CHAPTER II.

PETER CRAWLEY, ORIGINALLY KNOWN AS “YOUNG RUMP STEAK”—1818–1827.

The “ponderous Peter,” who in the year ’65, passed quietly, and with the fame of a fair, courageous, and honest man, from the scene of “the battle of life,” made his first public bow to the fancy in a trial set-to with a Mr. Thomas Watson, a skilful amateur and patron of the ring, whose name continually occurs in “match-makings” of that period. This took place at George Head’s sparring saloon, in East Harding Street, Gough Square, on Wednesday, February 11, 1818, Peter being then a florid youth of eighteen, six feet in height, eleven stone ten pounds in weight, and of a courage well tested in several boyish and youthful encounters. Among a collection of disjointed newspaper scraps in the second volume of “Boxiana,” p. 493, is a notice of this set-to, which is there called “a glove combat of two hours and a half.” Pierce Egan adds: “The above set-to was pronounced by the judges upon this occasion one of the best things of the sort ever witnessed.” We learn from another source, “This severe trial proved so satisfactory to his friends, from the science, coolness, and straight hitting displayed by Peter, that he was pronounced to be capable of having a shy in the P.R., and in the enthusiasm of the moment, the sire of Crawley exclaimed, ‘My boy bids fair to be champion of England!’” Before, however, we trace his rise in the ring, we will glance backward to his “birth and parentage.”

Mine host of the Duke’s Head and French Horn first saw the daylight at the house of his father, a butcher, at Newington Green, on the 5th of December, 1799, and was in due time initiated in the art and mystery of “cutting up.” Peter, who was an open-hearted lad, somewhat given to milling when attempted to be imposed upon by “the lads of the cleaver,” was placed by his father with a butcher in Clare Market, he having an idea that a boy learnt his business best away from home. Here the “ruling passion” displayed itself. Having been called upon to act as second in “the Long Fields” to a “boy” belonging to the market, words took place between the seconds as to the fairness of the fight, and one Hurst, a big blacksmith, of Holles Street, at once “pitched into” Peter before he could get his hands up. “A ring” was called, and in no more than three rounds “Young Rump Steak” had so satisfied the blacksmith’s milling appetite that he had no more “stomach for the fray.”

George Colman, a man of superior age and some milling repute, had a short drawn battle with Peter; and the same result followed a mill with a dog-dealer of the name of Bennett. Tom Price, a well-known “kill-bull,” of the same region (Clare Market), had talked much about “serving cut” “the boy Peter,” if he got a chance. He sought an opportunity, and promised him a sound thrashing. “Come along,” said Peter, “I’m quite ready to do it at the _price_; in fact, I’ll do it for nothing.” This contemptuous mode of treating the boxing pretensions of Price so angered him that his coat was off in an instant; and a convenient spot having been found—for in those days “peelers” were not, and day-constables only in the form of street-keepers in the great thoroughfares—a stable-yard saw the two heroes of the market thoroughly peeled, with seconds and the other appliances _selon le règle_. Price showed more impetuosity than skill, but was so steadily met that, at the end of twenty minutes, he declared he would not fight any longer, unless Peter would allow him time to get his wind. To this curious request Crawley agreed, and Price immediately took a walk, as his second termed it, to get a little air; but he never returned to finish the battle, leaving Peter master of the ground.

Crawley changed his place of residence, and Bloomsbury Market became the scene of his exploits. The Bloomsbury boys had quarrelled with the lads of the Coal-yard in Drury Lane, and a strong muster on both sides of the question met in battle array to decide the dispute. The pals of Crawley became panic-struck, bolted, and left Peter in the lurch. Harry Buckstone, the leader of the Coal-yard party, pitched into Peter, and had it not been for a gentleman who was passing at the time in all probability Crawley must have been soundly drubbed by the whole of the squad. The gentleman offered his services as a second to Peter, to see fair play. Crawley set-to hard and fast with Buckstone, punishing him in all directions; the latter took to his heels and bolted, followed by his mob, the spectators laughing and Peter receiving their applause.

The next customer that came in the way of Peter was Tim M’Carthy, in the Long Fields. The late Jack Randall witnessed this battle. The match was regularly made for 5_s._ a-side, and contested with as much spirit as if it had been for £500. In the course of twenty minutes poor Pat was done over.

During a visit to Bermondsey, Peter was abused by a saucy waterman of the name of Tom Tyler, who had flattered himself that, in consequence of a skirmish with Deaf Davis, he could fight a “tiny bit.” He was most egregiously disappointed in standing before Crawley. One punch from Peter, perhaps not altogether unlike the kick of a horse, so alarmed and satisfied Tyler that he would not fight any more. This ludicrous circumstance took place opposite the Green Man, in the Kent Road.

