CHAPTER VIII.

SAMUEL EVANS (“YOUNG DUTCH SAM”)—1825–1834.

Among the town celebrities of the second quarter of the nineteenth century the subject of this memoir held a prominent place. His immediate and personal intimacy as boon companion or “pal” of a certain notorious marquis, and an earl whose career, while “sowing their wild oats,” savoured rather of the early days of the Regency than those of Queen Victoria, brought him too often before the public. Indeed, the nature of the associations into which he was thus unfortunately thrown, acting upon a volatile and reckless disposition, led him into excesses which destroyed a fine constitution, prevented his availing himself of more than one opportunity of achieving competence and a fair social position, and finally consigned him to a premature grave. In the ensuing pages, however, we shall chiefly deal with Young Dutch Sam as a public demonstrator of the art of self-defence, and as one whose biography furnishes an illustrative chapter in the history of the Ring.

Samuel Evans, deservedly distinguished as “the Phenomenon,” was born in Wells Street, Ratcliff Highway, on the 30th of January, 1808. He was descended from a sire whose fame as a professional boxer the son did no discredit. The battles of Samuel Elias, in his day also dubbed “the Phenomenon,” will be found in our first volume. Sam’s earlier years, from all that we have gathered from his own lips and his intimates, were spent in the same “university” which another famous “Samuel” (not Johnson, but Weller) declares to be the “best for sharpening the intellect” of the youth who may chance to be subjected to its rough discipline. The traditions of Rosemary Lane, now itself swept into what Thomas Carlyle calls “the dustbin of the past,” were once rife with reminiscences of the intuitive fistic skill and the marvellous mastery of milling manœuvres displayed by “Young Sam,” in many an encounter with the pugnacious progeny of the “peoplesh,” who once populated that inodorous but sweetly named thoroughfare, renowned for the “ancient and (fried) fish-like smell” of its edibles, and the yet more fusty emanations of its clobbered and thrice-renovated garments.

Thus Sam fought his way upwards in the rude “battle of life” until his sire “shuffled off this mortal coil” in the month of July, 1816, when Sam appears to have been thrown upon his own resources. Sam was evidently a precocious youth, for in his fifteenth year, if we take Pierce Egan’s account, he was following the employment of a baker, when his associate in dough, one Bill Dean, a chap with some milling pretensions, threatened to serve out Young Sam for some trifling fault. This brought forth the father’s blood in his veins, and in emulation of his warlike sire, he challenged Dean out to fight early the next morning; but old Burntcrust, his master, locked Sam up in his bedroom to prevent the mill. Sam, however, in defiance of bolts and bars, got out of the garret window, scrambled over the tiles of several houses, found his way into a strange house, ran down the stairs, ultimately into the street, and met Bill Dean at the appointed place, Kennington Common, when the battle commenced without delay. In the course of four rounds Young Sam played his part so well that Dean would not fight any longer, gammoning it, as was supposed, that his thumb was out of joint.

Dean was not exactly satisfied with this first battle, and, after several quarrels, a second match was agreed upon, Sam fighting Dean for three half-crowns to two. This mill was also decided upon Kennington Common, Tom Cooper and Spencer acting as seconds for Young Sam, a fact which shows that “the Young Dutchman” was already an associate, if not a member, of the P.R. Dean “screwed his courage to the sticking-place,” and fought well for three-quarters of an hour; but finding the chance was against him, he declared his knee was injured, and he would fight no more. Sam was loudly applauded by the spectators for the pluck and science he had displayed throughout the battle.

Soon after this affair our hero migrated westward, leaving the “dead men” of the east, and becoming an apprentice at case in the office of Mr. Charles Baldwin, in the Crescent, Blackfriars, on the very spot now occupied by the Ludgate Terminus of the London, Chatham, and Dover Railway. Sam had scarcely taken his initiatory lessons in the mystery of a typo when he got into a fracas with the peripatetic potman of the neighbouring public, which supplied the printing-office with beer and other alcoholic stimulants. The purveyor of heavy wet had with him a pair of gloves, and he and the youthful Sam (we had this from his own lips) at first began to spar “in fun,” for the entertainment of such of the compositors as were taking their midday meal beneath their “frames” and on the “stone” from pressure of business. The publican and sinner was short-tempered as well as conceited, and Sam having “pinked him” more than once on his prominent proboscis, the gin-spinner’s deputy threw off the mufflers, let go right and left viciously, and “went in” in earnest. He was a strong fellow, a stone, or perhaps two, heavier than the youthful Sam, but the Young ’Un retreated milling, and popping in “teazers” all along the passage and out into the short street, when, after half an hour’s fighting, from Apothecaries Hall to Bridewell, Mr. Gin-and-Bitters cried, “Hold, enough!” In the opinion of Mr. Charles Baldwin’s overseer, however, Sam’s skill in “setting-to” did not seem to compensate for his deficiencies in skill in “setting up,” and our hero was soon after a “gentleman at large.”

Released from the confinement of a printing-office, Sam turned his attention to selling newspapers instead of setting them up. In this vocation he became known to Pierce Egan, and with his natural predilection for sporting, Sam took up the supply of his sporting paper to sporting houses. It must be remembered that newspapers were then costly articles—the _Dispatch_, _Bell’s Life_, and _Pierce Egan’s Life in London_ being 7d. to 8½d. per copy, and the trade profit proportionate.

About this time, also, Young Sam obtained an introduction to Mr. John Jackson, Captain Dudley, and other amateurs of distinction, whose judgment of the pretensions of the young aspirant for fistic fame was decidedly favourable. London then teemed with “professors” of the noble art, and among them one known as Jack Poulton, of the Mint, opened a school in that classic locality “to teach the young idea how to shoot” straight from the shoulder. Sam was “planted” on the-rough-and-ready Southwark bruiser as a lad who wanted improving. The result was comical to all but the “professor.” Sam stopped him, got away, nobbed him as he came in, and so completely bothered the _soi-disant_ “professor” that he threw down the gloves, and never again showed as the principal of an academy. At this period, Pierce Egan says of him: “On comparing likenesses, it is the general opinion that the Young ’Un’s countenance does not possess the fine-spirited animation of the late renowned Dutch Sam’s face, yet the resemblance was admitted to be genuine, allowing for the difference between youth and age, and the want of large whiskers. The sparklers of the Young ’Un, if not partaking (? possessing) the penetrating look of the once Phenomenon of the P.R., nevertheless gave Young Sam’s nob a lively appearance throughout the battle. Our hero is in height five feet eight inches and three-quarters, weighing ten stone and a half, and generally considered a fine-grown young man.”

Soon after Sam’s introduction to the sporting world, his friends were so satisfied with his abilities as a sparrer that they matched him, as a trial, against Jack Lenney (the Cowboy), a boxer who had won three ring fights, but had surrendered to the “Pet of the Fancy,” Dick Curtis. Monday, the 28th of March, 1825, was named as the day, and the Old Barge House, opposite Woolwich, as the battle-field. Young Sam showed at the scratch, his “soul in arms, and eager for the fray,” but no Cowboy came in sight. It was reported he was locked up in town, so the Young ’Un claimed and pocketed the stakes (£25), without a struggle for the prize. About this time Sam, while in training at Tom Shelton’s house at Walton, in Surrey, made the acquaintance of the scientific Dick Curtis, an acquaintance that soon ripened into a warm friendship. Dick’s report to Hughes Ball, Esq. of Sam’s capabilities led to a glove exhibition before that gentleman and his friends at Combe Park (when Dick gave his opinion that the “novice” _must_ beat Lenney), and the subsequent patronage of “The Golden Ball,” one of the notabilities of the Fourth George’s reign.

Sam declared himself much disappointed, and possessing the utmost confidence in his powers, he soon found an opening for a public _début_.

On Tuesday, July 5th, 1825, after White-headed Bob (see Life of BALDWIN, _ante_, p. 342) had defeated the game George Cooper at Knowle Hill, Berks, Young Sam made his first bow in the Prize Ring, as the opponent of Ned Stockman, for a purse of twenty pounds. Stockman was well known to the Fancy as “the Lively Kid,” and, in addition to several victories, had beaten Harry Jones (the Sailor Boy, 10st.) three times, and lately defeated Raines. The general idea was that Sam was too much of a novice and too boyish to defeat so experienced and crafty a boxer as Stockman, who was therefore backed freely at six to four, and at setting-to at two to one. On this occasion Sam was waited upon by two East-End friends, Dick Curtis and Josh Hudson, the John Bull Fighter. Stockman had the attentions of Harry Holt and Dick Acton. The colours, a canary-yellow for Sam and a blue bird’s-eye for Stockman, being tied to the stakes, the men shook hands and stood up for

THE FIGHT

Round 1.—Sam was not only in excellent condition, but appeared the better man of the two, as he had length and weight over his opponent. Stockman soon perceived he had reach against him, and did all he could to get between the guard of Sam, but in vain. Stockman, determined on mischief, let fly, but Sam stopped him with perfect ease, and returned with advantage. In a sharp rally Sam hit his opponent so neatly as to call forth the admiration of the ring; be also adopted Cribb’s favourite mode of milling on the retreat, and jobbed Stockman’s nose repeatedly, till he went down. (Immense applause. “This,” said Josh, patting Sam on his back, “is not a chip of the old block, it’s Old Sam himself. He’ll win, for £100.”)

2.—Stockman, full of gaiety, came to the scratch, and in a resolute manner tried to find out a soft place on Sam’s head, but it was “no go.” Sam sent down his opponent by a rattling hit with the left in the neck. (Thunders of approbation; and “Here’s a Shiloh for Duke’s Place! Here’s the pink of Petticoat Lane!”)

3.—This round, at this early stage of the battle, decided victory in favour of Young Sam. He jobbed Stockman all over the ring; in fact, the nob of Stockman was a mere drum to the hands of Sam. The latter finally floored his opponent. The Sheenies, who always claimed the Dutchman, were uproarious in the praise of Sam. (“Vat a nishe boy! Vat a shweet hitter! Isn’t he like ish fader!”)

4.—Stockman positively had not a shadow of chance, and if he planted one blow he got five in return. The jobbing system was resorted to by Sam, and in closing at the ropes he held Stockman in his left arm, and with his right hand he nobbed him in the Randall style, ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto, and ditto, till Stockman went down quite bothered, amidst the loudest applause ever heard in the Prize Ring.

5.—The length of Sam, his steady guard, and his confidence, prevented Stockman from placing any hits with effect. Stockman, after the receipt of several blows, went down on his knees; but Sam held up his hands, smiled, and walked away. “That’s right Sam; he only wants a foul blow.”

6.—We never saw Stockman so much at a loss before; he was nobbed with the utmost ease by his opponent, and fibbed tremendously till he went down.

7.—Sam stopped the rush of Stockman, hit him as he liked, till Stockman dropped. Two to one, but no takers.

8.—Stockman might have resigned the contest—every round was against him. The left hand of Sam was continually in his face, when with a heavy blow Stockman was floored. Three to one.

9.—Stockman countered well, but Sam got out of the way of punishment with the skill of an old general. Stockman received a staggering hit, and a repeated blow sent him down.

10.—This was a good round. Fine science was exhibited on both sides, till Sam sent Stockman down on his knees. Sam raised his hand. (“Be careful,” said Josh, “we won’t have it that way at all, Sam; mind, don’t be caught for a foul blow!”)

11.—“Move your feet in and out,” said Curtis; “but it is all your own.” Stockman made a good stop, and also put in a heavy blow on Sam’s throat. In closing both down. Any odds against Stockman, but shy of taking.

12.—Stockman went down on his knees from a hit, but Sam held up his hands, and walked away. Applause.

13.—Stockman put down his hands, and appeared to wish the battle was at an end. Sam planted a tremendous blow bang in the middle of his opponent’s head; Stockman’s eyes flashed fire, he was quite abroad, and went down completely exhausted. Ten to one laid and taken.

14.—The battle nearly over; by way of a finish, Sam caught hold of Stockman and fibbed him down. The Jews in rapture on beholding the talents of Dutch Sam the second.

15.—It was all U P.; Stockman, groggy as a Jack Tar three sheets in the wind, was sent down before he was scarcely at the scratch.

16.—Stockman still showed fight, but he was met by Sam on going in, when he fell on his knees, but he instantly got up, and with much fury rushed in to mill Sam. The latter, however, floored him like a shot.

17. and last.—Sam had it completely his own way, till Stockman went down. While sitting on his second’s knee he hinted that he had enough—if not too much. Sam was hailed the winner in thirty-six minutes and a half.

REMARKS.—The “Downy Ones” were completely thrown out, as the non-favourite proved victorious. Stockman did all he knew to win; but he could not get at his opponent. Sam was completely his master in every point of view; in fact, he felt so surprised on being declared the conqueror that he exclaimed: “Is it all over? Why, I’m not hurt in the least; I could fight an hour longer.” Stockman, on being taken out of the ring, was quite exhausted, and insensible for a short period. Young Sam was positively without a visible scratch.

Young Sam was now welcomed as the true son of the Phenomenon of the Prize Ring, entering eagerly on a life of gaiety which must impair the stamina of an athlete. Dick Curtis, too, selected him as his partner in public sparring exhibitions. At this period it was the fashion to illustrate the art of self-defence at the theatres, and more especially upon the stages of the transpontine houses. Dick Curtis and Young Dutch Sam figure frequently in the playbills of this period, and he showed off his graceful and effective style with much _éclat_ behind the footlights of the Surrey, Coburg (now Victoria), and Royalty Theatres, and at the Sanspareil, in Catherine Street, Strand.

Sam was not long allowed to be idle. Harry Jones, the Sailor Boy, offered himself to his notice, and a match was made for £25 a-side.

This battle was decided at Shere Mere, on the borders of Bedfordshire, on Tuesday, the 18th of October, 1825. Jones was backed for this event in consequence of his being said to have had the best of Sam in a sparring match at the Jacob’s Well, Barbican. The odds, nevertheless, were against Jones, six to four, and in several instances two to one, and some persons even ventured to lay three to one on the ground. Sam was attended by Dick and George Curtis, and Jones by Goodman and Reid. The Young One had the length of his opponent, but Jones showed most muscle and strength, and also the best condition. Two to one on setting-to in favour of Sam.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Caution was the order of the day on both sides—Sam on the look-out, and the Sailor Boy equally leary to guard against squalls. Sam tried all the manœuvres he was master of to do summat, but Jones, who had a good knowledge of milling, was not to be had. Some minutes elapsed and nothing was done, until the Sailor Boy rushed in to work. He made a hit with his left hand on Sam’s cheek, and closed. The weaving system was now adopted; Sam was thrown; and the Sailor Boy fell on the young Israelite. (“Well done, Jones!”)

2.—Jones cleverly stopped Sam’s left hand; sparring for advantages; and Sam hit short. The Sailor Boy, eager for work, went boldly up to his adversary, and planted a right-handed hit on Sam’s nob. A sharp rally of give and take occurred. In closing, the Young One received a cross-buttock, and Jones fell heavily on his opponent.—(“Bravo, Jones! that’s the way to win.”)

3.—Jones hit short, being too eager to make play; however, he soon made up for it, by planting a heavy blow on Sam’s cheek. In closing, the pepper-box was handed from one to the other, the Sailor Boy fighting at the nob, while his opponent was hammering at the body. The round was finished by Jones getting down as well as he could, Sam keeping on his pins.

4.—The Young One did not show anything like the superiority he exhibited in the fight with Stockman. The claret was running down from Sam’s mouth, while, on the contrary, the Sailor Boy looked none the worse for his engagement. Sam’s mouth was open, rather piping. Jones, with excellent skill, stopped a heavy left-handed blow of Sam’s. In fact, considerable science was displayed by both combatants, till Jones rushed in to mill; sharp counter-hitting; in closing, the pepper-box was in full use until they separated. Another sharp rally took place, when the Sailor Boy went down.

5.—This was a prime round; and the fighting was excellent on both sides. Sam’s peeper napped a rum one from Jones—the Sailor Boy repeated the dose. (Great applause; and “He’ll win it!”) Sam was also bored down at one corner of the ring.

6.—The Sailor Boy appeared as fresh as when he commenced the battle. Sam’s condition was not satisfactory. He sparred, and looked anxious. The Sailor Boy appeared quite up to the movements of Sam, and would not be decoyed from his mode of fighting by the stratagems of the young Israelite. Severe counter-hits, which told on both sides. Jones, however, received a heavy one on his listener as he was going down.

7.—A long fighting round, and Harry as good as Sam. A sharp rally, and mischief in it. The Sailor Boy broke ground, but soon returned to his adversary, laid hold of him by the body, and sent him down in an ugly manner. (“Well done, Jones—you can’t lose it!”)

8.—Sam’s left hand was stopped by Jones; still the former persevered till he made a good hit. Sharp counter-hitting; rather too hot for Jones, so he retreated; nevertheless he returned to the charge in a passion, and planted a flush hit on the young Israelite’s face. Jones ultimately went down.

9.—The upper works of Sam napped a little one; and Jones got away laughing. A severe rally; give and take without flinching. Sam tried milling on the retreat, was successful, and the Sailor Boy slipped down.

10.—This round was decidedly in favour of the Sailor Boy. The latter began his work without delay; and Sam slipped down by accident, receiving a heavy hit on his conk; but, like a trump, he jumped up and slashed away without ceremony. The Sailor Boy drove him to the ropes. Sam adopted the weaving system, but not with effect; the Sailor Boy hung upon his neck, till both went down.

11.—The Sailor Boy was a dangerous customer. He planted a heavy blow with his left hand—then boldly went up to his opponent, and caught him round his neck—it was then blow for hit, till Sam was thrown. (Lots of applause for the Sailor Boy.)

