battle with Langan, some Manchester sporting men, out of respect to his honour, integrity, and noble maintenance of the English championship against all comers, decided upon their testimonial in the form of a silver vase, of elegant proportions and massive weight. This, called “The Manchester Cup,” also decorated Tom’s buffet on public and festive occasions. It was thus inscribed:—

“This Cup was presented to

THOMAS WINTER SPRING

By a Party of his Friends in Manchester,

Not only for the Upright and Manly Conduct uniformly displayed by him in the Prize Ring,

But also as a Man,

And as a Sincere Token of the Esteem

In which they hold his Private Character.

Manchester, 12th of April, 1824.”

The third and most valuable public testimonial (for Tom had many gifts of snuff-boxes, canes, pencil-cases, etc., from private friends), was known as “The Champion Testimonial,” and consisted of a noble tankard in silver, of the capacity of one gallon, or six bottles of wine, with a lining of 450 sovereigns, the balance of a subscription of over £500 raised by the ex-Champion’s friends. The tankard, which was executed by Messrs. Hunt and Roskell, is a beautiful work of art, ornamented with chased bands of leaves of the British oak and English rose. The cover was surmounted by a bold acorn, the outer edge having, in raised letters, “The Spring Testimonial.” On the shield it bears the inscription:—