Peter had scarcely passed his seventeenth year, when he had an accidental turn-up with a strong carman, weighing twelve stone and a half, and about twenty-five years of age, belonging to Messrs. Shirley, the distillers. Peter was driving his father’s cart to collect skins, when he was met in Warwick Lane by the carman, who would not give way, although on the wrong side of the road. Crawley remonstrated with the carman on the impropriety of his conduct; but the “knight of the thong” threatened to horsewhip Peter for his impertinence. “Stop a bit,” says Crawley, “two can play at that fun.” Shirleys’ carman was well known in Newgate Market as a troublesome customer; but Peter tackled him without the slightest fear or apprehension of the result. The science of Crawley soon told on the upper works of the carman; and, although a strong fellow, in the course of less than half an hour he was so severely punished by Peter as not to be able to keep his pins. He was carried into the distillery of his master, and, notwithstanding every care was taken of him, some little time elapsed before he resumed his daily occupation. So much for the decisive handy work of Peter.

Crawley accidentally went one evening to the King’s Head, in Cow-heel Alley, Whitecross Street, to treat an acquaintance with something to drink, when he was rudely accosted by some Irishmen, and otherwise roughly treated. Peter begged the Grecians not to interfere with his company, when words arose between them. A row commenced, when Peter and his pal Oliver (not Tom), disposed of several of the hod-men in succession, and ultimately cleared the room of the Patlanders; but not until one of them had made use of the fire-shovel belonging to the landlord to crack Peter’s sconce and let out the claret. The Charleys were brought in to take Peter and his friend to the watch-house; but the landlord behaved like a trump, and planted Crawley in his bar until the watch had left, when Peter departed in safety.

Owing to some trifling dispute between Crawley and an athletic brewer’s servant in Whitecross Street, a turn-up was the result; but in the course of four rounds the big drayman was glad to acknowledge he had received too much.

One Paddy Flanagan, an Irishman, full of pluck, and not less than six feet in height, much heavier than Peter, and having also the advantage of ten years in age, had a turn-up with Crawley. Flanagan purchased a loin of pork at the shop of Peter’s father during the bustle of Saturday evening, and appearing well satisfied with his bargain, went away; but in a short time he returned with the pork, after he had cut off on the sly two of the ribs of the loin, and insisted they had deceived him with short weight. Of course this insinuation produced a row and great confusion in the shop, and Peter, at the request of his father, endeavoured to turn out Flanagan. Paddy showed fight, and for a short time was a strong, troublesome customer on the stones. Peter was thrown flat on his back into the running kennel, and was completely wetted through to the skin, and almost choked by the grasp of his antagonist upon his throat. On rising, however, from this rushing hug, Peter changed the scene. He stopped Paddy Flanagan’s rush and nobbed him, one, two, got the lead and kept it; indeed, he tipped it to Paddy Flanagan so completely, that at the end of half an hour he gave in. But Flanagan had recourse to the strong arm of the law. He appeared before the magistrates at Worship Street police office, complaining of the unmerciful treatment he had experienced at the hands of Crawley; indeed, “his face bespoke a heart full sore!” Armstrong, the officer, was despatched to execute the warrant, but the father of Peter made it right at the expense of £2. The senior Crawley, from the striking abilities displayed by Peter over the powerful Flanagan, formed an opinion that “his boy” would stand a good chance in due time with the best pugilists in the prize ring.

About three weeks after the above row, Peter was standing during the evening at the corner of Redcross Street, when three Patlanders of the same squad rudely assailed him, and nearly pushed him off his balance. Remonstrance was in vain, but Crawley said to them, “Do not attack me altogether; only stand in a line, and I will lick you one after the other.” This speech had not the desired effect—they all pitched into Peter at once; but he soon floored two of them, and the third bolted without waiting for a taste of Crawley’s quality.

We have seen, in the opening paragraph of this biography, how Peter began the year 1818 by a promising bit of gloving, and he was not slow to follow up the impression thus made. A Westminster election in those days of fierce Whig and Tory battles was a sight to see, and the newspapers of the time teem with accounts of the “scrimmages” arising out of the fierce political partizanship of the rival factions. Peter had been sworn in extra-constable at Sir Samuel Romilly’s and Sir Francis Burdett’s election, and in the discharge of his duties was threatened by Ben Sutliffe, also a butcher, and an understanding was come to that their personal differences should be settled when the political contest was over. This grew into a regular match, £20 a-side was deposited, the F. P. C. ropes and stakes engaged, and on Friday, August 7, 1818, after Ned Painter[39] had defeated Tom Spring, Crawley and Ben Sutliffe sported their colours. Sutliffe was the favourite for choice; he weighed about twelve stone ten pounds, and stood full six feet in height. Peter did not exceed eleven stone eight pounds, and was not so tall as his adversary by half an inch. There was no time for training, and the combatants fought off-hand. In the short space of nine minutes and a half, the science of Peter was so excellent, his hitting so decisive, and his generalship so complete, that Sutliffe was defeated without a shadow of a chance, being punished dreadfully.

This victory brought “Young Rump Steak” into high favour with the amateurs, which Peter’s civility, respectful demeanour, straightforwardness, and good temper, strengthened and confirmed. He was now, however, matched against a desperate boxer, no less an antagonist than Tom Hickman, the formidable Gas-light Man, whose exploits will be found recorded in pages 118–137 of this volume. Peter was as yet but nineteen years old, and was declared by the ring-goers to have “more gristle than bone;” and Pierce Egan observes, “Crawley had outgrown his strength,” which was only partially true. It is true, in this battle Peter was not disgraced, although defeated; he fought bravely, and he convinced the tremendous Gas that he (Peter) was a dangerous customer. Crawley afterwards sent a challenge to Hickman, which was declined on the ground of other engagements.