12.—The chaffing-box of Sam received rather an ugly thump from Jones; but Sam was determined to be with him, cutting the skin of his eyebrow like a knife, the claret following. Good milling, till Jones seemed a little abroad, and pulled Sam down.

13.—Jones parried well; and in a sharp rally the Sailor Boy was extremely active. Sam was cautious, but kept milling with his opponent. Ultimately Jones went down.

14.—The young Israelite appeared distressed, and also exhibited marks of punishment. The blows of Sam, at this period, seemed to have but little effect on Jones. The Sailor Boy again parried the hitting of his opponent with much skill; but he bored in, and caught hold of his adversary round his neck. Sam, in order to extricate himself, fibbed his opponent, and at length got away. Jones went down.

15.—Severe counter-hitting, after which, Jones bored Sam to the ropes. It was expected the Sailor Boy would have done some mischief, but after a little struggling he went down.

16.—Jones planted a sharp facer with his left, but the young Israelite, in return, jobbed him with his right. A rally, of no long duration; and in closing Sam was thrown.

17.—The Sailor Boy planted several hits, after which he bored in with his head down, in order to escape milling. A struggle for the throw, when Jones got down anyhow. (“I don’t like that,” observed an Old Ringgoer; “he’s going to cut it.”)

18, and last.—Sam came up to the scratch quite gay; and the Sailor Boy was lively to all appearance. After some sparring, Sam planted a blow on the right side of his opponent’s nob, and he fell on his back. It did not appear by any means a finishing blow, and the amateurs did not like it. When time was called, the Sailor Boy was deaf to it; and Young Sam was declared the conqueror. The battle was over in fifty-three minutes.

REMARKS.—There is nothing new in the Sailor Boy’s cutting it: in several of his battles he has done the same thing, when the amateurs have been perfectly satisfied that he had the best of it. It was exactly the same sort of thing in his last battle with Stockman. He showed himself decidedly the best fighter, and was also the strongest man. In truth, when he had got his clothes on, he was very little the worse for milling! The blows of Sam were more showy than effective, and his hits were trifling on the nob of Jones, compared to the style with which he finished off Stockman. To sum up the matter, it was the opinion of the majority of persons present that Jones, although a good fighter, a strong chap, and capable of doing severe execution, by the manner of his giving in, showed the “white feather” most unmistakably.

Sam’s defeat of Harry Jones did not add much to his reputation; but he was soon matched with Tom Cooper, the Gipsy, for £30 a-side. This battle was decided on Tuesday, the 25th of April, 1826, at Grays, in Essex, nearly opposite Gravesend, twenty miles from London by road.

It would be wrong to state that the road was covered with amateurs on the appointed Tuesday; nevertheless, the “Old Ring-goers” were in motion at an early hour, and a good muster of the Fancy, in gigs and other vehicles, were trotting over the ground, to arrive in time at the scene of action. Tom Cooper, by his manly behaviour in a turn-up with Bishop Sharpe, which continued for twenty minutes and upwards, was viewed as an opponent likely to test the “staying capabilities” of the Young ’Un. Nevertheless, the betting was decidedly in favour of Sam, six and seven to four. The ring was formed in a field near the Thames, in a most delightful spot; the ships in the river added to the picturesque effect. The ride from London was truly charming. At one o’clock the combatants entered the ring, Dutch Sam attended by Dick Curtis and Harry Holt, and Cooper waited upon by Jem Ward and his brother Jack Cooper. After the hands were crossed together in friendship, the men made their toilets, and in a few minutes set to.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Sam looked well, and the advantages of careful training were perceived in the improvement of his frame. The “Hero of the Bush” was also in good trim; in fact, Cooper is naturally a hardy, wiry sort of chap. Both on the alert, but cautious; and a short time occurred in manœuvring to obtain an opening. At length the Gipsy let fly, and touched Sam’s canister slightly, but the son of the Phenomenon returned a sounder on the body of his opponent with his right. In a rally, counter-hits took place. Sam, however, got away in style; but the Gipsy, anxious to do mischief, again made use of his right hand, when Young Dutchy, with great celerity, planted a second body blow. Sam also, by his skill, bored the Gipsy into a corner, and exhibited his superiority, to the delight of his backers, by using his left and right hands on the index of Cooper, producing the claret, until he went down. (Uproarious shouts of applause for Sam, and two to one offered without the slightest hesitation. “Sam will win in a canter.”)

2.—The blows of the Gipsy were seen on the frame of Sam, but did not appear mischievous. Caution again on both sides; but the Gipsy, always fond of slashing, used his left hand with success on Sam’s head. Dutchy, like a good one, and master of his art, took the lead, went in, and punished the nob of his opponent like fun. The Gipsy did not like it, but kept fighting as he was retreating from danger. A sharp rally, and milling on both sides. Sam, perceiving that he could go in without much danger, again drove his antagonist to the ropes, where the Gipsy, rather tired, went down. (“It’s as right as the day!” said the Pet of the Fancy; “we shall win without any trouble.” “Sam for a hundred.”)

3.—The mug of the “Hero of the Bush” was now the worse for fighting, but his pluck was as good as ever, and mischief seemed his object, by his slashing away at his adversary. Random shots seldom tell, and so it turned out for the Gipsy. Sam took advantage of this sort of wildness, and put in a conker so sharp that Cooper was quite mad, rushed in to work, helter-skelter, and planted a severe blow under Sam’s right ogle, which produced the claret. (“Capital!” from the friends of Cooper; “another like that, and summat will soon be the matter!”) Young Dutchy, as gay as a lark, returned the compliment by two severe hits, and as a sort of tie-up to the round, sent his opponent headlong on the turf. (“Dat’s de vay!” from the Sheenies; “Vat a peautiful hitter! Dat’s vat he ish, my dears! He’s an article not to be shold for his vally!”)

4.—The coolness displayed by Sam, as well as his superiority as a boxer, satisfied the judges he must win it, although he had napped a severe one under his left eye, which bled rather copiously. His left mauly was also a tiny bit damaged, and the friends of the Gipsy announced the circumstance with delight and hopes that it was a good chance for their man, who, they said, could last a long time. Sam got away cleverly from a desperate blow, but went in to his opponent, and by a flush hit on his mouth set Cooper’s ivories dancing. The Gipsy, not dismayed, returned on the body. A sharp rally followed, in which Cooper was floored; and Sam, rather weak, reeled against the stake. (Five-and-twenty pounds to ten, but the backers of the Gipsy did not fancy it.)

5.—This was a prime round; and the friends of the Gipsy observed, if he had but commenced the battle as he now fought, the chance might have been in his favour. The Gipsy wildly fought at the body, while Sam (adopting the traits of his master, Curtis, who was at his elbow) kept milling at the head, and doing considerable execution at every hit. Sam also got away from numerous blows; and such was the fine science he exhibited, uniting tremendous punishment, that he nobbed the Gipsy five times, one after the other, and then, by way of a quietus, floored him. (The Sheenies were now roaring in ecstasy, offering any odds on their “peautiful Young Dutch Sam!”)

6.—The courage and resolution of the Gipsy were admired by every one present, but his mode of fighting was wildness instead of science. He trusted much to desperation, and slashed out without looking at his opponent; in a word, he was no marksman. In the hands of a scientific boxer like Young Dutchy he stood no chance. When once kept out with a few nobbers such a fighter becomes an easy prey, and is licked off-hand at the leisure of the cool miller. Thus was the Gipsy disposed of in this round. He napped “divers blows in sundry places,” and was ultimately floored. (Five to one, but no takers.)

7.—The appearance of the Gipsy was considerably altered, but his friends insisted he was now fighting better, and thought they perceived a small turn in his favour. Anxiety and friendship for a man, in addition to backing, too often punishes the pocket of the amateur—he does not view the contest in a proper light. The Gipsy was still mischievous, and a chance blow might win the battle. (“Be on your guard,” said the Pet. “Give nothing away. Be ready for him; he’s coming, wild as an ox.”) Sam waited for his adversary, met him in the head, and in the struggle for the throw both went down.

8.—In this early stage of the battle it was a guinea to a dump as to the best fighter. Sam did as he pleased, as a superior tactician, and finished this round in great style by a flooring hit. Any odds.

9.—The Gipsy was piping, all abroad, and of little use, with his index out of shape. He was also fatigued, yet he went to work desperately, in order to obtain something like a chance in his favour. It, however, was “no go.” The wildness of the Gipsy was fast leaving him; and the jobbers he received at every turn rendered him nearly stupid. He was hit down distressed.

10.—It was “bellows to mend” with Cooper—in addition to which, Sam’s fists were never out of his face until he was floored. (Thirty to ten. “Take him away; he can’t win it.”)

11.—The Gipsy in this round endeavoured to hit up, which, if it had told upon Sam’s nose, might have been dangerous. But he was punished severely, and in endeavouring to make a return Cooper fell exhausted.

12.—The Gipsy was nearly done over, but he was gay, fought like a man, and contended till he went down. (“Take him away.”)

13.—Wildness and mischief was still the tactics of Cooper, but it was all up with him as to victory. Sam planted his hits as safely as if he had been attacking a dead mark. The Gipsy down.

14.—Cooper was now so distressed that all the champagne in Charley Wright’s extensive cellars—successful as it is in most cases towards recruiting drooping spirits—would have proved of no use towards renovating the strength of the defeated Gipsy. He was severely punished till he went down like a log of wood. (“Pray take the brave fellow away!”)

15, and last.—All things have an end, and the Gipsy was compelled to submit to defeat. Like a drowning man that catches at a straw, Cooper made a desperate rush as his last effort. But Sam finished his opponent by a tremendous blow on the nose as he was falling forward, which deprived him of his senses. When time was called the Gipsy was deaf to it, and Sam was declared the winner. The Young ’Un left the ring little the worse for the combat, excepting his hands, which were much swelled. The Gipsy did not open his eyes for several minutes, when he was not only carried out of the ring, but also to the nearest public-house. In fact, Cooper could not stand. The battle was over in thirty-eight minutes.

REMARKS.—Sam not only proved himself worthy the confidence of his backers, but he raised himself a step higher in the sporting world by his victory over Tom Cooper. He won the battle like a master of his art. His coolness was admirable. He was perfectly prepared at all points, and he met his man with all the skill of an experienced warrior. Cooper did not disgrace himself by this defeat, but he ought to have paid more attention to science. His mode of fighting may suddenly dispose of ugly commoners in a street row, but with a skilful pugilist, when desperation is stopped, the chance is gone, and it is a heart-broken attempt to retrieve the day.

At Ascot Races, on Thursday, June 8th, 1826, after His Majesty (Geo. IV.) had left the ground, a subscription purse of £50 was subscribed for a fight. Sam, determined not to let a chance pass him, entered the lists.

This mill was patronised by some swells of the first order, £50 being collected in the Royal Stand with little difficulty, and great interest was manifested by the spectators when Young Sam was announced as prepared to contend for the prize-money. It will be observed that only six weeks had elapsed since his last fight, and Sam’s hands were said to be somewhat damaged. His opponent, Bill Carroll, was a good man. He was seconded by M’Kenzie and Lenney; and Sam was handled by Dick Curtis and Barney Aaron. Sam took the lead, at two to one, till the tenth round, when he received a severe cross-buttock. This circumstance rather alarmed his friends; but he soon recovered from its effects, and finished off his man in a canter, in sixteen rounds, occupying thirty minutes. The Duke of Wellington was present during the fight, and subscribed £30 towards the stakes, and to a purse for the losing man.

From the great improvement exhibited by Sam, not only in his person, but his knowledge of milling, he was matched, without hesitation, against Jack Cooper, known as the Slashing Gipsy, for £50. This contest was decided upon a stage, on Tuesday, February 27th, 1827, at Andover, after Dick Curtis had defeated Barney Aaron. The Gipsy, attended by Jem Ward and Mr. Nathan, ascended the stage, and Dutch Sam was waited upon by his faithful friends Josh Hudson and Dick Curtis. The appearance of the latter hero as Sam’s second excited general surprise. Curtis said, “Gentlemen, a bet was laid me, ten pounds to one, that I did not win the fight and second Young Dutch Sam. I believe,” said he, laughing, “I shall win both events.” The combatants appeared in excellent condition; Sam seemed lively as a dancing-master, and full of confidence. The Gipsy’s mahogany mug bore a smile of triumph as, after shaking hands, the men set to.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Sam did not exhibit the determined character of his late sire, who was considered the hardest hitter of his time. Young Sam stepped in and out exactly after the lively manner of Curtis, and he also held up his hands like that great master of the art of self-defence. The Pet is a model for all boxers; and Uncle Ben (Burn) publicly expressed his regret that his Nevvy Jem was not at Andover, to have taken a lesson from the battle between Curtis and Aaron. Sam endeavoured to make a hit, after long sparring; but the Gipsy got away from mischief. A precious long pause, and both upon the watching system; at length the Gipsy went in hand over head, and planted a heavy blow on the left arm of Sam, which left its mark. (“I say, governor,” observed an old ring-goer, “if that there hit had knocked at the door of Sam’s victualling office, summat would have been the matter.”) Sam, on the alert, got away from another random shot. The Gipsy followed Sam all over the stage, but gained nothing by his bustling system. The Young One planted a facer; an exchange of blows was made, but Sam had the best of it. In closing, the strength of the Gipsy prevailed, and Sam went down upon his knees.

2.—This was a long round, Sam taking his time to punish his opponent. After several pauses, feints, and other manœuvres, Sam gave a facer which produced “first blood.” The Gipsy, rather wild, rushed in and planted a body blow; but it was a chance hit. Sam, upon the whole, was too leary for his opponent, and having Curtis at his elbow might be considered three points in his favour. He nobbed the Gipsy frequently, without any return. The long space of twenty-five minutes elapsed before this round was finished. In struggling for the throw, both down, the Gipsy undermost. Sam for £100.

3.—The Gipsy, at times, stopped well; but in general he had little discretion about his hitting; he, however, planted a body blow. Sam kept out of mischief with considerable skill, every now and then planting facers, which put the Gipsy out of temper—nay, made him so wild that he rushed in like a bull, and by a sort of scrambling pull, he got the Young One down; five and six to four on Sam.

4.—Had Sam been a punishing hitter, the numerous blows which the Gipsy had received upon his mug must have reduced the fight at this period to a complete certainty, and also short in its duration. Cooper is always a dangerous customer, and his scrambling hits may win a fight. Sam, aware of this feature belonging to the Gipsy, kept out of harm’s way with considerable talent, nobbing the Bush Cove at his leisure. The Gipsy’s mug was bleeding profusely, and in rushing in to do mischief, he ran himself down weak.

5.—This was a long round, but the Gipsy, although desperate at times, could not turn the fight in his favour. The face of Sam did not exhibit punishment. It is but right to observe that Cooper stopped several well-meant blows; but he fought open-handed, and missed numerous hits. If he had measured his distance properly, another account might, perhaps, have been given of the battle. The face of the Gipsy was bleeding in every direction, and he did his utmost to win. In struggling for the throw Sam undermost.

6.—“You need not be in a hurry, Sam,” said Dick, “you are sure to win it; he’s about cutting it now. It is £100 to a kick of the rump.” Sam planted a facer that sent the Gipsy staggering, but he returned to the charge, and fought desperately. In closing Sam fibbed Cooper down. Six to one upon Sam, and “Take him away! He’s of no use!”

7.—The Gipsy, quite abroad, ran at his opponent like a madman, receiving facers at every step; nevertheless, he bustled Sam about, who appeared a little distressed. In closing the Gipsy again napped it severely, and went down, covered with claret. (“Take him away!”)

8.—Strange to say, the Gipsy answered the call of time with alacrity. He also made two good stops. (“Bravo, Gipsy! you behave like a brave fellow!”) Sam now had nothing to do but wait for the rush of his opponent and nob him with ease and certainty. The Gipsy was again punished severely till he went down. (“It is all up now! ten pounds to a crown he does not toe the scratch again! Take him away!”)

9, and last.—The Gipsy, however, showed fight, and proved himself a much gamer man than his friends had anticipated. But he only stood up to receive. Sam milled him down without ceremony. The Gipsy would again have answered the call of time. He was game enough to have had another round, but his backer humanely interfered, and said “he should fight no more.” The battle continued for one hour three minutes and a half. It is impossible to describe the joy felt by Sam; he performed some regular dancing steps in the ring on being declared the winner.

REMARKS.—Sam is an improving fighter; and if he can but add force to his blows, bids fairly for the highest honours of the P.R. He left the ring without a mark upon his face, and no casual observer could have told that he had been engaged in a battle. The face of the Gipsy exhibited severe punishment. Jack Cooper never took anything like such a licking before. He did his best to win, and the bravest could not have done more. Sam is anxious to get higher on the pugilistic list; and if he can find friends to back him, expresses no hesitation to fight Bishop Sharpe. We should say, upon this point, to him, “Be bold, but not too bold!” But the Young One, perhaps, knows best what he is about. He asserts that he fancies “the Bishop” as a customer in preference to any other boxer in the Ring.

In the days of old “the road to the fight” was one of the features of sporting life, nor was the “return from the fight” made without its vicissitudes. On this occasion the sudden alteration in the weather, and the overwhelming showers of rain, rendered the roads almost impassable between Andover and Basingstoke, and the men and horses were beaten to a stand-still. But “it is an ill wind that blows no one any good,” and the “Wheatsheaf Inn,” at Virginia Water, was not neglected either in the journey from or return to London. A good larder, excellent tipple, prime beds, and moderate charges are sure recommendations to the sporting world; and here many of the London division rested for the night. Curtis and Sam arrived in town on Wednesday night, with full pockets, and amidst hearty greetings. Before he left Andover for London, Sam called upon the Gipsy, and made him a present of two sovereigns.

