Читать книгу Modern Street Ballads - John Ashton - Страница 35

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So we’ll drink success to Bendigo, who showed such gallant play,

For by his skill, he won the mill, and bore the prize away.

On the ninth day of September, eighteen hundred, forty five,

To Witchwood for to see the fight, the sporting coves did drive,

While some did laugh, and some did chaff, and of their man did vaunt,

Some bet their ten on Bendigo, and some on giant

Caunt.

And when the ground was ready, both those champions quickly peeled,

Two braver men on England’s ground did never take the field,

The fancy swore they were top mark,—an honour to the ring,

Two stouter hearts had never met, since Langan and Tom Spring.

Both men shook hands, and the prize belt, it straightway was brought in,

There let it hang says Bendigo, till the best man does win,

That won’t be little Bendigo, then Caunt he did reply,

For I’ll belt your hide till you’re satisfied, then at him he did fly.

Is that the way? says Bendigo, here, take it back again,

He made a job of poor Caunt’s nob, and hammered it amain.

This furious work soon drew the cork of Caunt’s poor claret bottle,

While Caunt returned the compliment, made Bendi’s ribs to rattle.

Twenty four rounds these heroes fought, none could tell which was the best,

But Bendigo in the next round, struck Caunt on the left breast.

Which made him stagger round the ring, and fall upon the ground,

Says Bendigo, I’ll have the belt, and the four hundred pound.

But Caunt did boldly come again, and showed some gallant play,

Yet Bendigo would strike a blow, and quickly get away.

Until in round the eighty fourth, he gave some ugly blows,

Which left his mark on the staring part, and fairly spoilt Caunt’s nose.

Eighty eight rounds were fought, when Caunt he could not rise,

And all declared the Bendy cock had fairly won the prize.

The Tipton Slasher now may come, but soon he’ll get to know,

That he was not quite big enough to wollop Bendigo.

This fight scarcely comes within the scope of this work, but I introduce it, because it was supposed to be the last of Prizefighting. Unfortunately, the brutal sport has been revived, but it can never attain the dimensions and importance it enjoyed during the latter part of the reign of George III. and the whole of that of George IV. Gully was page to that monarch and M.P. for Pontefract, and Jackson was a gentleman, after his kind.

Sayers was of Irish extraction, though born at Brighton. Heenan’s parents were also Irish, although America was the place of his birth. The fight between these two took place on April 17, 1860, near Farnborough. They fought thirty-seven rounds in two hours and twenty minutes. Sayers was all but helpless, and Heenan, although full of fight—indeed, he ran amuck of every body at last—was blind, when the police and spectators broke into the ring, and a more disgraceful scene was never witnessed, even at a prize-fight. Many noblemen and Members of Parliament attended this fight; in fact, many of the latter made a subscription in Sayers’ behalf, as also did the Members of Lloyd’s, the Stock Exchange, and the brokers in Mark Lane—clogged, however, with the condition that he should fight no more. Altogether over three thousand pounds were subscribed and invested for the benefit of his children, he receiving the interest for life. He became partner and afterwards proprietor of Howe’s and Cushing’s Circus—at which he lost all the money he had. He drank fearfully, and shortly afterwards died of consumption, aged thirty-nine. His tomb may be seen in Highgate Cemetery.