At several benefits at the Fives and Tennis Courts the sparring of Peter with Tom Spring, and all the first-rate boxers on the list, was much admired by the amateurs.

Peter about this time sent the following reply to a challenge inserted in the _Weekly Dispatch_:—

“MR. T. SHELTON,—

“At the time of my addressing a letter to you in the _Dispatch_ of the 20th ult. I was not aware but my bodily health would have admitted of my doing the thing in ‘Neat’ style. At the request of my friends, I was advised to have the opinion of a medical gentleman, whose certificate is below, from which, I have no doubt, the pugilistic world will see no fault arises on my part in not meeting my challenge.

“I am yours, etc., “PETER CRAWLEY.

“_Royal Tennis Court, February 1, 1822._”

“I do hereby certify that Mr. P. Crawley is not in a fit state to enter the ring with any one at present (labouring under a serious body calamity), neither do I think he will be able so to do for five or six months.

“THOMAS HUGHES, _Surgeon_.

“_5, Waterloo Road, February 1, 1822._”

Thus forbidden to take part in a ring contest, owing to an inguinal rupture, Peter went on a sparring tour, and in May, 1822, he set-to with Jack Carter at the Cock-pit at Chester, at the time of the races. During the above exhibition, a chap denominated Bully Southerns, of the above place, offered to take the gloves with Carter. Southerns weighed seventeen stone, and in height he measured six feet two inches; notwithstanding, he was light as to flesh. Southerns, full of confidence, threatened to serve out both the fellows from town, and also reduce the consequence of Carter, who at that period styled himself “The Champion of England.” Carter could not get the best of Southerns, and, after two rounds, he sat down, when the bully boasted that he would mill Peter off-hand. The contest was long and severe between them, occupying fifty minutes; and numerous rounds were truly terrific. The strength of Southerns enabled him to carry on the war; but, after the first three rounds, he was so nobbed by the fine science of Peter, floored frequently, and punished in all directions, as to be laughed at by the whole of the company for his vain boasting. Crawley was not only applauded for his high courage in finishing the bully in such first-rate style, but also well rewarded for his trouble by the amateurs who viewed the contest. Peter was nearly five stone under the weight of his powerful adversary—a fine example of the advantages of science over downright ruffianism.

On Peter’s return to London, Dick Acton,[40] well known in the prize ring, sent forth a challenge to our hero, who returned the following answer:—

“TO RICHARD ACTON.

“SIR,—

“As I understand you have several times expressed a particular wish to meet me in the prize ring, I hereby inform you that I am ready to fight for £50 or £100 a-side, which may be most convenient to you and your friends; and in order to give every accommodation you can reasonably require, meet me at Mr. How’s, Duke’s Tavern, Seven Dials, on Wednesday evening, the 26th inst., between the hours of seven and ten o’clock, when my friends will be ready to make a deposit, or before that time if you like it best.

“I remain your humble servant, “PETER CRAWLEY.

“_March 13, 1823._”

The friends of both the pugilists met according to appointment, and a match was made for £25 a-side. This battle was decided at Blindlow Heath, in Sussex, twenty-five miles from Westminster Bridge, on Tuesday, May 5, 1823.

For four years Peter had exhibited only in sparring exhibitions; and, labouring under hernia, it was generally understood that he would not appear again in the prize ring. Acton had at this time won a battle with Kendrick, but had been defeated by Ward. Crawley was the favourite at seven to four and two to one. At one o’clock, Peter, attended by Ben Byrne and Harry Holt, threw up his hat in the ring; and shortly afterwards, Acton, followed by Eales and Scroggins, repeated the token of defiance. Acton was in fine condition, and to all appearance weighed fourteen stone. Crawley looked thin, but was well, and about twelve stone four pounds.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—No time was lost, and Crawley, with his left hand, marked the body of his opponent. Acton missed in return, when an awkward sort of hugging took place. Both down, Crawley undermost.

2.—Young Rump Steak endeavoured to cut up his opponent, and his fine science gave him the lead. He nobbed Acton, and got away; he also endeavoured to repeat, but Acton stopped him with considerable skill. Crawley made himself up, and by a well-measured hit, planted under Acton’s right ogle, the latter went down like a shot. A more tremendous hit was never witnessed in any battle. (In the pride of the moment ten to one was offered, and the general opinion was that Acton would not come again.)

3.—If Acton had not been a truly game man, he would not have again appeared at the scratch. Milling on both sides, till Acton and Crawley found themselves both on the ground. (Seven to four.)

4.—Acton had rather the best of this round, and Crawley went down. (Loud shouting for Acton. “You shall have plenty of wittles to-morrow,” said Scroggins.)

5.—Some excellent science on both sides. Acton napped so much pepper that he turned round from the punishment he received; but, in closing, threw Peter out of the ropes. (“Well done, Acton.”)