On Thursday, March 1st, 1827, Young Dutch Sam took his benefit at the Tennis Court, and was well supported. The sets-to generally went good, the wind-up by Young Sam and Ned Stockman. Sam was as gay as a lark, fresh as a four-year-old, and quite ready for another mill. Stockman stood up well against his clever adversary; but Sam had decidedly the best of the bout. Curtis also appeared at the Court, and was congratulated by his numerous friends upon his recent conquest over Aaron. His face was considerably swollen, and the handiwork of Barney evident. The Star of the East also showed himself. Barney’s peepers were completely in mourning; his mouth also damaged, and he complained of soreness of his throat. He was quite cheerful, consoling himself that he had done his duty like a brave and honest man.

The Gipsy did not exhibit much punishment—his head was rather out of shape—a proof that Sam was not so hard a hitter as the Pet. Sam himself had no visible signs of recent fighting about his nob; his face was entirely free from marks. He returned thanks for the support he had received, and hoped he had given his friends satisfaction.

Dick Davis, the “Pet of Manchester,” stood so high in the provincial Fancy, from his repeated conquests, that the patrons of boxing in Manchester were determined Davis should have a shy in the London Ring. He was accordingly matched with Young Sam for £100 a-side. This battle was decided on Tuesday, June 19th, 1827, near Stony Stratford. The journey was rather too long for the cockneys, being nearly sixty miles from the sound of Bow bells; as it is also one hundred and twenty-nine miles from Manchester, it was also above a joke for the Manchester lads to leave their homes. Therefore the muster of the Fancy was but thin at Stony Stratford, although the battle between Sam and Davis excited considerable interest among the lovers of boxing, both in town and country. Davis was a native of Lancashire, and twenty-eight years of age. He was employed in Mr. Peel’s iron foundry, at Manchester, as a moulder—in height about five feet six inches and a quarter, weighing ten stone twelve pounds. Davis, by his numerous victories, stood high as a milling cove; and his friends at Manchester flattered themselves that he was invincible, as with his country opponents he was never particular as to weight and size. Davis defeated twice Jack Wilson, also Witman twice; with Tom Reynolds he made a capital battle, which was brought to a wrangle; and he likewise defeated Fidler Hall. Davis entertained an opinion that he could conquer any pugilist of his own weight with the greatest certainty. Sam had now proved victorious in five battles; Ned Stockman, Jack and Tom Cooper (Gipsy), Carroll, and Harry Jones (the Sailor Boy), all in succession had surrendered to his conquering arm.

Davis, with two of his backers, and Phil. Sampson, arrived at Stony Stratford on Saturday, making the “Cross Keys” their headquarters. Davis wore his working dress, consisting of a fustian jacket and wide thick trousers; he also wore a check shirt, and he looked as rough a customer as might be met with in a day’s walk, offering in these respects a striking contrast to the smart and natty London boxer, who was a decided swell in dress and deportment.

Sam arrived with Curtis during Monday, and made his headquarters at the “George.” In walking through the streets of Stratford, the men met each other for the first time, and shook hands like brave fellows. After this _rencontre_, Davis appeared yet more confident he should prove the winner, the opinion of the countryman being that “such a fine gentleman couldn’t stand to be spoilt.”

On Tuesday morning the knowing ones laid their nobs together as to a spot of ground, and a field at Haversham, about five miles from Stony Stratford, was named as the scene of action. Thither the travellers repaired, and a few minutes past twelve o’clock Sam, attended by Curtis and Oliver, threw in his tile. Sam sported silk stockings. Davis appeared immediately afterwards, followed by Sampson, and Johnny Cheetham, of Manchester. The colours, yellow for each of the combatants, were tied to the stakes. Sam was the favourite for choice; but his friends were not inclined to give above five to four. Sam won the toss.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Davis reminded us of Bishop Sharpe, but was even more formidable in appearance. He had been well trained; in fact, he was up to the mark, and his heart also in the right place. To win, and nothing else but to win, he said, he left Manchester. Sam was gay as a lark, but his friends did not think him so well as he might have been, and one of his knuckles on the left hand was tender and swelled. Sam had the advantage in height and length, but the superiority in weight was with Davis. The latter hero looked every inch a milling cove. On appearing at the scratch Davis was still cautious, and watching the movements of Sam from his eyes down to his toe. Sam also measured his opponent at all points, and felt assured that he had a rum customer before him. Offers on both sides, but no blows; at length Davis rushed in, and slightly planted a hit on Sam’s arm. Sam, with great skill, crept, as it were, by degrees, up to his adversary, and let fly on Davis’s sensitive plant. Davis’s ogles winked again, (“Sam for £100!”) A trifling exchange occurred, when Sam cried, out, “First blood!” the claret slightly appearing on the mouth of Davis. Sam was not long before he planted another snouter, but Davis received it very coolly. Davis put in a body hit. Exchange of blows; when they separated, Sam waiting for another turn. A long pause. Davis would not make play. Sam planted another successful noser. Several minutes had elapsed; so much caution was observed on both sides that it was certain that a long fight would be the result. Sam retreated from some heavy work to a corner of the ring, where he received a bodier; but he returned a heavy nobber, which sent Davis staggering until he went down. This was considered a knock-down blow; and the two events had been obtained upon the part of Sam, as to first blood and the first knock-down blow. (The Samites opened their mouths like good ones, saying, it was as right as the day, and offering any money on the son of the Phenomenon.)

2.—Davis hit Sam on the ribs. Sam returned right and left. Davis missed two heavy blows. A long pause. Sam again felt for the nose of his opponent. Davis gave two body hits, but they were short, and not effective. Counter-hits; but the length of Sam gave him the “best of it.” Another tedious pause. Sam walked round his opponent to get an opening. (“As you are a fine fighter,” said Sampson, “why don’t you go to work?” Curtis observed to Sampson, “Do you recollect Ned Neale?”) Davis stopped a left-handed blow cleverly; he also got away from another. The men now went to work, and several blows were exchanged. In closing Sam endeavoured to fib his adversary; but the strength of Davis was too much for him, and in struggling for the throw Sam got down well. “Well done, Sam!” from the London boys.

3.—The claret was now visible upon the mug of Davis, and the nose-enders he had received put him on the winking system. This round was a truly tedious one—five minutes at a time and no blows passed. Sam was determined, like a skilful general, not to lose an inch of ground, and only to hit when it was a certainty to get home. Sam let fly, and the face of his adversary napped it. Some sharp fighting occurred, Davis endeavouring to do mischief, and he ultimately succeeded in planting a desperate left-handed hit on the side of Sam’s head, which floored the Young One. The Lancashire lads began to open their mouths—“That’s right, Dick!”—while the Samites not only looked blue, but were silent as fish.

4.—Sam looked rather stupid; he was labouring under the effects of the last blow. Davis did not follow up his success, but waited for Sam to make play. The latter with great ease put in a rum one, and Davis put up his hand to feel if his nose was in the right place. Sam stopped a well-meant body blow. A short rally, but Sam broke away. In closing some expressions of disapprobation saluted Davis for his mode of throwing. But as it did not appear to be done intentionally, the umpires did not notice it, and Sam was under.

5.—This was a short round, but the milling in it was better than in any of the preceding rounds. The exchanges were at par. Davis thrown.

6.—Several of the London Fancy began rather to be alarmed, and got their money off by backing Davis. Excepting his nob he was none the worse for the battle, although one hour and more had passed away. The science displayed by Sam was the delight of the amateurs; he jobbed Davis repeatedly; but the game of the latter was not to be reduced by the left-handed blows of Sam. The right eye of Davis was cut in the corner, and the claret was streaming from his nose. He made some counter-hits, but had the worst of the round until he went down.

7–9.—The fighting of Davis in all these rounds was the same; he would not go in; and stood out to be nosed at the will of Sam. The latter was thrown heavily in the last round.

10.—This was a long round. Sam was more than cautious; and under the circumstance of his bad hand his fighting was entitled to praise. The lip of Davis was cut severely. He received lots of smashers in the face, and the claret running down his throat annoyed the Lancashire man much. In closing Davis was under.

11–16.—The superiority of the style of Sam’s fighting in all these rounds gave him the lead; yet the goodness and game of Davis rendered him a troublesome customer. The latter could not get at Sam with anything like certainty, and therefore his favourite hits were at the body. Sam was thrown, and also received some heavy blows. In the last round he received a severe cross-buttock.

17–21.—(“Pray take him away,” said Tom Oliver to his backer; “he is one of the gamest fellows I ever saw, but he cannot win; you will get yourself into trouble—nay, all of us. It is a shame to let such a brave fellow fight any longer.” “Well done, Tommy,” replied a Manchester covey; “he is not half licked yet; Davis will soon begin; he can’t lose it. Sam has not strength to lick a baby.”) The head of Davis, by the repeated jobbers he had received, was quite out of shape; both his peepers were damaged, his cheeks puffed up, and his nose cut and bleeding. But his backers relied upon his gameness, and several of them calculated upon his winning. The last round was well fought, and rather in favour of Davis, who went in to fight. Sam was down.

22, 23, 24.—Nose and mouth. Although it might be termed quite safe to Sam, and three to one offered upon him, yet the son of the Phenomenon treated Davis as a dangerous rival, and kept out of mischief. He jobbed Davis at his leisure, reducing his strength every round. (“Take him away!” from all parts of the ring.)

25–27.—Davis would not listen to anything like “giving in,” and although his nose was hit two or three times in every round, he fought in the most manly style. He was down in every round. (“Take him away!”)

28.—The gameness of Davis never deserted him and it did appear to the spectators that he would sooner part with his life than lose the battle. (Ten pounds to a crown—any odds—but no takers.) Davis sent down.

29, 30, and last.—Davis again appeared at the scratch and showed fight. Sam now did as he liked with his brave opponent, punishing him in all directions, until he hit him down in the corner of the ring. His backers said Davis should not fight any more. In fact, Davis could not have appeared again at the scratch. The fight occupied _three hours and thirty-five minutes_.

REMARKS.—Against a fine fighter like Dutch Sam something more than gameness is required. Davis may defeat a mob of yokels, but it is quite a different thing to tackle London prize-fighters. Davis is a good man, a scientific hard hitter, and stands up like a chopping-block; but the above requisites, although essential to a boxer, will not ensure victory unless he can fight more than a little. He must learn to give as well as to take; a receiver-general is but a foolish character. Davis was severely punished about the head. Had he gone in according to the direction of Sampson a different account might have been given of the fight; yet it is but common justice to say of Davis that he exerted himself all in his power to win the battle. Sam, notwithstanding it took him upwards of three hours to defeat his opponent, won the fight like a first-rate tactician. If the left hand of Sam had not been injured he would probably have won the battle in half the time. He left the ring quite fresh, and could have fought another hour without difficulty.

The backers of Sam, without hesitation, now pitted him against the “all-conquering Bishop Sharpe” for £100 a-side. This match excited an unusual degree of interest. Sharpe had the majority in his favour, particularly the old ring-goers; nevertheless, Young Sam stood well with the Corinthians and the lovers of fine fighting. The following remarks as to the different capabilities of the combatants were published a few days previous to the day appointed for the battle to take place: “First on the list stands Bishop Sharpe, the Bold Smuggler, who has proved himself successful in upwards of twenty battles, both in and out of the Prize Ring. The Smuggler never picked his customers, but took them as they came, and always got through the piece with victory. As a fighter, Bishop Sharpe is not generally admired; but as a hitter he is tremendous, and one blow well planted has often rendered it ‘no go’ to his opponents. The Sage of the East pronounces him to be ‘prodigious;’ and the John Bull Fighter asserts, ‘He hits them as I like, and so hard as his opponents do not like!’ But Sharpe will be opposed by a ‘leary’ fighter in Sam, cautious in a high degree, and who has a very great aversion to be hit at all. This renders Sam a very difficult cove to be ‘got at.’ He is also a very dangerous adversary for those customers who like to ‘go in,’ as he nobs and gets away, frequently without any return; his blows are considered light, and of the sparring school; but the Manchester Pet tells another tale. We are inclined to think—nay, almost certain—that Young Sam cannot punish anything like his late papa, nor hit as hard; but he has a knack of hitting a man twice in a place which nearly amounts to the same thing. Sam is confidence personified, and the Bishop thinks victory is as safe to him as if the battle were at an end. Sharpe is at present the favourite, five to four.”

Tuesday, October 23rd, 1827, was the day set apart for the battle to take place, and great anxiety was manifested upon the event. Many of the Londoners started overnight for the scene of action; and in consequence the Bonifaces on the road to No Man’s Land came in for a turn, more especially at St. Albans, the “Blue Boar” being the grand rallying point.

Before peep of day on Tuesday morning, the North London road was covered with vehicles of every description, filled with the lads of the Fancy, picturing to themselves a prime day’s play between Sam and the Bishop, and the complete fill up of the scene by Barney Aaron and Redmond. The “Crown,” at Holloway, kept by Joe Emms, was attractive; Young on Highgate Hill was not forgotten; Pepper, at the “King’s Arms” at Barnet, came in for a good slice, and “Little Tim’s Crib,” near to the twelfth milestone, was overflowing with company.

Sharpe, on the Monday evening, made his quarters at St. Albans, and Sam took up his residence for the night at “Little Tim’s.”

As the day wore on, it was ascertained that a screw was loose, and five to one offered that no fight would take place. Such was the state of things for two or three hours at St. Albans; at length it was announced that Sam was upon the road, and he shortly afterwards made his appearance in a post-chaise.

Time was on the wing; and Sharpe and his seconds, Peter Crawley and Ward, made the best of their way to No Man’s Land, where the ring had been previously made by Joe Fishwick. At one o’clock Bishop Sharpe threw his hat into the ring, according to custom, in order to claim the stakes should Sam not make his appearance, but Sam, attended by Curtis and Harry Holt, showed himself within the ropes. All was happiness amongst the crowd for a few minutes, and nothing but a scientific battle expected to take place; but the mishap was soon developed; Sam took off his fogle, but the remainder of his toggery remained untouched. The traps now appeared, and said they had a warrant against Sam; but on no occasion whatever did officers ever conduct themselves more gently, or act “according to their instructions” to behave in a gentlemanly manner to the offender against the law, than these did. This compliment is most certainly due to them. The warrant was demanded, and was soon brought to light. It purported to be from Marylebone Office, signed by Mr. Rawlinson, directing all constables, &c., “to apprehend Samuel Evans and bring him before the said magistrate of the county of Middlesex, on suspicion of his being about to commit a breach of the peace with one Bishop Sharpe.” During the conference with the traps, the Bishop addressed himself to several gentlemen in the ring, observing, “It is too bad—it is rascally conduct to rob me of the battle-money,” and taking off his clothes, went up to his opponent, and said to him, “Sam, do you mean to fight? I am ready for you.” Sam replied, “What am I to do?—I can’t fight in the face of the officers.” His seconds, Holt and Curtis, declared they would not give a chance away by seconding Sam in defiance of the law. The traps, to prevent any further misunderstanding on the subject, and to make “their visit pleasant,” in the most gentle manner gave Sam a hint that his services in the ring would be dispensed with, so, like “a good boy,” he retired from within the ropes without giving them any further trouble. Bishop Sharpe put on his clothes; but before he left the ring he said he had no doubt the lovers of fair play would not let him be deprived of the stakes, and thus the affair ended.

On Thursday, October 25th, 1827, the Pet of the Fancy took his benefit at the Tennis Court; and, considering the unfavourable state of the weather, it was a good one. Several bouts proved attractive; but the great feature of the day was the set-to between Harry Holt and Young Dutch Sam. This gave the amateurs an opportunity of judging of Sam’s condition; and, in the general opinion of the audience, he appeared nothing wanting; on the contrary, he was considered up to the mark. Young Sam was pitted against one of the best sparrers on the list, and one who has had great experience, not only in fighting with Jack Randall, but continually setting-to with the Nonpareil in his best days. Holt has been opposed to all the first-rate men on the list, and always proved himself a distinguished scientific artist. The attack and defence were a masterpiece on both sides. Harry was perfectly aware that he had a troublesome customer before him, and Sam had not to learn that the eyes of all the Court were on him. We do not know a better opponent than Holt for Sam to produce a trial scene for the Fancy in order that they may draw their own conclusions. Harry was capital, and Sam proved himself excellent. The “best of it” was of a doubtful nature, and a feather in the scales of candour and justice might have been the award on either side; but it should be recollected that Sam was in condition, and Harry quite out of it. This, however, was not the point in view; but the most remarkable and valuable feature in the above set-to was this—Sam, it was seen, could change his mode of fighting as circumstances presented themselves—no hopping about, no standing still, but stopping and hitting his opponent with the utmost ease, rallying like the most determined boxer, and getting out of trouble with ease, style, and decision. Indeed, such was the display of Sam and Harry Holt that the greatest admirers of Bishop Sharpe on witnessing the set-to, must have pronounced the “Young One” a formidable and dangerous customer to the Bold Smuggler. Tumultuous applause crowned their exertions and exits from the stage. It was pronounced by the whole of the visitors one of the best sets-to ever witnessed at the Tennis Court.

Several persons of rank who were present wished that Sam would give some explanation on the subject of his not fighting with Sharpe. He replied “that he had no explanation to give; he had been used very ill, and it was not his fault!”

DECISION OF THE STAKEHOLDER.—The “Castle Tavern” was overflowing on Wednesday, October 24th, 1827; Bishop Sharpe and his backers were present. The stakes of £200 were demanded by the Bishop, on the score that he was in the ring, and ready to fight, according to the articles of agreement. He said that Sam had declined to fight through the collusion of parties, under the idea they would lose their blunt if he fought, and not on account of any fair magisterial interruption. One of the backers of the “Young One” resisted the stakes being given up until the whole of Sam’s backers were present, as they had nothing to do with the matter in dispute. The stakeholder, Tom Belcher, considered, in point of right and fairness, the Bishop was entitled to the battle-money, and accordingly gave Sharpe one hundred pounds, holding the other hundred as an indemnity against any legal proceedings which might be instituted against the stakeholder.

Sam, full of pluck, and anxious to obtain a job, offered to fight Peace Inglis, but no match was made.

In April, 1827, Dan M’Kenzie was matched against Young Sam for £50 a-side, but the backers of M’Kenzie ultimately preferred a forfeiture to running the risk of a battle.

In a set-to with “the Young Gas” at the Tennis Court, Sam distinguished himself, proving a most troublesome customer. Jonathan had “all his work to do” to prevent his being placed in the background by the superior tactics of Young Sam.

The set-to between Young Sam and Harry Holt had given so much satisfaction to the amateurs that a second bout was called for by the admirers of the art of self-defence. At the benefit of Jem Burn at the Tennis Court on Tuesday, December 11th, 1827, the above pugilists again met. Sam, as a rising performer, appeared anxious to obtain the superiority, and Holt was equally on the alert to prevent losing his laurels obtained as an accomplished sparrer. The latter defended himself with considerable skill; but the length and activity of Sam ultimately gave him the advantage. Upon quitting the stage they received thunders of applause from a delighted audience.

The following statement, addressed to the sporting world, appeared in the newspapers in vindication of Young Sam’s character:—

“November 1st, 1827.

“GENTLEMEN,—I have been much surprised to perceive that almost all the blame of the disappointment experienced by the fancy owing to the fight not taking place between Bishop Sharpe and myself has been laid upon my shoulders, and yet I have been unquestionably the greatest sufferer; for I am confident that had no interruption taken place the battle-money would be now in my possession. An inference is drawn to my prejudice that as the warrant from the Mary-la-bonne Office was granted on the information of my mother, I had employed her to give such information, or, at least, that she acted with my knowledge and consent; but I declare most solemnly that this was not the case. I had no previous knowledge whatever that any one intended to adopt such a course, nor did I know that such a warrant was issued, till informed of it on the morning of fighting. Whether or not this warrant was obtained at the instance of persons who had taken a strange alarm and were afraid to risk their money on me, I shall not pretend to say; but of this the Fancy may be assured, that I meant _to do my best to win_, and felt fully confident of success. With respect to the assertion that the officers had no authority to take me, as their warrant was issued from Middlesex, and was not backed by a Hertfordshire magistrate, I can safely plead that they told me they certainly had full powers to act, and I did not feel sufficiently acquainted with legal niceties to resist their authority. I could not venture to fight in defiance of a couple of experienced officers, who I reasonably concluded must be much better judges of the extent of their powers than I could be. As to the alleged error of a _misnomer_ in the warrant, _my real name is Samuel Evans_, so that the document was correctly drawn in that respect at least. The whole affair has ended most unfortunately for me; I am bound over to ‘keep the peace towards all his Majesty’s liege subjects for twelve months,’ and am thus prevented from exercising my profession in the Ring during that period—a consequence of most serious import to a young man who, vanity apart, was rising into notice, and had been hitherto invariably successful. Of course, it is useless for me to talk of making any match at present; but, when the above period has expired, I shall be prepared to fight any man in England, of my weight, for from £100 to £500. And now a word or two to Bishop Sharpe: If he has one spark of English feeling belonging to him, he will not fail to give me the preference as soon as I am free from the fetters of the law and able to meet him. I have a prior claim upon his notice, and shall never rest satisfied till I have a fair opportunity of proving which is the best man. Good luck, and the unfair precipitation of the stakeholder, have placed the battle-money for our late match in the Bishop’s possession (to which, under all the circumstances, he was not entitled); let him add to the windfall as much more as he pleases up to £500, and, at the end of one year from the date of this letter, I will fight him for the whole.

“Yours, &c., SAMUEL EVANS “(Commonly called Young Dutch Sam).”

During the twelve months of enforced exclusion from the ring as a principal, Sam figured in a turn-up in February, 1828, with a big carman who insulted his friend, Dick Curtis, near London Bridge, polishing off the wagon-driving Hercules in five rounds. The affair will be found in the memoir of Dick Curtis, _post_.

In the autumn of 1828, in consequence of some personal unpleasantness, the veteran Jack Martin (the once-renowned conqueror of Scroggins, Josh Hudson, Phil. Sampson, and Ned Turner) challenged Young Sam to the battle-field, and a match was made for £100 a-side. For some months this affair was the talk of sporting circles; Sam’s conduct being the subject of much censure. At length, all preliminaries being arranged, the men met on the 4th of November, 1828, at Knowle Hill, Berks, thirty-four miles from London, a spot celebrated from its having been the scene of similar exhibitions on a former occasion—we allude to the fights between George Cooper and Baldwin, Young Dutch Sam and Ned Stockman, and Goodman and Reidie, all of which were decided on the same excellent arena without interruption. In fact, a more suitable spot could not have been selected; first, from its being at a distance from any populous neighbourhood; and next, from one side of the grounds being bounded by a gradual elevation, from which the spectators could look down upon the sports as from a sort of amphitheatre. The distance from London, too, four-and-thirty miles, brought the journey within the scope of a day, and enabled the amateurs to go and return without any serious sacrifice of time or labour.

Both men had been attentive to their training; Martin at Milford, in Surrey, and Sam first at Hartley Row, and then at the “New Inn,” Staines. In the early part of his training, Martin, from having but just recovered from a severe fit of illness, as well as from the deep wound which his feelings had sustained, was in anything but promising condition. At last he came out with every appearance of renovated health. At his benefit, on the previous Tuesday, he seemed to have reached his pristine vigour, and, as he said himself, was quite as well as an “old ’un” could expect to be. Of the result of the battle he always spoke with perfect confidence, and led his friends to believe that victory was certain. So persuaded was he himself of this issue that he advised all whom he knew to back him without hesitation, and actually gave them money to lay out on his account. In the end this confidence proved to be misplaced, and the milling maxim that “old stale ones are of no use to young fresh ones,” was fully exemplified; Martin, who had been for some years a licensed victualler, being in his thirty-third year, while Sam’s summers numbered but twenty-one. It was stipulated in the articles that Martin should not weigh more than 11st. 7lbs. on the morning of fighting—a superfluous condition, seeing that his weight, in his prime, was under 11st., and his recent illness had reduced him some pounds. Sam stated his weight at 10st. 12lbs.; to us he looked more than half a stone heavier. The toss for choice of place was won by Sam, and he very naturally named the scene of his former good fortune. On Monday afternoon Martin reached the “Castle Inn,” on the further side of Maidenhead; and Sam, accompanied by Dick Curtis and other friends, shifted his quarters from Old Shirley’s at Staines, to the same neighbourhood. It was soon ascertained that the magistracy would not interfere, and the anticipation of the approaching contest was thus unalloyed by those fears which were but too common even in those days in meetings of a like character.

The road from London during Monday afternoon was crowded by drags of every description. A great number pushed on to Maidenhead, while others pulled up at Cranford Bridge, Colnbrook, or Slough.

The dawn of day produced a new cavalcade from all quarters. Carriages, post-chaises, and gigs kept pouring through the town all the morning in an almost uninterrupted line, reminding men of the days when Crawley Downs was the favourite resort of the Fancy. Many persons of distinction were among the motley assemblage, whose patronage, under the encouragement afforded by the Fair Play Club, was hourly increasing. The weather was as propitious as the most fastidious could desire; the sun shone with brilliancy, and every countenance seemed gladdened by the cheering prospect of a good day’s sport.

The Commissary was early on the ground, and formed the ring with his usual judgment. The whole was surrounded by wagons and other vehicles, which were drawn up three and four deep, and the most perfect regularity was preserved. As the hour of combat approached the throng came rattling in from every point of the compass, and the “yellowman” of Sam and the “blue bird’s-eye fogle” of Martin were everywhere sported. Tom Cribb and most of the old members of the P.R. were present, and we were glad to recognise in the circle many of those old Fancy mugs whose countenance in former days lent life to the scene.

At half-past twelve there were not less than ten thousand persons assembled. At this time the F.P.C. whips were put into the hands of twelve of the “Order of Regulators,” and the ring was immediately cleared of interlopers, all of whom, with a few exceptions, retired behind an outer ring of ropes, in which situation they remained throughout the contest.

At a quarter before one o’clock it was announced that both men were on the ground, and in a few minutes afterwards Sam entered the ring, attended by Dick Curtis and Jem Ward. He looked serious, and was a little pale, but still appeared well and confident.

In a few minutes afterwards Martin entered from the opposite side of the circle, attended by Tom Spring and Peter Crawley. He was received with loud cheers, and appeared in high spirits. He came forward with a smile on his countenance, as if, to use the words of an old toast, “the present moment was the most happy of his life.”

Martin paid but little attention to his antagonist, while Sam eyed him with a searching look, and, turning towards his friends, said, “It will be seen to-day whether fear forms any part of my composition.” On peeling, Martin showed a fine muscular pair of understandings, and had some good points upwards; but it was obvious that his frame was not in its prime. His breast showed marks of recent blisters as well as the bites of leeches, and the flesh about his collar-bone and ribs wanted that fulness and freshness which betoken good health. Sam was “all over right,” and was evidently in slap-up condition. Though not so well pinned as Martin, his upper works were symmetry itself, and the fine muscle of his shoulders and arms was visible at every move. At length, both men being ready, the toss for choice of position took place, and was won by Curtis. The men then went to the scratch, and shook hands slightly, and immediately threw themselves into position. Breathless silence prevailed, and the seconds retired to their corners. At this time the betting was twenty-five to twenty on Martin.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The men set to across the sun, with their sides to it, and each got close to the side of the ring. Sam had the higher ground, and made one or two dips or half plunges with his left, as if going to let fly; but Martin was steady, and held his arms well up to guard his nob. In this way they stood opposite each other for some seconds, when Sam again made a feint with his left. Martin immediately broke away, and veering round, got the upper ground, so that they, in fact, changed positions. Three minutes had now elapsed, when Sam hit out slightly with his right, but was stopped. He tried it again, and popped in his left and right with great force on Martin’s right eye and left cheek. Martin then rushed in to a rally, but was cleverly met by Sam with his left, and both hit away, Sam well in, and quick with his right and left. Martin slipped on his knees from the moist state of the ground, or from a hit in the neck, but was up in a moment. Sam, ready at all points, instantly plunged in to a close in the corner of the ring, and a desperate struggle ensued, each trying for the advantage, Sam hitting right and left at the body and head, while Martin grasped him round the neck. Sam cleverly disentangled his left hand, and delivered a slashing hit on his right eye; he then hit him with the right, and both still continued to struggle with all their force, Martin receiving some severe hits, but making no return; at last Sam threw out his leg, and catching Martin on his thigh, flung him over, and fell heavily on him. The ring was in an uproar, and all Martin’s friends in dismay. It was a fearful but decisive struggle in favour of Sam, for on Martin rising to his second’s knee his right eye was closed and dreadfully swollen, while his face exhibited other marks of Sam’s handiwork. Sam himself had not a mark. “It’s all over,” was the general cry—“Sam must win;” and, indeed, it was evident that Martin was quite abroad, as well as obviously distressed. The round lasted five minutes, and six and seven to four were freely offered on Sam, but no takers, for all were too much astonished to think of hedging.

2.—Both men came to the scratch with deliberation, and each seemed desirous of recruiting his wind, which was in full play from the violence of the previous struggle. Sam again poised himself on his left leg, keeping his head well up, and his fists ready for delivery. At length Martin, as if he considered something desperate was necessary, hit out with his right, but the blow fell short; he then rushed in, but was met cleverly by Sam with his left. Martin, quite wild, bored him to the ropes, but Sam, cool and steady, broke away and jobbed him with his right. Martin, rather abroad, now tried at the body, and rushed in with his head down—Sam again met him with his right, and closed, when he caught poor Jack’s nob under his right arm, and hit up with his left ultimately flooring him, and falling on his head. Three to one on Sam, and no takers.

3.—Sam cautious, and in no hurry to begin. Martin stood with his back close to the ropes, and many thought Sam ought to have gone in to finish. He seemed to think, however, he had the game in his own hands, and was evidently collecting his wind. At last he put in a fearful job with his right on Martin’s left eye, and again with his left on the nose, drawing claret in abundance. Martin broke away and took up fresh ground (Approbation). Both got to the corner of the ring, and again waited for Captain Wind-’em. Martin hit out with his left, but was neatly stopped, and Sam smiled; Martin then tried his right, but was short, and this was followed by another desperate rally, in which Sam’s deliveries, right and left, were precise and severe. His hitting was admirable, and style of attack beautiful. Quick as lightning Martin had it in the chops, without being able to make a successful return, and again in the throat. At last Martin closed for the fall, running in with his head down, and succeeded in getting Sam down, and falling upon him. (Ten minutes had now expired, and it was pretty evident the first round had taken the fight out of Martin).

4.—Martin all abroad; but still kept his hands well up. At length he rushed in with his head down, and attempted to deliver a body hit, which fell on Sam’s breast. Sam stepped back and met him as he came in, and then closing hit up with great force, and delivered a tremendous body blow with his right. In the struggle for the fall both went down, Martin under.

5.—Spring now called for a lancet, if possible, to let the blood from Martin’s right eye, but could not obtain one; he endeavoured to scarify the skin with a penknife, but without effect, and poor Jack was again brought to the scratch, when Sam lost little time in jobbing left and right on the sore spots. This dose he repeated and broke away. Martin rushed in wild, hitting right and left, but short and without effect. Sam again closed, fibbed, and threw him. (Fourteen minutes had elapsed.)

6.—Martin came up quite abroad, when Sam, after a feint, threw in a tremendous smack with his right on the left jaw, and dropped him, thus winning the first knock-down blow as well as the first blood.

7th, and last.—It was now Bushey Park to a lark sod. On Martin being brought to the scratch Sam jobbed him right and left on the head and ear, and repeated this discipline till his man went down completely abroad and woefully punished. He tried to make a rally, but it was all in vain, and on being lifted up by Spring, he said it was no use, he was too stale, and had not a chance. Spring tried to persuade him to get up for a few more rounds, but he would not “have it,” and on his rising on his legs Spring gave in for him. He then walked a few paces, and Spring gave him his knee when he complained of his being sick at stomach. Sam was declared the victor in sixteen minutes.

REMARKS.—In the history of Martin’s pugilistic feats—with the exception, perhaps, of his quick despatch by Jack Randall in his second fight, upon which so much was said at the time—we never witnessed greater disappointment or astonishment than was manifested on the present occasion. Hundreds of individuals, many of the highest respectability, who had long since abandoned the sports of the Ring, were induced to come from distant parts of the country in full confidence that they would be gratified by seeing something worth looking at, but what was their surprise to find that their anticipations were groundless, and that the man on whose talent and game they had relied proved to be below mediocrity, indeed, we have never seen even the most unpretending commoner so easily and so quickly disposed of. After the first round, in fact, he had not the ghost of a chance. It is said that he was taken by surprise by the quick assault of Sam, who from being a cautious out-fighter suddenly changed his style and became the assailant. This may have been the case; and we know that Sam, under the advice of Dick Curtis, adopted this mode as the most likely to puzzle a man of Martin’s bustling manner. Sam’s first feints were evidently dictated by a desire to try what Martin meant, and whether he would stand to be jobbed if an opening offered. The experiment told. Curtis saw the advantage, and exclaiming to Sam, “Go it!” the latter at once made play. This quickness immediately drew Martin to a rally, in which he clearly lost his presence of mind, and left himself open to the severe punishment, which he received without making anything like a return. Feeling the sting of Sam’s hits he had recourse rather to hugging and endeavouring to get his man down than to the more prudent course of dropping or breaking away. This effort in his state of constitution was decidedly the worst he could have made, as it could only lead to exhaustion on his part much more easily than with his more vigorous and youthful assailant. It also gave Sam an opportunity of hanging upon him, and fibbing him in a way which, of all things ought to have been evaded. Sam was alive to all his advantages and availed himself of them in the most decisive manner, and in so short a time we have seldom witnessed more decided execution. If anything were wanting to prove the “patched up” state of Martin’s frame, it was the rapidity with which his eye puffed up from the effect of Sam’s left-handed hit, and the distress which he exhibited when he was placed on his second’s knee. It has been observed that after this he lost his temper, but to this we do not subscribe, as he came up with great coolness and courage. He had, however, sufficient reason to lose his confidence, which combined with the punishment he had received, led him to the wild efforts he subsequently made, and exposed him to the excellent generalship which Sam displayed—not only in averting his antagonist’s injudicious rushes, but in making the best of the openings which were offered. It is true that after the first round Sam’s work might be considered as done, but still he preserved his caution, did not throw his chance away, and finished his man in a very masterly manner. After the first round Martin was sick at stomach, and when all was over this was his principal complaint, for, though severely hit, we have seen him take five times the hitting with not one tithe of the effect. A good deal of regret was expressed that Martin should have had so signal a defeat added to his other mortification. We have only to look to the character of the men in the ring; and, in this view, to give Sam every credit for his milling talent, which we unhesitatingly pronounce of the first order. From the ring Martin was led to an adjoining cottage, where he was put to bed, and received every necessary attention. Previous to Martin quitting the ring Sam went up to him and begged him to shake hands. This Martin for a long time refused, but at last put up his hand coldly, and Sam promised to give him £10 of the battle-money. Sam dressed on the ground, and appeared as if nothing had happened. He returned to dinner at Shirley’s, and arrived in town the same night. Martin, on recovering went to the “Castle Inn,” and set off the same evening for Godalming, where he arrived alone at twelve o’clock at night and remained there. He was much depressed, and refused to see any person who called.