6.—Both were distressed. Acton hit Crawley very hard, and the latter was again down. (“Go along, Acton; Crawley is getting weak.” Indeed, it was no two to one at this moment.) Acton stood up to his opponent, and fought like a truly brave man.

7.—A turn took place in favour of Peter, and the skill of Crawley in this round won him the fight. Acton received at every step, but endeavoured to ruffian it with Peter. Acton, for his temerity, napped a blow in the middle of his head, and the claret flowed in torrents; he, nevertheless, bored Young Rump Steak down. (Great applause on both sides.)

8.—Acton appeared at the scratch much better than was expected. He gave Crawley a severe body blow, calculated to do mischief. A short, but sharp rally, when Crawley fell down, and Acton on him.

9.—This was a scientific round on both sides. Acton got away well, and parried some tremendous blows. The latter received a chancery nobber, but contended every inch of ground till he went down.

10.—Acton terribly distressed, and Peter piped a little. They soon closed, and Crawley, to avoid struggling, got down in the best manner he could. (“Mind what you’re after,” from the friends of Acton.)

11.—This round was decidedly against Peter. Acton put in several blows, and, in closing, fell heavily on Crawley. Peter was getting weak.

12.—Acton had the best of it; and Crawley, to avoid punishment, went down in rather a doubtful manner. (“Foul,” “fair,” etc., when Belcher, one of the umpires, told Crawley to recollect it was a stand-up fight. “I assure you,” replied Crawley, “I went down from a slip.”)

13 and last.—This was a most terrific round, and a better one was never witnessed in any battle. Crawley hit Acton all to pieces, and followed his opponent all over the ring till he was floored, and fell on his face. When time was called, Acton was insensible to it. The battle was at an end in sixteen minutes; but before Crawley was taken out of the ring by his seconds an inquiry was made whether he had won the battle, to make all right. The umpires answered “Certainly.”

REMARKS.—It was a fine battle. Crawley won it in superior style; Acton proved himself a game man, and fought till nature deserted him.

Peter, in order to fill up his leisure time and increase his stock of blunt, opened a butcher’s shop in Seven Dials. Here he likewise taught the art of self-defence in his rooms up stairs, and was honoured with the patronage of several swells, who became his pupils. During the time of his residence at this place, he was employed at Westminster Hall to assist in keeping order at the coronation of George the Fourth, and also at the time the Hall was shown to the public. After having dined sumptuously at the Exchequer Coffee House, and drank the health of George the Fourth, he retired to his domus rather jolly, and fell fast asleep. Peter’s rib having occasion to go a small distance on some particular business, was most rudely insulted in the street by a fellow of the name of Sullivan. The proposals made to her were of the most insulting description, accompanied by offer of money; he also laid his hands upon her. All entreaties on the part of Mrs. Crawley to desist were in vain, and he followed her home to the door. It was some time before Peter could be awakened from his sleep to come to her assistance. Sullivan, with the most unblushing effrontery, told Peter, on his expostulating with him for his improper conduct towards his wife, “Your wife, indeed; she’s my wife as much as yours.” “Say you so; then take that,” said Peter, and immediately planted such a tremendous blow on one of his ogles as to produce a serious cut over it, and making Sullivan measure his length on the pavement. The fellow, as soon as he recovered the use of his pins, started off, leaving his hat behind him. Crawley, as a token of victory, publicly hung out the hat at his shop door; but Mr. Sullivan never had the courage to claim his topper.

Crawley, while standing at his door in Lumber Court one evening, in company with Peter Brookery, a pugilist of light weight, the latter was rudely attacked by an engineer, a rare big one. Crawley told him it was no match, when the engineer threatened to put his foot on the seat of honour of our hero. This insult so raised the choler of Peter that he pitched into the engineer _sans cérémonie_, and polished him off in the course of four rounds.

In September, 1826, Ward again put forth a challenge to the world, which was at length taken up by Peter Crawley, who affirmed that it was not from fear of Ward, but from the want of “corianders,” that he had been unable to make the match before. He said he could not now get £200 a-side, but would fight Ward for £100. This did not suit Jem, who said it was beneath the dignity of the Champion to fight for so small a stake. Crawley repeated that he could not get more money, and at length Jem Ward, fearful that his pretensions to the championship would be called in question, consented to meet Peter on his own terms, and on the 17th of October, 1826, articles were drawn up at Tom Belcher’s, Castle Tavern, Holborn, to fight on the 2nd of January, 1827. The men shortly went into close training, and got themselves into admirable condition.

In _Bell’s Life_ of the week previous to the fight between Ward and Crawley we find the following remarks on the subject of the mill between Crawley and Acton:—“It was an excellent fight. Each man did his duty manfully; but Crawley took seven rounds more than Ward had done to polish off the same customer, as well as a little more time. It was thought also, by good judges, that he did not do his work half so well. To this it must be answered, however, that he was labouring under hernia, and was by no means so fresh as Ward, who has not the fault of being fond of lushing. In comparing the fights, it must not be forgotten that it was Ward’s first fight, and Crawley’s last, and also that Crawley punished Acton more severely than Ward had done.”