The battle-money was given up to Young Dutch Sam on the following Thursday evening at Tom Cribb’s, in Panton Street, in the presence of a full muster of the Fancy, and all bets were of course paid.

In the September following the defeat of Ned Neale by Baldwin (White-headed Bob), Neale fought and defeated Nicholls, who had defeated Acton, an opponent of Jem Ward. This match was for £100 a-side, and was won by Neale in eighteen rounds and seventy-eight minutes. On the 2nd of December, 1828, he beat Roche for £100 a-side, in thirty rounds, occupying exactly half an hour, and was now without a competitor. At this time Young Dutch Sam, who was in the zenith of his fame, was naturally anxious still further to increase his reputation, and, although he knew that Neale was a much heavier man than himself, he, with a different feeling to that which is now but too prevalent, issued a challenge to fight Ned, provided he would confine himself to 11st. 10lbs., he (Sam) undertaking not to exceed 11st. His fighting-weight was declared to be under 10st. 10lbs., so that, in fact, he gave away at least a stone. Neale, although his milling-weight was 12st. 4lbs., agreed to reduce himself to the stipulated 11st. 10lbs., the match was made, and everything went forward satisfactorily, the battle exciting intense interest.

FIRST FIGHT BETWEEN YOUNG DUTCH SAM AND NEALE, FOR £100 A SIDE.

The battle took place on the 7th of April, 1829, at Ludlow, in Shropshire, but, owing to the distance from the Metropolis, and the difficulty of getting thence to the scene of action, did not attract that crowd of London Particulars which the known capabilities of the men would have undoubtedly attracted had it come off nearer home. The inducement to the men to go so far afield seems to have been a sum of £100 subscribed for them by the inhabitants of Ludlow.

Neale, it may be remembered, had but once found his master, and that in the never-flinching Baldwin (White-headed Bob); and Sam, although not quite so old a member of the pugilistic corps, had at this time never been beaten.

Strong apprehensions were entertained that Neale, by reducing himself so much below his fighting-weight, would weaken his frame, and give his more youthful antagonist an advantage over him (apprehensions which were fully justified by the result). Neale, however, did not participate in this feeling, and, after a sparring tour, he set out for his training quarters, at Milford, where, by constant labour, he gradually got off his superfluous flesh, and, a few days before fighting, was five pounds under the stipulated weight. This was certainly carrying the point too far, and although Ned himself said he never was in better health, he was forced to confess he did not feel so strong as when his weight was greater. In point of spirits and confidence, it was impossible that he could have been in better form, and he booked winning as a certainty. He left Milford on Saturday, and proceeded direct by mail to Ludlow, where he arrived on Sunday afternoon, under the convoy of a gallant Captain, and the Portsmouth Dragsman, the well-known Will Scarlett. It is needless to observe that such a journey so near upon the approaching struggle was not consistent with strict prudence, but such was Neale’s estimate of his opponent, and such his reliance on his own physical powers, that he treated the remarks on this subject with levity, and fancied the laurels of victory already entwining his brow. Young Sam, who trained first at Staines, was not less attentive to his duties. He was known to be in tip-top condition, and as sleek and active as a deer; showing at the same time a confidence in his carriage not less obvious than that of Neale. He said his game had been doubted, but the approaching combat would show whether these doubts were well or ill founded. He, more wisely than Neale, left London with his backers and friends on Friday, slept at Worcester, and reached Bromfield, near Ludlow, on Saturday, and there remained till the morning of fighting. He was attended by Dick Curtis and some of his favourite pals, who lost no opportunity of reminding him of those qualifications which he had so often shown to advantage, and which, in fact, had obtained for him the character of one of the prettiest fighters of the day. In point of age there was but little difference, Sam being twenty-two, and Neale twenty-five. In the course of Monday the town of Ludlow was all bustle and gaiety, and the certainty that no apprehensions were to be entertained from the officiousness of the beaks gave universal satisfaction.

The ground chosen for the lists was admirably suited for the purpose, and was situated upon the top of a hill, in Ludford Park, within a hundred yards of the adjoining county of Hereford. The ring was formed under the direction of Tom Oliver and his secretary, Frosty-faced Fogo, in their very best style, and was encompassed by an extensive circle of wagons, which were liberally contributed by the farmers in the neighbourhood, who behaved like trumps on this occasion, and were heart and hand in favour of the game.

On Tuesday morning the men were “up with the lark,” and having taken their customary walks, laid in a few strata of mutton chops, and other belly furniture, after which they submitted to the titivation of their respective barbers, who turned them out as blooming as a couple of primroses, and looking as well as the most sanguine hopes of their friends could have desired. As the day advanced, the crowd thickened, and all betook themselves to the ring-side. By twelve o’clock upwards of 5,000 persons were assembled. The weather partook of the varied character of April—alternate showers and sunshine—but, on the whole, was favourable.

At half-past eleven o’clock the men went to scale, and were both found within their weight, Sam about 2lbs., and Neale full 4lbs., but neither was weighed to a nicety. Neale, when stripped, looked extremely thin, and excited the surprise of many who had seen him in the same town a few weeks before in the full proportion of thirteen stone, and it was evident that his admirers became less sweet upon his chances, for the odds of two to one, which had been freely offered on the night before, received a sudden check, and few were found to offer them.

Immediately after the weighing had taken place, the £100 promised to the men was placed in the hands of a gentleman chosen by both, and thus the good folks of Ludlow honourably performed their part of the contract.

Soon after twelve o’clock Neale and his friends set out for the ground in a barouche and four, all sporting the blue bird’s-eye; while Sam, also in a carriage and four, displaying a bright yellowman, with a scarlet border, and a garter in the centre, surrounding the letters D.S., and bearing the Latin inscription, “_Nil desperandum_,” was close at his heels.

At ten minutes before one Sam entered the lists, attended by his backer and Phil. Simpson and Dick Curtis, who was very lame, as his second and bottle-holder. He was as gay as a lambkin, and remarked, as he paced backwards and forwards, “It has been said that I am not game, but the issue of this battle will prove whether this imputation is well or ill-founded. I have made up my mind to take a bellyful, and let him who first says ‘hold!’ be written down a coward.” There was nothing of foolish bravado in his manner, but his demeanour was such as betokened a man who felt the importance of the stake he had to play for, and the consciousness that he should have his work to do. His friends immediately offered to take £100 to £50, but there was no “done” in the case. Sam was loudly cheered on his arrival, and a similar compliment was paid to Neale, who soon approached, attended by Tom Spring and Harry Holt. He was the picture of health and good humour, and it was pretty clear that the last thought which found place in his breast was the apprehension of defeat. He shook hands with Sam, and offered to bet £5 each on first blood, first knock-down, and the battle, but this was no go. All was now fixed attention. The ring was admirably kept throughout under the superintendence of the Fair-play Club Whipsters. The toss for choice of position was won by Curtis for Sam.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On coming to the scratch, the frames of the men were open to general criticism. Sam was admirably proportioned and had a decided advantage in height and length of arm over his opponent. His muscles, too, were well developed, and we must say that a finer looking young fellow of his weight, age, and inches, has never entered the ring. Neale also looked well, and his broad shoulders and muscular arms betokened strength and vigour; but, taking him downwards from the waist, he was much thinner than he appeared in his former battles. Each threw his arms up, ready for attack or defence. Mutual feints were made for an opening, but both were on the alert. Sam poised himself on his left foot ready for a shoot, and kept working for mischief, but Ned stood well to his guard. At last Sam broke ground and planted his left slightly. Ned was with him, right and left, and rushed to a close. Sam stepped a little back, and jobbed him right and left as he came in. Ned grappled for the throw, when Sam caught him round the neck, and fibbed with great quickness. Ned stopped this game by seizing his arm, and endeavoured to get his favourite lock, and give him a cross-buttock, but Sam was too much on the _qui vive_, kept his legs well away, and at last both went down at the ropes, Ned under.

2.—Again did each manœuvre for an opening, and show his readiness for defence by throwing up his guard when assault was offered. At length Ned rushed in, and planted his right on Sam’s head. Sam returned as quick as lightning, when Ned rushed to the close, and another trial for the fall took place, during which Sam fibbed slightly, and at last got Ned down.

3.—Sam, elated, dodged on his left leg three or four times, and tried to pop in his left, but was prettily stopped. Ned broke away. Both sparred cautiously. Good stopping, right and left, by both men. Ned now finding that nothing was to be done at long bowls, rushed in, planted one of his right-handed slashers on Sam’s left cheek, and then, boring Sam to the ropes, shoved him across them, chopping with his fists as he lay, and this he continued till Sam fell on the ground, amidst cries of “foul,” and “fair,” but no exception was taken.

4.—Sam came up rather flushed in the physog, and looked serious. Sam, steady, tried again for his favourite plunge with the left, but Ned stopped him in good style, and then rushing in, hit Sam down with a left-hander on his bird-call. (First knock-down blow for Ned; and a cry of first blood, but none was forthcoming from Sam’s dominoes, although pointed at.)

5.—Ned again bored, and planted a blow on Sam’s mouth, but had it beautifully, right and left, in return. Ned now closed, and tried once more for the fall. Sam, ready, fibbed prettily, and in the end, Ned, finding it would not do, slipped down.

6.—Both their mugs flushed from hitting, and both looked serious. Ned stopped Sam’s left, when Sam tried left and right in succession, both hitting away in a beautiful rally, and each receiving pepper, but the balance against Ned. Sam delivered a stinging upper-cut as Ned got away. After a pause, both again fought to a rally, in which the nobbing was heavy. In the close, Sam hit up, and Ned got down.

7.—Little time was lost in going to work, and a beautiful rally was fought, in which hit followed hit in rapid succession. Sam’s blows were delivered with most precision, and Ned’s right ogle began to swell, while first blood was visible on his nose. Sam looked wild, and a swelling on his temple showed that Ned’s operations had not been without effect. Sam’s upper-cuts in this round were excellent, and Ned went down weak; he had clearly reduced his ordinary strength, and was altogether out in his wrestling calculations, as Sam was too quick, and, when seized, too firm on his pins for a clear throw.

8.—Ned’s face much altered and swollen, and Sam’s jowl puffy. Sam dodged for his left, and planted it neatly on Ned’s smeller. Ned rushed in, and forced back Sam to the ropes. Sam caught him round the neck, and hit up. Ned slipped down.

9.—Ned distilling claret from his snuffler, and rather abroad. Sam, ready, jumped in and jobbed him right and left, and Ned was down, bleeding at all points. Sam decidedly the best out-fighter, and betting even.

10.—Sam steady to his guard. Ned finding no chance at out-fighting, rushed in, his right hand passing over Sam’s shoulder. Sam grasped him round the neck, and hit up with great severity. Ned went down.

11.—Ned rushed in, planted left and right-hand round hits, and, in getting back, fell.

12.—Ned rattled in with his left, but received a heavy counter-hit on the nose. In the trial for the fall, both went down, Ned on his back, Sam on him.

13.—Ned again rushed in, and planted his left on Sam’s throat, but in return, Sam jobbed him right and left, with dreadful effect and precision, and in the end Ned fell.

14.—Sam put in a left-handed snorter. Ned fought wildly, and, in coming in, received the upper-cut, and fell.

15.—The odds were now in favour of Sam and the fight had lasted half an hour. Ned hit short with his left, when good counter-hits with the right were exchanged; both had it heavily, and Ned got down.

16.—Sam tried to plant his left, but was stopped; the blow was not well home. Ned retreated, Sam following him rapidly, and Ned stopping right and left. Ned at last fell, weak.

17.—Ned came up a little fresher, and well on his legs, but Sam was too quick for him, and popped in his left and right. He then retreated, Ned following him up, when Sam gave him a severe upper-cut. Ned seized his arm to prevent repetition, and after a struggle at the ropes, both went down, Sam uppermost.

18.—Ned stopped Sam’s left very scientifically, and planted his right in exchange. Sam, not dismayed, drew back a step, and then plunging in, caught Ned left and right as he approached, and hitting up very heavily, Ned got down.

19.—Good stops on both sides. Ned closed for the fall, and after a struggle, both went down.

20.—Good counter-hits, right and left. Ned rushed in, when Sam seized him round the neck, and gave him a couple of heavy upper-cuts. In the trial for the fall, both down, Ned under.

21.—Ned stopped Sam’s right and left, and after a short spar, Sam rushed in to work. Ned retreated, and actually turned round and bolted, to get away from his impetuosity. Sam still persevering, Ned went down, amidst some grumbling, and cries of “Sam, it’s all your own.”

22.—Good stopping by both, when Ned planted his right, and, in retreating, fell.

23.—Ned popped in his right at the body, but had a nobber in return. Good scientific stopping on both sides, when Ned popped in his right on Sam’s muzzle. Sam rushed in to deliver tit for tat, but Ned got down.

24.—Ned made his left on Sam’s mouth, but received a severe return on the right eye. Hits were then exchanged, rather in favour of Sam, who hit Ned down with a right-hander. Ned lay at full length on his back till picked up by his seconds, and his face exhibited severe marks of punishment, both eyes black, and his right all but closed.

25.—Ned stopped Sam’s left, and fought on the retreat. Sam followed him up, jobbing him right and left, and Ned soon went down at the ropes any how.

26.—Sam stopped Ned’s right and left, and, retreating, met Ned with the upper-cut as he followed with his head inclined. Sam’s style of fighting was the admiration of the ring; he was ready at all points. Ned went down.

27.—Sam jobbed with his left. In a second effort his left was stopped, but he planted his right on Ned’s jaw. Ned, in getting away, fell, amidst cries of “foul,” but again the umpires saw nothing to grumble at; indeed, there never was less disposition to take frivolous advantage.

28.—Ned stopped Sam’s first attack, but in a weaving bout which followed he had the worst of it, and went down.

29.—Ned showed his scientific powers of defence, stopping as he retreated. Sam, however, pursued his assault, planted his right and left, and hit Ned out of the ring. Two to one on Sam.

30.—Sam rushed in to punish, when Ned slipped on his knees.

31.—Heavy hits exchanged, right and left. In the close, both down.

32.—Right-handed hits exchanged. Sam retreated, but met Ned with the upper-cut as he came in, and, in the close, Ned pulled him down.

33.—Ned rushed in rather wild. Sam again gave him the upper-cut, and Ned went down.

34.—Ned rushed in wildly. Sam retreated, and met him with the upper-cut right and left. Ned, still game, would not be denied, and hit out desperately with his right, but it went over Sam’s shoulder. His hits were not straight, and consequently, did not tell with half the effect of Sam’s. In the close, he went down.

35.—Ned, still game as a pebble, though woefully punished, rushed in to fight, and caught Sam a nasty one with his left on the mouth. Sam, ready, returned left and right, and hit Ned down with his left.

36.—It was now evident that nothing but an accident could deprive Sam of victory; but still Ned was not beaten in spirit. In this round counter-hits with the right were exchanged, and Ned went down, thereby avoiding a severe slap from Sam’s right.

37.—Ned, still resolved to do his best, jobbed prettily with his left on Sam’s mouth. Counter-hitting. Sam had it again on the whistler, which began to pout most uncouthly, while the left side of his face was considerably swollen. He was not idle, planted his left, and Ned went down.

38.—Sam came up rather stupefied from the hits on his mouth in the last round, and was bleeding freely from his grinder-case. Ned went to work right and left, but was well stopped. He would not be denied, but rushed in, when Sam gave him his favourite upper-cut, and Ned went down bleeding and dark in the right ogle, the left greatly swollen.

39.—Sam kept a respectful distance, and hit short. Ned rattled in, but hit open-handed. Sam planted a couple of good nobbers. Ned down.

40.—A good peppering rally, both had it, but Ned went down.

41.—Ned, still trying his utmost, made an admirable delivery on Sam’s left eye, with a cross-hit from his left. Sam winked and blinked unutterable things, and Ned’s friends were again shouting for victory. A reprieve to a trembling culprit could not have been more welcome. Ned followed up this with a right-handed smack on the mouth, receiving the left in return, and going down.

42.—A good rally, Ned stopped uncommonly well, though dreadfully punished, and was still good on his pins. Spirited fighting on both sides, which ended in Ned going down. The fight had now lasted one hour, and the hopes of Ned’s friends were kept alive that he would ultimately wear Sam out, which was clearly the game he was playing, although Sam had the best of the fighting.

43.—Ned’s right hand was much puffed, but his left was still sound, as he proved to Sam by planting another cross-hit on his mouth. Sam returned the compliment by a terrific job with his right, and another with his left. He then gave the upper-cut with his right, then with his left, as Ned was going down. Sam’s style of fighting was still the admiration of the throng, while Neale’s determined game was equally the theme of praise.

44.—Counter-hitting, and a rally, in which Ned got more pepper, and went down weak.

45.—Ned popped in two excellent jobs with his left on Sam’s mouth, and went down.

46.—Sam was awake to the renewed energies of Ned’s left, and stopped it neatly. Ned rattled away. Sam retired, tried the upper-hit, but missed, most fortunately for Ned, who fell.

47.—Sam caught another poser from Ned’s left on the conversational, and looked more than surprised. Sam again missed his upper-hit, being out of distance, and Ned went down.

48.—Sam rather abroad, though still steady on his pins. He bled considerably at the mouth. Ned cautious, when Sam, after a short pause, rushed in and delivered his one two heavily on Ned’s canister, who dropped almost stupefied, and many thought it was all up; but not so, Sam had yet much to do.

49.—Ned went in to hit with his left, and that was stopped, and he went down.

50.—Ned planted his left, while Sam missed his upper-cut, and Ned dropped.

51.—Sam jobbed with his left, and, rushing in, hit up. In the close, both down, Sam uppermost.

52.—Ned popped in his left once more. In retreating, Sam rushed to punish, and Ned got down.

53 and 54.—Counter-hitting in both rounds. Ned down.

55.—From this to the 62nd round, Ned always commenced fighting, but Sam was quick in his returns, and Ned invariably went down. Nothing but a miracle, it was thought, could save Ned, and, indeed, the severity of his punishment, and the fast closing of his left eye, seemed to forbid even the shadow of a hope; still his heart was good, and he continued to come up.

63.—Sam jobbed right and left. Ned did not shrink, but, boring in, delivered another heavy smack on Sam’s mouth, and drew more crimson. Renewed shouts for Ned. Sam rushed in, and Ned went down.

64.—The long exposure to the cold air, as well as the profuse use of cold water, seemed now considerably to affect Sam, and he trembled violently. Ned seeing this, rushed in and delivered right and left. Sam was quick in his return, but Ned fell, and Sam tumbled over him.

65.—Ned popped in his right, but got a severe upper-cut in return, and went down.

66.—Sam, ready, though cold, met Ned as he came in, caught his head in chancery, and fibbed till he got down. From this to the 71st round, although Ned tried every manœuvre in his power, Sam had the best of the hitting, and Ned always got down. Still these exertions seemed to be exhausting Sam, and although every care was taken of him by his seconds, he got rather groggy at this point. It was remarked that chance might yet turn the scale in Ned’s favour. Sam, however, rallied himself, and, though apparently weak when on his second’s knee, on being placed at the scratch, resumed his self-command, met his man bravely, and planted several severe hits. To the last Ned stopped well, but in the 78th round received a finishing jobbing hit with the right on his left eye, and fell in a state of stupefaction. Every effort was made to restore him, but in vain, and when time was called, Sam was pronounced the victor, amidst the most triumphant shouts. Ned was totally blind, while Sam was enabled to walk to his carriage, but his punishment was severe on the left side of his head. There were scarcely any body blows during the fight, which lasted one hour and forty-one minutes.

REMARKS.—We have been thus minute in detailing the rounds of this fight as it excited an extraordinary degree of interest among the betting circles. Neale was such a favourite on Monday and Tuesday evening that he was actually backed at three and four to one; a degree of confidence in his merits to be ascribed, we think, rather to a supposed want of pluck in Sam, than to any superior fighting points on the part of Ned, who, although a game man, and known to possess a good deal of ready resource in the ring, has no pretensions to be what is called a fine fighter. Whatever might have been the grounds for want of confidence in Sam, however, they seemed to have been strangely out of character, for he not only showed himself a quicker and more scientific fighter than Ned, but proved that he was equally possessed of courageous qualities; in fact, he never showed the slightest inclination to say “Nay.” When before his man he was ready at all points, and, by the quickness with which he took advantage of every opening, showed that he was perfectly cool and collected, and even when most punished would not throw a chance away. Of his weight there is not a man in the country who can cope with him, and, by his victory over Neale he has ranked himself deservedly high in the list of pugilists of the age, while he proved himself to be a true “chip of the old block.” Of Neale too much cannot be said in favour of his bravery and perseverance. It was clear, from the very first round, that the reduction of his weight, and especially so much below the necessary standard, had also brought down his strength, and that those closes, which with Cannon, Baldwin, Jem Burn, and Nicholls, were so effective, with Sam were of no avail. In fact, in Sam he found a man as strong as, and certainly more active, than himself, and the only chance which was left him to save his honour, and his friends’ money, was by endeavouring to take advantage of that chapter of accidents, which, in the course of a protracted fight, are often found to produce a fatal change where victory seems most inclined to rest. Neale was blamed for going down so often, but it was his only game, and we need not say he fought to win. It was admitted on all hands that a better fight has not been witnessed for many years.

Neale did not appear at all satisfied with this first defeat by Sam, and therefore issued a challenge for a fresh trial. A good deal of disputing took place as to terms, but after many angry meetings a match was at length made, which it was determined should come off on the 1st of December, 1829, Sam staking £220 to £200. Previous to the eventful day, however, Sam was grabbed and bound over to keep the peace. There was an immense deal of fending and proving, recrimination and abuse, on both sides. A postponement was, however, inevitable, and it was at length agreed that the fight should take place on the 18th of January, 1831, on which day, accordingly, the gallant battle, of which the following is an account, came off at Bumpstead, in Essex.

Sam’s victory in the first battle was by Neale’s friends attributed to the fact of Neale being reduced twelve pounds below his natural weight, while Sam’s friends, on the contrary, claimed all the credit of superior science and generalship, persuaded as they were that on the day of battle Sam was by no means up to the mark in point of condition. In order to set these doubts at rest, there were no restrictions on either side in making the second match, and thus the respective qualifications of the men were fairly brought to the test, the extra weight of Neale being placed in the scale against the superior science of Sam. Thus balanced, the general opinion of the sporting world was that a more equal match could not have been made, and of this feeling the betting throughout was characteristic, for with slight fluctuations, in which Sam was the favourite at guineas to pounds, the betting was even. It was thought, from the friends of Sam being members of high Society, and his following including several noble and aristocratic backers, that the odds on him would have advanced to five and six to four; but they were steady to their point, and rather than advance beyond the nice limits of their calculation they remained stationary. In point of stakes Neale had a decided advantage, for what between forfeits from Sam’s apprehension and _laches_, and a hundred guineas given on one occasion by Sam for a postponement, he had received back £165 of the original stakes of £220 put down, so that in point of fact Sam was fighting £365 to £55.

Sam won the toss which entitled him to choose the place of fighting; he named Newmarket as “headquarters,” and proceeded thither himself on the Wednesday before the mill, taking up his residence at the “White Hart.” Neale, who had been training at the Isle of Wight, on the Monday before fighting proceeded to the “Swan,” at Balsham, within six miles of headquarters, where he pitched his tent till the next day.

The road down to Newmarket, both on Sunday and Monday, exhibited considerable bustle, but the Londoners were by no means so numerous as might have been expected; still the town was crowded, and all the inns had a fair proportion of visitors. The “White Hart” especially was thronged to overflow, the friends of Sam being decidedly more numerous than those of Neale, and the display of his colours (the bright yellowman) gave a lively finish to the scene.

On Monday evening it was arranged that the ring should be formed in a field a short distance beyond Burrough Green, about seven miles from Newmarket, whither the Commissary and his assistants proceeded to make the necessary arrangements.

On Tuesday morning the rapid arrivals of swells and commoners from all parts of the surrounding country gave additional life to Newmarket; many had travelled 100 miles, and the towns of Birmingham, Nottingham, Norwich, and even Liverpool and Manchester, had numerous representatives. All the post-horses were in requisition, and the turn-out of drags was highly respectable, but the equestrians were by far the most numerous. At an early hour Sam, accompanied by Holt and Curtis, set out for a farmhouse close to the ring, where they met with the most hospitable reception. Thither they were followed by the toddlers in great force, and as the day advanced a general move took place in the same direction. Neale and his friends were seen in the cavalcade, and by 12 o’clock the approaches to Burrough Green were occupied by a dense mass of spectators, the distant view of the ring, surrounded as it was by thousands, filling them with happy anticipations of the sport. A sudden stop, however, of the advanced guard produced a general feeling of alarm, which was confirmed by the report that a beak was abroad; and in truth it was soon announced that Mr. Eaton, a magistrate of the Quorum, had appeared, and declared his fixed determination to prevent hostilities, either in Cambridgeshire or in the adjoining county of Suffolk. This was, indeed, a damper, and the cry of “no fight” became general. Every effort was made to soften the heart of his worship, but in vain; he had determined to do his duty. At length, finding resistance to such a mandate would be not only absurd but dangerous, it was resolved that a move should take place into the county of Essex, a farmer at Bumpstead having kindly offered a field for the accommodation of the belligerents. This resolution was soon communicated to the multitude, and a simultaneous advance of horse and foot was commenced amidst a general feeling of mortification, which was increased by a change in the weather for the worse, the bright rays of the sun having given way to the gloomy influence of murky and dark clouds. The vicissitudes attending the march were numerous and characteristic, many of the toddlers were bowled out, and some of the cattle which had come from long distances were completely knocked up, so that the throng, on reaching the given goal, although still immense, was stripped of much of its original proportions.

The Commissary lost no time in fixing the lists afresh, which were soon surrounded by a larger circle of horsemen than we ever remember on former occasions, behind which were ranged the carriages and gigs, the wagon train being, of course, completely thrown out. The men arrived by the time everything was ready, Sam attended by Dick Curtis and Harry Holt, and Ned waited on by Tom Spring and Tom Oliver. Sam first entered the mystic quadrangle miscalled “the ring,” and was quickly followed by Ned.

At half-past three both were stripped. Neale looked uncommonly well, his skin clear and healthful, his eye brilliant, and his weight 12st. 4lbs. Take him for all in all, we think it impossible a man could have been in better trim. With respect to Sam, he looked as fine as a racehorse; every muscle showed to advantage, and the symmetry of his frame and fine proportions of his bust were particularly conspicuous. In height and length of arm he had an evident advantage over Neale, although his weight was but 11st. 2lb. The important moment for commencing operations at length arrived; the ring had been beaten out, and was in excellent order, and at thirty-two minutes after three business commenced.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On coming to the scratch both looked serious; there was nothing of idle bravado on either side. The position of each was the defensive—the hands well up, and the manner confident. Each seemed desirous for his antagonist to commence, and a long pause followed. Sam made one or two of his dodging feints, but Ned simply threw up his guard. Absolute silence prevailed round the ring. Sam at last hit slightly at Ned’s body, and Neale sprang back. Sam tried his left short, but Neale again threw up his right, and was well on his guard. At last Sam let fly his left, catching Ned slightly on his nob. Ned countered with his right, and this brought them to a rally, in which facers were exchanged right and left. Neale bored in; Sam retreated, fighting, to the ropes, against which he was forced. Neale then closed, and a struggle took place for the fall, which Neale obtained, falling heavily on Sam in a cross-buttock. Neale’s friends were loud in their cheers, but on rising the marks of Sam’s right on Ned’s left eye were obvious from a slight swelling, while Sam showed a blushing tinge also on each cheek. In the hitting Sam had the best, and while in fibbed prettily.

2.—Both men again assumed the defensive, Ned waiting for Sam, and Sam trying to get an opening, but for some time in vain. At last Sam let fly with his left, and Neale countered, but not effectually. A smart rally followed, in which Neale was hit heavily left and right. Good fighting on both sides. Sam fought to the ropes, but got well out, and again went to the attack with quickness and precision. Ned hit with him, but not so much at points. All head-work. At last Sam planted his left well on Neale’s mug as he was on the move, and dropped him prettily on his nether end, amidst loud shouts of applause, thus winning the first knock-down. Neale, on coming up showed a flushed phiz, and Sam exhibited trifling marks of additional hitting on the face.

3.—Again both cautious. Neale stopped Sam’s left with neatness, but had it in a second effort. He returned with his right. Neale popped in his left cleverly on Sam’s mouth. Good counter-hitting followed, left and right. Sam had it on the left ear, and Neale on the left eye, which increased in swelling. A spirited and determined rally, in which Sam swung round on his leg, and then renewed the attack. Neale rushed to the charge. Sam endeavoured to get from his grasp, and fibbed at his nob. Neale, however, seized him round the waist, lifted him from the ground, and threw him heavily. The exertion on both sides was great. Neale, though most punished, was loudly cheered by his friends, and was now the favourite from his superior strength; he however, showed first blood, giving Sam the second point.

4.—Sam on coming up began to blow a little and was clearly on the pipe, from the exertion in the last round; he was steady, however, and both kept on the defensive. Neale tried his left, but was short, catching Sam under the right eye. Sam, ready returned with his left, but Neale jumped away. Each tried to plant his left, but without success. The stopping was excellent. Long sparring. Sam popped in his left, and Neale countered. A rally, in which Sam shook the pepper-box in good style. Both were rather wild, and in the end fell from their own exertions on their hands and knees. Ned in this round tried his right-handed chopper, but hitting round it went over Sam’s shoulder.

5.—Sam having caught it on the nose in the last round, came up with his eye watering and blinking. Neale tried to pop in his right but was beautifully stopped. Ned put in a left-handed nobber, but had it in return on the neck. Ned stopped the left of Sam with the effect of a brick wall, and caught him on the shoulder with his left. Both awake, and the slaps and returns excellent. A pause. Sam put in his left on Ned’s body and made him curtsey. The blow was rather short. Ned stopped right and left and made a chopping return with his right, which caught Sam on the right side of his mouth. Had he been an inch nearer, the effect would have been severe, and as it was it made Sam look serious. Both again on their guard, and each waiting for the attack. Ned again stopped the left and tried his return, but his blow shot over Sam’s shoulder, and his arm caught him on the neck. Sam put in his right, and a spirited rally followed. Neale bored him to the ropes, but Sam hit as he retreated, and broke away. Ned, after him, closed, and tried for the fall. He could not succeed in getting the lock. Sam kept his pins wide apart, and each grasped the other’s neck. Holt cried to Sam to go down, and Sam at last fell on his knees, Neale falling over him.

6.—Neale again on the waiting system stopped Sam’s left-handed lunge with great precision. Ned hit out with his left, and in a rally heavy blows were exchanged. Neale again missed his right-handed lugger, which went over Sam’s shoulder. He then rushed to the close, but Sam began to fib. Neale pinioned his arms, and at last, finding he was wasting his strength, went down himself, Sam upon him. On getting up Neale exclaimed, “You may punch me as much as you like, but don’t put your finger in my eye;” alluding to Sam’s touching his eye when on the ground.

7.—Neale again kept his hands well up, and waited for the attack. He stopped a slashing hit from Sam’s left. Sam tried his left again, but did not get home. Neale dashed in right and left, and a terrific rally followed. Severe counter-hitting took place, Sam catching it on the nose, from which blood was drawn, and the side of the head and neck, and Neale on the nose, mouth, and both eyes. Sam retreated to the ropes, but still hit with vigour, and ultimately shifted his ground and got away. Neale rushed after him, and the flush-hitting was repeated. Both men strained every nerve. At last Neale jumped in to catch Sam for the fall; Sam received him in his arms and fibbed. Neale pinioned him, and finding he could not gain the throw, fell. On getting up both showed additional marks of punishment as well as distress. The fighting had been extremely fast, and the wind of both was touched. Sam, especially, piped; but was still steady and collected. Neale’s left eye was nearly closed, a slight glimmer only being open.

8.—Ned pursued his system of waiting, and again stopped Sam’s left-handed lunge beautifully, and almost immediately caught Sam a left-handed chop on the mouth, which he repeated. Sam looked serious, but shortly after put in his left on Ned’s body. A severe rally followed. The hitting on both sides was quick and effective. Sam caught a desperate hit on the neck from Ned’s arm, which almost put it awry. Nevertheless, he fought fearlessly, gave Ned a smasher on the mouth, and closed. After a struggle, both went down, and Sam, being raised on his second’s knee, was faint and sick; his colour changed, and he was clearly in a ticklish state. Ned’s friends called out he was going, and urged Ned, in the next round, to go in and finish. Ned was himself, however, piping, and distressed from punishment.

9.—On being brought to the scratch, Sam was weak and groggy on his legs. “Go in,” cried Ned’s friends, but he did not obey the call. He was himself in such a state as to be incapable of making this effort with safety. At last Ned rushed in, hitting with his right, which went over Sam’s shoulder, and caught him on the back of the head. Sam retreated to the ropes, Ned after him, but here Sam showed his quickness, even in distress. He hit away with precision, right and left, catching Ned flush in the mug. At last both got from the ropes, and after a sharp rally and close, Neale went down.

10.—Ned made himself up for mischief, and after stopping Sam’s left, got into a desperate rally. The hitting was severe on both sides, but Sam’s muzzlers told most. The men got on the ropes, where a hard struggle took place, Ned leaning heavily on Sam, and Sam hitting away, while Neale was not idle. At last both went down, Ned uppermost. Sam was now more distressed than ever, and all hands were very busy in fanning him with their hats.

11.—Sam came up evidently weak. Ned pushed in and hit right and left. Sam was bored to the ropes, and Ned kept hitting away, but wild. Sam, though distressed, jobbed with vigour, left and right. Ned got away, and Sam was after him. A spirited rally, and both fought boldly, but Sam had the best of the hitting. In the close, Sam fibbed, and Ned, finding he could do no good, got down, heavily punished, his left eye quite gone, and his right fast closing, while the claret trickled from a tap on the top of his head.

12.—Ned came up steady, but cautious; and Sam, though somewhat groggy, was well on his guard. Ned put in his right on Sam’s body, and succeeded in jobbing him twice on the mouth with his left. A rally, in which both caught nobbers, but Ned the worst of it, from Sam’s strength. At last Ned caught a flush hit on the mouth and, falling on the ground, rolled over, weak.

13.—Sam came up more collected, and commenced the attack with his left, which Ned stopped. Sam, after trying a feint to bring Ned out, gave him a tremendous hit on the swollen eye, drawing more of the ruby, and the light was again partially restored. After a slight rally, Ned closed for the fall, but could not get his lock. He at last pulled Sam down, and fell himself.