The mill now under notice took place on the appointed day (the 2nd of January, 1827). According to articles the fight was to come off within a hundred miles of London, and the neighbourhood of Royston was selected as most convenient, there being three counties handy in the event of any interruption. A special messenger was sent down a day or two previous, who made application to a gentleman possessing large landed estates to grant a site for the combat. The trump in question liberally granted the required permission, and a farm called Haydon Grange was selected. Here, by the day appointed, an excellent spot was prepared by Tom Oliver and Cannon in which to pitch the ring. In fistic circles even in those days, however, there was the same jealousy and wilfulness we have to deplore at the present time. The then Commissary, Bill Gibbons, in direct opposition to his instructions, thought proper to choose a place for himself, and instead of proceeding with the ropes and stakes to Haydon Grange, where Oliver and Co. had prepared a place for them, he went off to Royston Heath, and there pitched his ring, thus frustrating the comfortable arrangements that had been made, and throwing out many old patrons of the fancy, who went to the place first mentioned, and were thus prevented from witnessing the greatest treat that had been enjoyed for many years. Among others who were put to inconvenience was Mr. Jackson, the Commander-in-Chief. The throng was by no means so numerous as had been anticipated, many gentlemen absenting themselves on account of the expected death of the Duke of York, which did not take place until the following Friday. The betting in Royston on Monday, and also at Tattersall’s, was two to one on Ward, which odds were taken to some amount, but still much money went “a begging;” and the friends of Ward were so anxious to be “on,” that on Tuesday (the day of battle) they advanced another point.

At ten minutes before one the heroes entered the ring, Ward attended by Josh. Hudson and Reuben Martin, and Crawley being under the auspices of Tom Belcher and Harry Harmer. They approached each other with good humour and shook hands cordially. Some time elapsed in appointing umpires and a referee; but this done, they soon peeled for action, Tom Belcher winning the choice of corners for Peter. As soon as they were in fighting costume, their condition was eagerly scanned. Both were extremely well. Crawley weighed twelve stone twelve pounds, while Ward did not exceed twelve stone seven pounds. The odds were now eleven to five on Ward. All being in readiness, the men were conducted to the scratch, and commenced

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Short sparring, each man looking out for an opening, and both cautious. At last Crawley, anxious to begin, went in and hit out ineffectually with his left. Ward was awake, stopped him with his right, countered with great cleverness with his left in return, and catching him severely on the right eye, dropped him as if he had been shot, amidst the cheers of his friends. The blow produced first blood at the corner of Crawley’s eye, and thus decided at once the bets on the first two events. The Wardites were in extasies. (Odds three to one.)

2.—On coming to the scratch the effects of the blow on Crawley’s ogle were clear, the flesh being a good deal puffed: still he was cheerful and prepared for mischief. The men again sparred for the first hit, when Crawley threw out his right, but was stopped. Ward then went in and hit right and left at Crawley’s canister, but did not make any impression. More caution. Ward again made play, but Crawley was awake, stopped his left with great precision, and smiled confidently. Crawley then commenced fighting; but Ward threw up his right and left, and got away in beautiful style. More sparring and mutual caution. At last Crawley saw a vulnerable point, pushed in, and delivering a thundering hit with his right on Ward’s forehead, just above the eye, dropped him in turn. (Loud cheers, and exclamations of “Peter, it’s all your own.”)

3.—On Ward’s being lifted on his second’s knee he looked wild, and was evidently suffering from Crawley’s tickler. Josh., however, shook him, and brought him to the scratch ripe for action, although a little posed. After some sparring and admirable stops on both sides, evincing the superior science of the men, Ward hit short with his right at the body. Crawley smiled, and collecting himself up for work, threw out his right and caught Ward slightly on his nob. Ward, in endeavouring to get away, fell upon his hands and knees. Crawley was about to strike him jocularly on the part that was uppermost, when Ward jumped up, and both went to their seconds.

4.—More good stops on both sides, when a tremendous rally commenced, in which the deliveries right and left excited the loudest applause. Ward retreated towards the ropes, and Crawley closed with him. In this situation there was some good exchanges, and claret was freely drawn from the conks of each. In the end Ward went staggering down, Crawley upon him. The greatest agitation was here exhibited among the spectators. The outer ring was broken in, and confusion prevailed to the conclusion of the fight, although the pugilistic corps, under the auspices of the Commander-in-Chief, did wonders in endeavouring to preserve order. Many persons got inside the roped ring, and were with difficulty ejected.

5.—Both came up bleeding and a little puffy from their late exertions. After some sparring for time, Crawley hit out with his left, but was stopped, and in turn Ward was stopped by Peter, who had all his senses about him. At last the men came to a rally, and desperate hitting ensued, each countering with great force, and making due impression by their handiwork. Ward, in getting away, repeatedly hit up with his right, but missed his blows. In the end they closed and went down, Crawley uppermost, and both bleeding at the mouth and nose. During this round Josh. repeatedly cheered his man by cries of “Fight, Jem; fight, Jem; fight, my boy!” and Jem bravely, though imprudently, followed his advice, and thereby greatly distressed himself.