14, and last.—Both weak, but steady. Ned tried his right, but his hand opened, and no damage was done. Sam countered beautifully with his left, and put in his right at the body. Good fighting on both sides. Ned again put in his right at the body. A pause; both on their guard. Neale distilling claret from many points. Another short rally, and both away; Sam getting more steady and collected, but still disinclined to throw a chance away by trying too much. He hit short at the body to see whether Ned could return, and Ned returned weak with his right, and his hand open. Another pause, in which neither seemed capable of doing much. Ned kept his hands well up for some time, but appeared too cautious for a rush. At last Sam hit out left and right, catching Ned on the phiz. This was the finisher. Ned dropped, and, on being again picked up, his head fell, and he slipped from his second’s knee. He was stupefied by the repeated hits on his head, and could not be again brought to the scratch. Sam was now well on his legs, and the welcome sound of victory restored all his vigour. The shouts of his friends were deafening. He was borne off in triumph, after shaking hands with his vanquished but gallant antagonist, whose tie-up was quicker than had been anticipated, but it was clear that he had received enough to satisfy an ordinary glutton, even before the last round, and he had not strength enough to make a turn in his favour. The ring was instantly broken and it was some minutes before Ned could be brought to his carriage. The fight concluded at 24 minutes after 4 o’clock, thus making its duration 52 minutes.

REMARKS.—This was decidedly one of the best styles of fights for science and good generalship. It was admitted that Neale never fought so well before, but the superior length and tact of Sam gave him every advantage. It was remarked in counter-hitting, that Sam always caught Neale first, so that the force of Neale’s blows was diminished; added to this, all Neale’s heavy lunging hits at Sam’s ear passed over his shoulder, and this saved him from certain destruction. Had the return in the fifth round been an inch nearer, it was thought Sam’s jaw would have been broken. In the 9th round, too, could Neale have summoned strength to make an impression, his chances would have been certain, but what Sam had lost by exertions, Neale wanted in hitting. The precision and straightness of Sam’s blows told with unerring certainty; even when piping, and in distress, his presence of mind never left him. He was always ready for opportunities, and invariably seized them with success. Throughout, the battle was fair and honourable. There was no wrangling or dispute, with the exception of Holt once having thrown himself in the way of Sam to prevent his falling; and even those who lost their blunt could not but confess that Neale did all that his natural powers permitted. Neale was himself dreadfully mortified by the result of this battle. Sam fully confirmed his claim to the title of the Young Phenomenon, and, of his weight, was considered without a rival.

Two years now elapsed, during which Sam was chiefly heard of as a “man about town,” and the boon companion of a clique of young swells noted for their exploits in the night-houses of the Haymarket and the saloons of Piccadilly, then in all their rank, riot, and disorder. He was then pitted against Harry Preston, but owing to magisterial interference, was apprehended and bound over to keep the peace for six months, and Preston’s friends being unwilling to wait so long, a draw took place.

In the interim, Ned Neale, his last opponent, had been defeated by Tom Gaynor (_See_ life of NEALE, _ante_, p. 325), and that boxer, immediately on the expiry of Sam’s recognisances, challenged him for £100 a-side. This Sam’s friends declared insufficient, but proposed that Sam should fight the Bond Street carpenter for £300 to £200. The offer was closed with, and the mill came off, after several attempts made by the authorities to put a stop to it, on the 24th of June, 1834, near Andover, Wilts. It appeared that a warrant was obtained from Sir John Gibbon, to apprehend both men. This came to their ears, and they each had to make several moves, the persevering constable who held the warrant contriving on several occasions to find them out, and get his warrant backed by the magistrates in the neighbourhood of their places of retirement. The men, however, on the day before fighting, cautiously approached the trysting-place (Hurstbourne Green, near Andover). Here they were pursued by the constable with his warrant, which he again got backed; but by some “unfortunate accident” (?) he fell into bad company, got drunk, and lost his warrant, a fact he did not discover until he became sober the following morning, when he went off to obtain a fresh warrant. This he succeeded in doing, but owing to the secrecy which had been observed as to the place of fighting, he did not discover it until the men had been fighting some time; and then, after making a vain effort to interfere, he judged discretion the better part of valour, and having done his duty so far as he was able, he retired from the ring-side, and did not again endeavour to spoil sport.

The men and their friends set off from Andover at an early hour for the scene of action, but owing to the caution it was found necessary to exert to keep things dark, the heroes of the day did not reach their tilting ground till 12 o’clock, when Sam entered the ring attended by Dick Curtis and Frank Redmond, Gaynor being seconded by Jem Ward and Deaf Burke. The ring was preserved admirably throughout the day, and nothing was left to be desired by the men or their friends.

On stripping, Sam looked uncommonly well, although his friends said he might have been better had not his presence in town for a few days when at his best, become necessary, in consequence of an action-at-law in which he was engaged. To the casual observer this was not visible, and his fine muscular and symmetrical form never appeared to better advantage, while his countenance displayed the utmost self-possession and personal confidence. His weight was about 11st. Gaynor also appeared in admirable trim, and was not less confident than Sam, although there was more solidity in his manner. His round shoulders offered a striking contrast to the elegant proportions of Sam, and gave him the appearance of a natural stoop, but in all other respects his shape was faultless, and his condition of the first character. He did not seem to have a superfluous ounce of flesh on his body, and weighed as nearly as possible 12st. In length of arm, Sam had the advantage, and the discrepancy in years (Gaynor having the disadvantage of ten years) was sufficiently obvious. So “nutty” were Sam’s friends on their man at this moment, that the odds rose from two to one to five to two, and at this price much business was done.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Precisely at 7 minutes to 1 the men commenced business. Both put up their hands in a defensive position, and eyed each other with scrutinising looks. Each was ready, and appeared to wait for his antagonist to commence. Sam made two or three slight dodges, and Gaynor drew back. Each moved to the right and to the left, but still no opening was offered. The movements on a chess-board could not have been more scientific. At last Gaynor hit out at the body with his left, and got away. Sam stopped the compliment, and smiled. After a long pause, they both made themselves up for mischief, and at last ended suspense by slashing out their counter-hits with the left, Gaynor planting on Sam’s jaw, and Sam on Gaynor’s mouth, which showed a prominent mark. The blows were heavy, and while first blood was drawn from Gaynor, Sam licked his lips, but certainly not with the _goût_ of a cat over a pat of butter. Another pause, when counter-hits with the right were exchanged. Sam stopped Gaynor’s left with great neatness, but in a second effort with the same hands, in the counter-hitting, Sam caught it over the mouth, while Gaynor had it on the left cheek. “How do you like that?” cried Gaynor, laughing. Sam looked serious. Gaynor dodged, but found Sam ready for a fly, and drew back. Gaynor stopped Sam’s left, and tried his right at the body, but was short. Sam hit out with his left, but was short. A long spar, in which each seemed determined not to throw a chance away. Gaynor hit short with his right, open-handed. Sam smiled. Tom again stopped a nasty one from the left, and popped in his right slightly at the body. Sam played a steady game, and drew on his man. Gaynor on the look-out, retired to the side of the ring. Both extremely cautious. At last Sam saw his opportunity, and with great quickness sent in his left, with plenty of elbow grease, on Gaynor’s nob, and dropped him as if shot, thus giving first knock-down, amidst the shouts of his friends. This round, which was admirable, from the exquisite science of the men, lasted ten minutes.

2.—On being called to the scratch, Gaynor came up bleeding at the mouth, and Sam showing symptoms of receiving on his lips and cheek. After long and cautious sparring, neither giving a chance, Gaynor suddenly planted his right on the side of Sam’s head. Cheers for Gaynor, who thus stole a successful march. Sam was not behind in returning the compliment, and after a short time for reflection, popped in a tremendous slap on Gaynor’s mouth with his left. Gaynor’s blow, in countering, passed over Sam’s shoulder. Another cautious spar, when Gaynor hit short with his left. Heavy counter-hits, Sam on the mouth, Gaynor on the left eye. Sam dropped his left on Gaynor’s ribs, and got away. Sam in left and right, but rather out of distance. Gaynor stopped his left in another shy, as well as a hit at his body. Another pause, each on the look-out, when terrific counter-hits with the left were exchanged. Gaynor pointed at Sam’s mouth, which had tasted his knuckles, but he had it heavily himself on the cheek. Excellent stops on both sides, Gaynor planted a round blow on the side of Sam’s head, but it was with the front of his knuckles, and seemed to make no impression. Counter-hitting with the left, Sam’s blow falling heaviest. A pretty rally, in which some wicked blows were exchanged. Both broke away, and sparred for a fresh opening, Gaynor showing most punishment. Sam planted his left three times in succession, hitting first, and Gaynor’s counters non-effective. Gaynor hit short with his left, and fought on the retreat. Counter-hits with the left. Gaynor had now got in the corner, and was so covered by Sam that he could not escape. He waited for the assault, when Sam jumped in with his left, and caught him on the eye. Gaynor returned, and in the close, after some in-fighting, Sam got the fall, and fell heavily on Gaynor, who fell out of the ropes. This round lasted twelve minutes and a half, and it was admitted that Sam had not the easy customer that his admirers anticipated.

3.—Gaynor looking the worse for wear, but strong as a horse, and gay as a lark. Sparring for an opening, when Gaynor caught Sam slightly with his left on the mouth. Sam tried a lunge with his left, but was beautifully stopped. In a second attempt he was more successful, for he planted left and right, cutting Gaynor’s left cheek with the latter. Gaynor countered, and the men closed for the fall, which Gaynor obtained, giving Sam a cross-buttock, and falling heavily upon him. Sam’s right shoulder came heavily against the ground. Cheers for Gaynor. The round lasted four minutes.

4.—Both cautious, and sparring for an opening. Gaynor hit short with his left. Another pause. Counter-hits with the left. Sam caught his man first and hit him heavily. Gaynor’s blow was not so effective. Sam popped in a tremendous muzzler with his left, and Gaynor bled profusely; his old wounds were opened, and his mouth became much swollen. Gaynor again planted his right on Sam’s head heavily. Shouts for Gaynor, and Sam seemed puzzled, but preserved his steadiness. A pause, during which Sam recovered himself. Counter-hits with the left, and a brisk rally, in which heavy hits were exchanged. The men broke away. Long sparring; both ready, and no opening offered. Good stopping on both sides, and the game played with matchless skill. Mutual dodging, but no chance. Sam tried his feint, but it would not do. At last Sam crept well in, and delivered a heavy left-handed jobber. Gaynor countered, and in the close, after a severe struggle, Sam threw Gaynor a beautiful cross-buttock. Cheers for Sam; his friends up in the stirrups. The fight had now lasted forty-five minutes.

5.—Gaynor, on coming up, showed a little distress, and heavy marks of punishment on the mouth and left eye. Sam dodged, but Gaynor was well on his guard. Both stopped by consent, put their hands down, and looked at each other. At it again. Gaynor hit short with his left, and got away. Sam again dropped his left on Gaynor’s eye, and followed this up by a hit with the same hand on the body. Gaynor went in with his one two, catching Sam with his left on the cheek, and his right on the side of the head. Sam returned with his left, and after a short rally, the men closed, and went down. Sam had the best of the round.

6.—Gaynor’s left eye shutting up shop, and he was otherwise much damaged in the frontispiece. “Sam will win it without a black eye,” cried Curtis. Sam made himself up for mischief, and kept stealing on his man, but Gaynor got away. A rally, and exchange of hits. Gaynor’s leg tripped Sam, and he fell upon him. Fifty minutes had now elapsed.

7.—Curtis chaffed on time, and said, as the hour was nearly up, on which he had been betting, Sam might go in to finish. Gaynor, distressed, tried his left, but was out of distance. Sam rushed in to hit with his left, but was cleverly stopped. Gaynor rushed to in-fighting; Sam hit up cleverly with his left, but in the close was thrown a cross-buttock, which gave him a serious shake.

8.—The men had now fought fifty-four minutes, and both were distressed, while it did not seem so safe to Sam as had been booked. Both steady on their guard, and waiting for an opening. Sam’s left well stopped. Gaynor away. Heavy counter-hits with the left; both received stingers, but Sam hit hardest. In the close, both down.

9.—Gaynor’s left eye quite closed, but he was still strong on his legs, and resolute. He again stole a march on Sam, popped in his left, and got away. Both fatigued, but a fine breeze blew over the common, and gave them fresh vigour. Gaynor’s left stopped, and he napped it severely on the nose in return. Gaynor made some admirable stops, and popped his right heavily on Sam’s ear. Gaynor on the defensive, and retreating to the ropes. Sam thought he had him, but Gaynor broke away. Sam followed him, dodged, and popped in with his left. Gaynor closed, caught him round the neck with his left, and hit up with his right. In the scuffle, both fell.

10.—“Not so safe as if it was over,” cried Gaynor’s friends; and it was clear Sam had yet his work to do, as Gaynor got up strong and confident. On going to the scratch, after a short spar, both again put their hands down for a short time. Beautiful fighting followed, and the stopping on both sides was first-rate. The fight had now lasted one hour and five minutes. “Tom can fight another hour,” cried Ward. Mutual dodging. Gaynor planted his left slightly, but there was not sufficient pepper in his blows. A rally, close to the ropes, with hard hitting, when Sam in getting away fell. Shouts for Gaynor.

11.—Both came up steady and serious. Gaynor gave Sam a heavy slap on the mug with his left. Sam was full of self-possession, and looked out for an opening. Gaynor was steady on his guard. Sam popped in a left-handed teaser, and hit at the body with his right. Gaynor made his one two on Sam’s face. Counter-hitting with the left. A body hit with the right from Gaynor. Hard counter-hits with the left; heaviest from Sam. Sam now delivered his right on Gaynor’s ribs; the latter hit short with the left. Some excellent generalship on both sides. Sam dropped his arms as if fatigued. Sam now popped in a slight left-hander, but had it heavily in return on the phiz. Gaynor, whose conk was bleeding, now put both hands down, and beckoned Sam to come to him. Sam approached him, and, after a sharp spar, received a touch on the bread-basket. Gaynor stopped a tremendous left-hander, intended for his good eye. Sam also stopped, and got away. Gaynor tried at the body with his right, but was stopped. Sam got away from a heavy lunge from Gaynor’s left. Sam in with the left; Gaynor returned. Sam dodging, and Gaynor, in getting away, fell.

12.—Gaynor came up steady. Sam waited for him. Gaynor tried his left, but was stopped, and got away. Sam then, throwing his head back, saved himself from a heavy delivery from Tom’s right. Gaynor stopped a left-hander, and popped in his right at the back of Sam’s head, but was heavily hit with the left in return. Both covering themselves well. Sam in with his left on the body. Tom got back, and put his hands down. Counter-hits with the left, and Gaynor short at the body with his right. Both men with their hands down. On again getting into position, Gaynor seized one of Sam’s hands with his left, intending to give him a swinger with his right, but Sam pulled his mauly away, and smiled. Gaynor stopped a left-handed job with the utmost precision. Heavy counter-hits with the left; Sam first in. Gaynor hit out with his left, but his hand was open; he, however, planted a right-hander on Sam’s nob. Sam gave him a tremendous smasher on the gob. Gaynor looked a painful spectacle, though still full of pluck. Some heavy exchanges with the left. In the close, Sam, at in-fighting, gave his antagonist some severe punishment on the ropes, and Gaynor, in pulling himself away, fell over Sam.

13.—Gaynor showed weakness, and Sam seemed now to think he had got him safe. Gaynor hit short with his left. Sam tried his left, but was stopped. A close, and severe struggle for the fall, at the ropes. Sam gave an upper-cut with great force, while Gaynor was not idle. Both down.

14.—Gaynor made play, but was short with his left. Sam steady, and jumping in, delivered his left heavily on Tom’s altered mazzard. A close, and some good in-fighting. A tough struggle for the fall; both down. This effort was exhausting to both. In the close, Sam hit up well.

15.—Gaynor piping, and Sam not fresh. Gaynor in with his left; tried his right, but was stopped. Heavy counter-hits. Both again paused by mutual consent, and put their hands down. Again to work. Good exchanges; Sam at the head, Gaynor at the body. Both cautious. Gaynor on the retreat. Sam got close to him, and hit out viciously, but Gaynor ducked his head, got away, and fell.

16.—Gaynor’s friends were still very confident, as he seemed strong, and Sam appeared fatigued. Counter-hitting with the left, but Sam hitting out first, got home the heaviest. He put in a tremendous left-hander on Tom’s left ogle. Again did both take breath, and drop their arms. Sam steady, and both well on their guard. Mutual stopping. Gaynor short at the body with his right. Counter-hits with the left, terrific from Sam. Two hours were now completed, and the men walked about for wind. Gaynor hit out of distance with his left, but Sam measured him with more precision, and dropped in one of his left-handed chops with full force. Gaynor, after a short pause, seized Sam’s right, while Sam seized his left, each holding the other down. Sam looked at his man for a moment, and then dashed his head into his face with great force. (This, as our readers are aware, is now foul.) Gaynor staggered back, while Sam rushed after him, and jobbed him severely on the nose with the left, and, repeating the dose in the same spot, hit him down as clean as a whistle, being the second knock-down blow in the fight.

17, and last.—Gaynor came up groggy, when Sam popped in his terrific left, and downed him. This was the finisher. The butt, followed by such polishing hits, reduced poor Gaynor to a state of insensibility, and on being raised on his second’s knee it was at once seen that it was all U. P. “Time” was called, and Sam was proclaimed the conqueror with triumphant shouts. The fight lasted two hours and five minutes. Sam was immediately taken to his carriage, much exhausted, but soon became himself again. Gaynor was in a complete state of stupor, and was carried away in a helpless condition.