6.—A good weaving round, in which Ward caught Crawley round the neck with his right, and as he pulled him across the ring hit him several times with rapidity. Crawley at length closed, and both went down in a scramble, heavily punished and distressed.

7.—The men came up piping, and as if mutually feeling the necessity of recovering their wind, sparred with caution for some seconds. At last Crawley let go his left, but Ward got away. Another short spar, when Ward hit with his left, but was cleverly countered by Crawley’s right. A terrific rally ensued, in which all science seemed to be set aside, and the weaving system went on in a style of manly indifference to the result. Each appeared bent alone on making an impression, and the appearance of their pimples showed that mischief alone was intended. The whole ring was electrified, and a more courageous attack was never witnessed. The Burgundy flowed freely from each. Crawley retreated towards the ropes, Ward still with him, till at length Ward rushed in, and seizing him with the grip of a Hercules, threw him an appalling cross-buttock, which not only shook Peter himself, but the very earth on which he fell. The fall was allowed by Crawley’s seconds to have done him more harm than all his previous punishment; and a good judge who was within the ring rushed out and offered ten to one against him, but found no takers.

8.—Peter came up open-mouthed and greatly distressed. It was thought Ward would have gone immediately to finish, but to the surprise of most he kept out, and only sparred at arm’s length. It was pretty clear, however, that he was himself the worse for wear, and did not consider it politic to throw a chance away. After some time Crawley tried with his left. Ward stopped this intended visitation, and returned with his right. More sparring; when the men having recovered their wind, once more got to work on the weaving system, and the interchanges were sufficient to daunt the stoutest heart; but still both gave and took without shrinking. Their cocoa-nuts echoed again with the quick following blows, till Ward, becoming weak, or desirous of avoiding further compliments, went down on his knees. Crawley went to his second’s knee, and was evidently coming round.

9.—This round commenced with distant sparring. Ward attempted a blow at Peter’s mark, but hit short. Peter laughed, and kept out. A few seconds were occupied in this light play, when another terrific rally took place. Both men again went to work, putting science aside, and rattling away at each other’s nobs with downright good will. Hit followed hit with the rapidity of lightning; neither would give an inch, but stood to each other with as much _sang froid_ as if sparring with the gloves. Nothing could exceed the fearless execution of this rally, and the shouts of the multitude bore testimony to the determined game of the men. Ward, who repeatedly hit up, was met by Crawley’s left, who preserved his self-possession and never lost sight of his object. At length, as a sort of climax to terrific weaving in all parts of the ring, Crawley retreated to the ropes, where a close took place, and both fell, Crawley uppermost. Both were much distressed, and evidently fast approaching the close; but Ward was still the favourite, and two to one was bet upon him by one who professed to be a good judge.

10.—Notwithstanding the severe exertion in the last round, Crawley came up smiling. Sparring was continued for a short time, when another most desperate rally commenced: it was clearly a most powerful effort on both sides to bring the fight to a close. Nothing could exceed the resolution which both men displayed. They followed each other from place to place, hitting with unprecedented game and courage, Ward repeatedly having recourse to his under hits. In this extraordinary way did the conflict continue, till both men, on approaching the ropes, were so exhausted as to be incapable of lifting their hands or striking another blow, and at length both went down, unable longer to stand, although supported for some time against the ropes. A more terrible encounter was never witnessed in the prize ring, and the repeated jobbing of Crawley’s left produced the most fearful effects on Ward’s face.

11 and last.—Such was the state of the combatants on coming up at the commencement of this round, that it was impossible to form an opinion of the probable issue. Both were piping, and in painful distress, but Crawley appeared to stand best on his legs. Very little time was lost in consideration, and Ward, open-mouthed, attempted to go in. Crawley, as if aware that this round must terminate the fight, collected all his strength, struck out lightly with his left, and then drawing back a short step, he rushed in, and catching Ward a severe job with his left on the mouth, dropped him to rise no more. He fell flat on his back, and drawing his hands up towards his stomach, became to all appearance senseless. Josh. lifted him from the ground, and placed him on Martin’s knee, but he was no longer “himself:” he was deaf to the call of his friends and admirers, and, with the battle, lost his claim to the championship. Crawley stood looking at him, satisfied that his labours were at an end. He endeavoured to shake hands with his fallen foe, but poor Ward was insensible to this noble conduct, and Peter walked to his chaise. Ward was shortly after carried out of the ring, and from thence to his inn, in a state of insensibility. All was surprise and confusion. The multitude collected _en masse_ in the centre of the ring, and the congratulations of some, and the complaints of others, were scarcely less astounding than the confusion of tongues in the Tower of Babel. It was too true, however, the champion was stripped of his laurels, and the bold Peter was borne off in triumph, one of his backers declaring that he had won £530 by the issue. How many followed his example we know not; but it is certain many thousands changed hands.