REMARKS.—This was decidedly one of the finest displays of courage and science combined which had been witnessed for many years, and was acknowledged to be so by the oldest patrons of the Ring who were present. The courage exhibited by both men was unquestionable, and considering the disadvantages under which Gaynor fought, he earned for himself a reputation that placed him in the first class of game men. There is no doubt that the butt in the last round but one proved his _coup de grace_, or he would have prolonged the contest for many more rounds—with what chance of success we cannot say. The reader should be informed that this manœuvre, though seldom practised, was not at this time against the rules of the Ring, and the position, Gaynor holding both Sam’s hands with an iron grip, was peculiar. The “chapter of accidents” might have produced alterations, and as it was Sam, during the fight, showed great weakness, which was not surprising, as it was afterwards ascertained that in the cross-buttock in the third round his right shoulder was so much injured as to deprive him of the use of his right hand, so far as hitting was concerned, for the remainder of the battle. During the fight, many expressed surprise that he should have kept that hand so idle, and that Gaynor was so repeatedly enabled to job him with his left. Sam could not, in truth, lift it above his head, and but for throwing his head back when the blows were coming in, his punishment would have been much more severe. Although Gaynor had clearly the gift of hitting with equal force, it is considered that but for this accident Sam’s labours would have been considerably curtailed. At one time it was thought to be anybody’s fight, and Sam’s friends were by no means jolly as to the result. His fine generalship, however, enabled him to overcome every difficulty, and the quickness with which he took advantage of Gaynor’s ill-judged seizure of his hand, in the last round but one, while it showed his self-possession, proved him to be a thorough master of the art as then practised. The account of the rounds will show that in point of science Gaynor was little behind Sam, but it must be confessed his powers of punishment were very inferior, while the force of his blows was greatly diminished by Sam’s generally hitting first in the counters. From first to last the combat was conducted with the utmost fairness and good humour; and while all sympathised in the fall of a brave man, they could not but admit that he had honourably sunk before the superior power of his younger and more expert opponent. Such was the impression made in Gaynor’s favour that £17 7s. was collected round the ring, and other sums afterwards contributed. This was the last appearance of either Sam or Gaynor in the P.R.

Sam’s last match in the Ring was with Reuben Martin, for £100, subsequently made into £180 a-side; it was fixed to come off in June, 1838, but an unfortunate occurrence occasioned a forfeit of £80 on the part of Sam. He had volunteered to second his friend Owen Swift in his battle with Phelps (Brighton Bill), and officiated in that capacity on the fatal 13th of March, 1838, at Royston. The details of this unlucky encounter will be found in our memoir of OWEN SWIFT, in Vol. III.

The coroner’s jury having found a verdict of manslaughter against Owen Swift, as principal, and Samuel Evans, Richard Curtis, Frank Redmond, and Edward Brown, as seconds aiding and abetting the same, Sam, Curtis, and Swift at once gave “leg-bail” to the law and departed for the Continent, where they remained until the time for surrendering to take their trial at the Hertford Assizes. Frank Redmond,[52] whose business as a licensed victualler at the “George and Dragon,” in Greek Street, Soho, was suffering ruinously from his enforced absence, alone surrendered. He was defended by Mr. Dowling (who was also a barrister), and acquitted on the 10th July, at the summer assizes. Thereupon Curtis and Brown, who were awaiting the result, surrendered themselves and took their trial. They were not so fortunate as their predecessor in trouble, for the jury convicted them of manslaughter in the second degree, as “present, aiding, and abetting,” when the judge passed the lenient sentence of three months’ imprisonment.

Young Sam and Swift, alarmed at this result, did not return at once. Besides, they found their stay in the French capital, where some of Sam’s aristocratic patrons were also residing, both pleasant and profitable, of which further details will be found in our Life of OWEN SWIFT. Some violent newspaper attacks upon the Ring, and denunciations of prize-fighters and their backers, in the now defunct _Morning Herald_ (a renegade sporting paper) and other publications, made it advisable to await the blowing over of the storm.

Sam’s residence in France, however, found in its result the adage of “out of the frying-pan into the fire.”

Jack Adams was in Paris teaching the art of boxing. Adams, a ten stone man, was twice matched with Swift, and on the second occasion the French law, which deals so leniently with murderous duels and homicide in general, was scandalised and outraged by a duel with fists; so Young Sam and Swift were tried (in their absence), convicted, _par contumace_, and sentenced to _thirteen months of imprisonment and a fine_!

Soon after his return to England Sam was arrested and conveyed to Hertford Gaol, and on February 28th, 1839, at the spring assizes, Swift took his place beside his friend Sam, and the trial proceeded. From a failure of evidence a verdict of “Not Guilty” was recorded, and the friends quitted the dock amid the congratulations of the crowd.

Owen Swift arrived in London the same night, but not so his companion in misfortune; Sam’s exit was stopped by a detainer from London, for a forfeiture of bail, incurred in this wise.

A short time previous to the battle of Swift and Phelps, Sam, in company with a “noble earl” and some aristocratic friends, had been engaged in a fracas at a public-house in Piccadilly. This was the disgraceful period when, fired by a vulgar emulation of the worst characteristics of Pierce Egan’s vulgar, vicious, and silly caricatures of two town and country sporting gentlemen, whom he named “Tom and Jerry;” and whom he made the heroes of his wretched, grammarless galimatia called “Life in London,” clerks, apprentices, prigs, pugilists, and peers played the blackguard and ruffian on the stage of real life. The great and beneficial changes which have taken place in our police and street Acts, as well as in the hours and regulations of refreshment rooms and all licensed houses in the Metropolis, make it almost impossible for the present generation to realise the scenes of disorder, profligacy, and ruffianism with which “the West or worst End of the city” nightly abounded. From Temple Bar westward, through Drury Lane, Covent Garden, St. Martin’s Lane, Leicester Square, and its surroundings, to the Haymarket and Piccadilly, “night-houses” admitted the drunkard (when not too drunk), the night prowler, the debauchee, the gambler, the thief, and the prostitute of every grade—the only distinction being the higher or lower tariff. From the swell supper-room, saloon, elysium, or “finish,” of “Goody Levy,” “Goodered,” “Rowbotham,” “Mother H.,” or the “Brunswick,” through the musical and more respectable chop-and-kidney-grilling “Evans’s,” the “Garrick,” the “Cider Cellars,” “Coal Hole,” or “Shades,” down to the common dramshop kept open on the plea of the neighbouring cabstand or theatre until the small hours of the morning grew large, all appealed to those who sought “recreation and refreshment _after the theatres_.”

In one of these houses, the “Royal Standard,” in Piccadilly, on the morning of the 17th of February, 1838, there appear to have been assembled after a night’s debauch a number of loose characters. Among them were the Earl of Waldegrave and several “Corinthians.” According to the evidence of Mr. Mackenzie, the prosecutor, he, after leaving duty, entered the house in question, where “he saw the prisoner (Young Dutch Sam) and several gentlemen, some of whom he certainly had interfered with in their nocturnal sprees; indeed, he had been instrumental in introducing them to the magistrate at Marlborough Street.” We think nowadays this policeman’s conduct would be strictly canvassed. “Whilst he was standing before the bar,” we copy the report, “the prisoner whispered to Lord Waldegrave, and immediately afterwards, addressing the company, he said, ‘Gentlemen, do you care to see a policeman laid on his back?’ He then seized him (the prosecutor) and threw him on his back, falling upon him with all his weight. He was so much injured as to be under the doctor’s hands for some time, and unfit for duty. The prisoner was held to bail by the magistrates at Marlborough Street, and had forfeited his recognisances.”

Mr. Ballantine addressed the Court on the part of the prisoner in mitigation of punishment. The prisoner had been made the tool of certain parties with whom he had been drinking on the night before the assault was committed, and although they had urged him to the commission of the offence which led to his present position, not one of them had been to visit him, or render him the least assistance during his incarceration.—Mr. Doane, having addressed the Court for the prosecution, described the defendant as a pugilist, but added “that he did not say this to create a prejudice against him on that account, for he felt convinced that the unmanly and terrible crime of stabbing was increasing in this country, in consequence of the absurd and mischievous interference of the county magistracy with the sports of the Ring. Those sports (the learned gentleman observed) had some disadvantages, but they were amply counterbalanced by the habit they engendered of fighting in a fair and manly manner, and by the universal indignation with which anything unfair was regarded in a pugilistic contest.” The Court sentenced the prisoner to three months’ imprisonment.

A motion was subsequently made that the estreat on the recognisances might be taken off, but was refused, on the ground that the Court had no power to interfere.

We have been the more particular in the narration of this case as the facts were known to the writer, and as a most false and exaggerated report of the affair was subsequently published in the _Morning Herald_, in an attack upon the Prize Ring, penned by an Irish sporting reporter who had been discharged by the editor of _Bell’s Life_. The conduct of the policeman, to our thinking, more resembled that of a French _agent provocateur_ than a guardian of the peace; and, without defending the assailant, we may remark that the fact that Young Sam so carefully avoided using his unquestionable pugilistic skill, although under the excitement of champagne and provocation, is a sufficient answer to the charge of “ruffianism” and “ferocity” cast upon him for this foolish escapade.

Shortly after this fracas a new police Act, and increased vigilance in the stipendiary magistrates, checked effectually these disgraceful excesses, by substituting imprisonment for fine, at the discretion of the justices, whereupon we find, in a contemporary “daily,” the ironical “Lament” of which the subjoined are a few of the leading stanzas:—

LAMENT OF THE “DISORDERLY GENTLEMEN.”

A plague on the new law! bad luck to the beaks, Opposed as they are to “disorderly” freaks; Ye pinks of high rank, let your sorrows have vent, And join with your pals in a doleful lament.

No longer at midnight, when coming it strong, Ripe for riot and row, shall we stagger along; No more of brave acts shall we “gentlemen” chaff, Nor floor a raw lobster and fracture his staff.

Till lately, when liquor got up in the nob, A fine of five shillings would settle the job; And none will deny who has starr’d on the town, A frolic or spree wasn’t cheap at a crown.

But now we’re informed by the beak, _Mr. Grove_ (Whoever could seat on the Bench such a cove?), That if with strong liquors our tempers get hot, He’ll send us at once on the treadmill to trot—

That the pastime of wrenching off knockers and bells Must no longer be practis’d by high-minded swells; Or he’ll send us, to settle each paltry dispute, For a month to the treadmill our health to recruit.

O haste, brother pinks, such disgrace to prevent, Before this vile Bill has the Royal Assent; For herself it is certain Her Majesty thinks, And I’m sure she’ll attend to a prayer from the “pinks.”

What, never again be permitted at dark To insult modest females by way of a lark! Gone for ever our joys, and our gay occupation? Must we now like vile felons be marched to the station?

Forbid, ye proud nobs, any steps so degrading— The swells’ charter’d rights they are basely invading; Let us stand up for sprees and our leisure amuse, And still act as blackguards whenever we choose.

Young Sam, though occasionally exhibiting his skill with the gloves at the sets-to of the “Pugilistic Association” established about this period at the Westminster (now the Lambeth) Swimming Baths, by Tom Spring, Cribb, Crawley, the editor of _Bell’s Life_, and other leading friends of the P.R., was not popular with his brethren of the Ring, and did not care to associate with them. He became a publican first in Castle Street, Leicester Square, and then at the “Coach and Horses,” St. Martin’s Lane; but in both he was unsuccessful—it was said from inattention to business, which we can well believe. At length, in 1840, Sam wedded the daughter of a respected publican, and with her as a helpmeet he became landlord of the “Black Lion,” in Vinegar Yard, Drury Lane. From this house he migrated to the Old Drury Tavern, in Brydges Street, Covent Garden, and here his wife’s experience and management, together with her influence over his erratic disposition, seemed to be fast maturing the “Young ’Un” into a respectable and steady Boniface. For some time, however, the effects of early dissipation were visible in recurrences of inflammation of the lungs at the approach of winter or exposure to cold. In 1842 a severe relapse, accompanied by spitting of blood, reduced him almost to a shadow, and on the 4th of November, 1843, he died of decline, at the early age of thirty-six. The following appeared in an obituary notice in the leading sporting journal of the day:—

“In the sparring schools Sam was a master of his art to an extent but seldom seen and rarely equalled by professors. He often showed, and remarkably so when in conversation with his ‘betters (?),’ that his acquaintance with ‘letters’ was not merely of a mechanical description. He spoke well, and when he chose could ‘do the agreeable’ with a suavity highly creditable to his class, securing to himself throughout his career the patronage of many noblemen and gentlemen of the highest distinction. His temper was cheerful, and he possessed a flow of natural humour which rendered him an agreeable companion in social circles. A reckless disregard to his own interests, and an unhappy disposition to mix in those scenes which constitute what is called ‘Life in London,’ and in which he was often the companion of sprigs of nobility, to whose wild vagaries he was but too much inclined to pander, led him into scrapes from which he had some difficulty in escaping. It is not our wish, however, to speak ill of the dead; and knowing as we do that there are those of a higher grade whose example he was but too prone to follow, equally deserving of censure, we shall throw a veil over the past, and let the recollection of his faults lie hidden in the grave. As a pugilist he was always successful, for he never lost a fight, and as a skilful sparrer he has left no equal of his years. It was not till he married a woman who was his faithful and attached companion till the moment of his death that the foundation of prosperity was laid. She, luckily, was a woman of good sense, and considerable experience in the public line, which enabled her to ‘carry on the war’ with success. Throughout his last illness he was attended with exemplary kindness by his wife, who spared neither pains nor expense to alleviate his disease. He died calm and collected, surrounded by several of his friends, who while they pitied could not but condemn the headlong folly which had distinguished his passage through his short but eventful existence. Many of his faults and follies may be fairly ascribed to the nature of the associations into which the deceased, from his earliest outset in life, was accidently thrown. He was ‘a spoilt child’ of the Fancy, and like all spoilt children was wayward.”

Sam lies buried in the vault of his wife’s family in Kensal Green Cemetery.

MONODY ON THE DEATH OF YOUNG DUTCH SAM.

Scarce the illustrious Pet[53] his eyes had clos’d, When in Death’s cold embrace Dutch Sam repos’d; As brave a fellow from life’s scenes dismiss’d As ever faced a foe or clench’d a fist; Brave without bounce, and resolute as bold, And ever first fair fighting to uphold; Dauntless as honest, with unequalled game He dar’d defeat, and fought his way to fame; And burning still with pugilistic fire, Prov’d Young Dutch Sam was worthy of his sire,

Made of the same unyielding sort of stuff, Ready at all times for the scratch and rough, Delighting in the Ring at contest tough, And proudly scorning to sing out, “Enough!”

Ah! what avails it that in many a mill, With pluck unflinching he was conqueror still; With first-rate science dealt the unerring blow Which from the sneezer made the claret flow; Perplex’d the box of knowledge with a crack, And cloth’d the ogles with a suit of black; Forward his foeman fiercely to assail, And shower his body blows as thick as hail? Ah! what avails it? Dire disease at length Blighted his laurels and subdued his strength, Marking his features pale with Death’s cold stamp, While faint and feeble burnt life’s flickering lamp, ’Till wasted, wan, and worn the pulses stopp’d. The last sad scene was o’er, the curtain dropp’d. But thou hast mark’d a course correct as clear, By which the aspiring pugilist may steer.

Though fate decreed thou first shouldst breathe the air Within the classic precincts of Rag Fair— That region fam’d, as chronicles unfold, Sacred to Sheenies and to garments old, Owld coats, owld vests, to tempt the gazer’s view, And tiles dresht up to look as goot as new; But though in scenes like these Young Sam was nurs’d, The bonds that cramp’d his youth he proudly burst, And with ambition fired, and milling glow, From rolls retreated, and discarded dough; Cut Rosemary Lane, its sorrows and its joys, And left dead men to other bakers’ boys!

What though awhile he ran a printing-race At Charley Baldwin’s crib in Chatham Place? For though to duty never disinclined, ’Twas _Caleb_ Baldwin’s deeds engrossed his mind; The star of Westminster as tough, as bold, Who cried _peccavi_ to Dutch Sam the old.

What though awhile, the public to amuse, Through London streets he circulated news, Doom’d for a time from East to West to trip, And barter broadsheets for the ready tip? “By heaven!” he cried, “to fighting fame I’ll soar, And sporting journals I will vend no more, Of adverse fate I’ll overleap the bar, And follow to the Ring some milling star; Consign all braggart pugilists to shame, And show the Fancy Sam is thorough game!”

Thy spirit warmed by the exciting theme, Nobly Dutch Sam thy pledge thou didst redeem, And soon beneath Dick Curtis’ fostering wing, Blaz’d like a meteor in the battle-ring. Fortune upon thy hardy efforts smil’d, And Victory hail’d thee as her favourite child.

Beneath thy prowess prime, which nought could quell, The liveliest of the kids, Ned Stockman, fell; Then ’twas thy luck, scarce injur’d, to destroy The shine of Harry Jones, the Sailor Boy; ’Twas thine from Carroll Pat to strip the bays, And serve out Cooper Tom in style at Grays, Floor the swart Gipsy in time double-quick, And settle the proud hash of Davis Dick; The veteran Martin soon his colours struck, And twice Ned Neale was down upon his luck; And all his senses sent upon a cruise, It was the luck of _Gaynor_ Tom to _lose_!

But vain are science, gluttony, and strength, And Young Dutch Sam has met his match at length— One whose sharp hits can ne’er be put aside, And at the scratch will never be denied. Brave man! we only mourn that thou art gone, Well worthy to be dubb’d “Phenomenon.” Sound be thy slumber in thy narrow cell, While with a heavy heart we sigh farewell!

=M.=