REMARKS.—In taking a review of the whole of this fight, it would be impossible not to say that both men exhibited courage and game of the most unquestionable description; in fact, a better battle had not been fought for many years. Independent of patience under severe punishment, great skill and science were displayed. The stopping of both men, under trying circumstances, was admirable. Neither flinched from his duty, and, with the exception of Ward’s slipping down on his knees in the early part of the battle, there was not a suspicion that he was not as game a man as ever peeled. In the second round Josh. Hudson described Ward as having been nearly blinded by the force of the blow on his head, but he very soon recovered his presence of mind; and in the last round there were not wanting some who were disposed to think that he might have come again. Judging impartially, however, from all that passed before us, we should say there was not a shadow of ground for complaining of Ward’s conduct in the ring, or for doubting the sincerity of his intention to win throughout. His deliveries were severe, although their effect might not have been so decisive as we had anticipated. It was clear that he tried his utmost to gain the ascendancy, and in this endeavour he reduced himself, in the tenth round, as well as his antagonist, to a state of complete helplessness, hitting with all his force, until both fell without the power of striking another blow. Had his object been other than honest, this never would have been the case. In plain truth, however, he had been over-rated, whilst the probable improvement which Crawley might have obtained in two years was altogether lost sight of. In point of length, and weight, and bodily strength, we may also say Ward was overmatched, while in science he was fully equalled; for although Crawley’s style of setting-to may not be so elegant, nor his stops so frequent, still the severity and quickness of his counter-hitting, and the rapidity of his motions, added to his calm reception of punishment, gave him on this occasion equal advantage; added to which, Peter, in having Tom Belcher for his second, had at least two points in his favour, for a better second never entered the ring, nor a man whose knowledge of the art better qualifies him to give good advice. We must admit that we have seen Ward fight in better style, and make a better use of his acquirements. We do not say this with a view of disparaging his good qualities; but had he exercised a better judgment, we think he would not have rushed into desperate rallies, intent only on administering punishment, without regard to the consequences which might follow to himself, but would rather have availed himself of his tact of hitting and getting away, and only going in when an opportunity occurred of closing for the fall—and his superiority in throwing has been repeatedly established. In the present instance he seemed to have lost his usual caution, and to have forgotten that in fighting against superior weight and strength he was completely giving a chance away by standing to be hit in close quarters. Such another fall as that he gave Crawley in the seventh round must have decided the battle, but the opportunity when offered was neglected, and having at length become weak, he was unable to keep his right hand sufficiently high, and thus lay exposed to the terrific jobbing of Crawley’s left. We have no doubt his seconds acted to the best of their knowledge; but situated as Ward was towards the close of the fight, it was anything but good advice to incite him to go in to rally: he should rather have played round his opponent, and kept at a distance till his wind was restored, and fresh opportunities were afforded for bringing his scientific and wrestling powers into play. With so vigorous an opponent as Crawley, it was clear he must have the worst of in-fighting; and that this was the case the result of the conflict has shown. These are points which naturally strike an observer, but which a man in the heat of combat, and unassisted by a cool and dispassionate counsellor, may not duly appreciate. It is certain that Ward never had so good a man to deal with before, and, barring the few remarks we have felt it our duty to make, it was impossible for him to have done more to attain the ends of his backers. In falling, he has fallen nobly, and must only hope for better luck another time. We may add that he has still few equals in the ring. We cannot close these remarks without stating that, in losing Tom Oliver as a second, Ward may be said to have lost his battle; for Tom’s prudence and good sense would have taught him the folly of bustling with superior weight. The fight lasted twenty-six minutes.

Ward was conveyed in a state of unconsciousness to the Red Lion, at Royston, and was immediately put to bed between warm blankets. A surgeon was then sent for, who found his pulse scarcely perceptible; he, however, took proper precautions, and by six o’clock he recognised those about him. He complained very much of his head, where he received the knock-down blow in the second round, and said that such was the effect of that hit that four rounds elapsed before he had recovered himself. Ward arrived in London on the following Wednesday, much cut up in mind, but still determined to put in a claim for another trial to recover his laurels. He declared he had lost the fight by holding Crawley’s abilities as a boxer too cheap, and had resorted to an attempt to fight him down, in which he had exhausted his strength and his power of hitting. He considered, too, his chances in milling Crawley as greatly increased from the fact of the latter having hernia. This would seem without good foundation. It is a singular fact that Joe Grimaldi—than whom, in his pantomimic exertions, no man encountered more violent exercise—had been ruptured from his youth, but never experienced inconvenience in his labours.

On the 4th of January, 1827, two days after Peter’s victory, the Tennis Court was crowded for the joint benefit of Harry Holt and Ned Baldwin, and to get a peep at the heroes who were admitted to “show.” Ward, on mounting the stage, was loudly applauded. His nob was covered with a handkerchief, and his face exhibited marks of severe punishment. The “Cicero of the ring” (in buff) addressed his patrons for Ward. He said, “Ward had lost the battle, and, what was dearer to him, his proud position; but still it was cheering to him to think that he had not lost his honour. (‘True,’ and applause.) It was not in man to command success, but he had done all that a brave man could do to win the battle. One must lose, and Crawley was the conqueror. By every person who had seen the battle it was admitted that Ward had established his character as a game man, and he had no doubt, by such conduct, he would never want friends. (Approbation.) He was sorry to observe the subscription on the ground was trifling indeed (25_s._); but he well knew the generosity of the fancy would be displayed to him in town. For himself, he would subscribe a sovereign; and he was perfectly satisfied other persons would subscribe their mite.” (“Bravo, Harry!”)

Jem’s backer presented himself, and said he would back Ward, without any hesitation, against Crawley, or any other man in the kingdom, for from £100 to £1,000. (Great applause.)

The hero of the tale, Peter Crawley, now mounted the stage, and was welcomed by loud plaudits. His face was rather damaged, but not so much as his opponent’s. With considerable modesty Peter stated, “He had been a winning man, but he had never been opposed to a better one than Ward; in fact, he thought him as good a man as himself. He had been lucky, and gained the fight; and he felt proud he had obtained that honour, because Ward had been considered the best man in England. It was impossible, therefore, that he could have got more honour, or gained a higher conquest. (‘Well done, Peter; you are a liberal, brave fellow.’) He was determined not to accept any challenge, and he had also made up his mind to give up all pretensions to prize-fighting, and, to please the King of England, he would not again enter the ring. He meant no disrespect to the patrons of the art of self-defence; but if he were to fight for seven years, he could not have obtained a higher place in the fancy. Fame was his object, and not money; he therefore left the championship open for those who wished to fight for it, and gave up all pretensions to that high milling honour. He hoped Ward would be dealt with according to his merits; and, as a losing man in general stood in need of support, he should give him two sovereigns.” (Cheers.) Peter made his bow amid loud applause.

Peter, acting upon the adage that “all’s well that ends well,” and having obtained a most brilliant conquest in the eyes of the sporting world, sensibly made up his mind to leave the P.R. for aspiring heroes to bustle in, and commenced publican. He therefore, without delay, opened the Queen’s Head and French Horn, in Duke Street, West Smithfield, and the fancy in general gave Peter their support.

Crawley’s “free and easy,” aided by the musical talents of his father, brought overflowing houses. Mr. Crawley, senior, was a first-rate chaunter, and, as a room singer, his voice in “Tom Moody,” “The Sapling Oak,” etc., was the delight, again and again, of admiring audiences.

At the Queen’s Head and French Horn, soon after Crawley became landlord of the house, he was visited by a blade of the name of Grays, and with that respect and civility which always marked the conduct of our hero, he invited Mr. Grays into his bar, to drink his wine and crack his walnuts. But before the bottle was finished, and during the short absence of our hero, who was waiting upon his customers in various parts of his house, Mr. Grays made free with the character of Peter to Mrs. Crawley, or, to use the vulgar phrase, he was nosing upon the inconstancy of our hero, and his amours out of doors, and boasting that he was a better man at any price than the host of the Queen’s Head and French Horn. On Crawley becoming acquainted with his conduct, he told Mr. Grays that he had not conducted himself like a man or a gentleman, when Grays repeated the insult, that he was a better man in every point of view. “That shall soon be decided,” said Peter, with a contemptuous sneer. An appeal to arms was the result, and, in the course of two short rounds, Mr. Grays so napped it for his impertinence that he staggered about like a man overcome with liquor, and the boaster, as he lay sprawling on the ground, gladly acknowledged, to prevent further punishment, that he had been egregiously deceived in his estimate of his own prowess, and promised Peter the next time he took wine and walnuts, not to crack jokes at his expense behind his back, and to keep his tongue within proper bounds.

Although Peter was one of the mildest and most inoffensive of men, the lion slumbered within him. We will cite a small specimen of this. When Harry Broome fought the Tipton Slasher, at Mildenhall, in September, 1851, there were strong misgivings of a wrangle, and the writer and others firmly declined the thankless office of referee. It looked as though there would be no fight, for the Tipton’s friends rejected several gentlemen nominated, as being backers of Broome. Johnny Broome rode up, and proposed to fight “without a referee.” This was very properly declined; but at last Peter Crawley was agreed to by both sides as an impartial arbiter. The details of the fight will be found under the Life of HARRY BROOME, in the Seventh Period. Suffice it to say, the Tipton hit Harry foul, and Peter gave it against “the Tipton.” Remonstrance did not shake Peter’s decision, and the Slasher, who thought himself hardly dealt by, used disparaging language to Peter. Fired at the imputation on his honesty, Peter proceeded to uncase his huge carcass, declaring he was “good for a few rounds,” and nothing but the gentle violence of his friends, and those of the Slasher, who separated them, prevented the brave Peter from there and then having a turn-up with the well-trained Tipton for “love and a bellyful.” We have seen other instances of Peter’s readiness to resent insult, though the most placable of men if an apology was offered.

From the period he retired he held but one house, the Duke’s Head and French Horn, in Duke Street, West Smithfield, a house interesting for years to “country cousins,” the fancy, and those who wished a “wrinkle” upon sporting topics. As a teacher of the art of self-defence Peter acquitted himself with great credit, being perfectly master of the science. Several of his Guardsmen pupils have shown their acquaintance that they can hit, stop, and get away with the best of glove amateurs. Peter died, generally respected, on the 12th of March, 1865, in the 66th year of his age. Peace to his manes!