CHAPTER II.

JEM MACE, OF NORWICH (CHAMPION).

1855-1864.

None who have witnessed the public appearances of this accomplished boxer will dispute that he was one of the cleverest, smartest, and most skilful pugilists that have sported buff in the 24-foot. Indeed, had Jem appeared at an earlier and better period than the latter days of the failing and moribund P.R.; and (another _if_) had he chosen honestly and manfully to exert his powers, the fame that accompanies the championships of the two elder Jems――Jem Belcher and Jem Ward――might have shone on the career of Jem Mace. As we have already more than once said, such as the patrons of the Ring (or, indeed, of the turf and any other sport) are, such will the character of its professors or exponents be. If horse owners are mere mercenary speculators, can we expect jockeys to go straight? When the patronage of the P.R. had fallen from noblemen, gentlemen, and the admirers of courage and fair-play into the hands of the keepers of night houses, “hells,” and even resorts yet more detestable, whose sole object was to fleece the dissipated and unwary by the sale of high-priced railway passes for “special excursions,” and bring customers and victims to their dens of debauchery and robbery, could it be expected that boxers would remain honest and brave? The encouragement of bravery and skill being as nothing to these debased speculators. This, we regret to say, was the degradation into which the Ring had fallen, or was fast falling, when Jem Mace first became known as a boxer, and to these influences some of the “shady” incidents of his career are easily traceable.

Jem, who was born at Beeston, near Swaffham, in Norfolk, made his first appearance on the stage of life in May, 1831, and, like St. Patrick, “came of dacent people.” His “forebears,” as transpired incidentally in evidence at the Commission _de lunatico inquirendo_ known as “The great Windham scandal,” which was tried at Gray’s Inn, in 1861, seem to have been tenants on the Windham estates for more than a hundred years. We have mentioned this fact, as a general impression prevailed, from Jem’s nomadic antecedents and propensities, that he was a born Bohemian; indeed, we more than once read in newspapers that he was of gipsy extraction. Of Jem’s youth we know nothing, except that he “growed,” like Topsy, and we should say rather wild; for when we first heard of him he was proprietor of a travelling booth, wherein, at fairs, races, and public gatherings he not only played the violin――on which he is a tolerable performer――and supplied refreshments, but was acknowledged as a skilful professor of the art of self-defence. Indeed, he had not long been in this line of business before Jem Mace’s booth was the resort of numerous admirers of glove-practice, and Jem himself was famed for his readiness and success in polishing off any aspiring yokel who might desire to try a bout with the mittens. As Jem’s youthful weight did not quite balance ten stone he was of course often “overweighted,” though never overmatched in these encounters, and as he was always ready “to accommodate” without regard to size or avoirdupois, Jem’s early career taught him how to deal with “big ones,” as his after-fights with Tom King and the gigantic Sam Hurst bear witness.

Jem was not a precocious pugilist, having attained his twenty-fourth year before engaging himself to strip with a local boxer, bearing the formidable name of Slack, in October, 1855. Of this “illustrious obscure” we need only say that _Fistiana_ has but one line chronicling his defeat by one Jack Baston (fighting as Mace’s Novice) in September, 1857, when Slack broke his arm. Mace’s fight with Slack, which took place at Mildenhall, October 2, 1855, was a one-sided affair, Jem snuffing out his adversary’s pretensions in nineteen minutes, which included the 9th and last round, and leaving off without a mark of punishment. From this time, for more than a year, Jem pursued the even tenor of his way, increasing his fame as a fistic practitioner and professor, when the rumour of his “gift” of hitting reached the great metropolis, and with it came an announcement that Mace would be happy, upon finding a suitable customer, to exhibit his talents in the London Ring with any 10 stone practitioner, and give a few pounds.

Bill Thorpe, a fine made and well-proportioned 10 stone man, standing about 5 feet 9 inches in his stocking-feet, had crept into favour with some “over-the-water” sporting circles by his defeat of a man named Bromley, in the same ring in which Dan Collins (Sayers’s early opponent) beat Patsy Daly, on September 28, 1856. Thorpe, being on the look-out for a job, was considered a fit match for Jem Mace, and his friends placing him in the hands of Dan Dismore, the articles were drawn and signed to fight on the 17th February, 1857, for £50, neither man to exceed 10 stone. This limitation of weight suggests a rather curious reflection as to the remarkable manner in which some modern pugilists may be said to have increased in weight by “leaps and bounds.” Jemmy Massey, who fought at 8st. 10lbs., could not latterly scale under 10 stone. Sayers increased from 9st. to 10st. 12lbs., yet he was twenty-four years old when he fought Dan Collins; Harry Broome in two years grew from 10st. to 12st.; he, however, began unusually young, while Jem Mace, who was twenty-six when he first appeared in the London ring, increased from 9st. 10lbs. to 11st. 4lbs. just as Tom Sayers did. The affair came off, after a shift from the Kentish marshes, on Canvey Island, and although the men were termed novices, there was a better muster than usual of the patrons of the ring, owing to the popularity of Dan Dismore and Keene, who severally backed the men. The weather was genial and more like a May day than February, and a pleasant voyage was followed by an easy debarkation, and well-kept ring. Thorpe first threw in his hat, esquired by Jemmy Welsh and Tom Sayers――the appearance of the latter bearing testimony to the wonderful strength of his constitution, one week only having elapsed since his renewed and tremendous battle with Aaron Jones! Mace was not long in following Thorpe’s example, being accompanied by the accomplished Bill Hayes and a Norwich amateur. At three o’clock, all being in apple-pie order, the men and seconds crossed hands, and the former were left face to face to begin

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――As Mace threw himself into attitude there was a general expression of admiration among the best qualified judges at the style of “the countryman,” and the easy grace with which he moved in and out, as if measuring his opponent, without the least hurry or nervousness. Thorpe, who, as we have already said, is a fine straight young fellow, stood with his right leg foremost _à la_ Bendigo, and by his steady coolness showed he too was a practitioner in the sparring school, and not easily to be got at. Mace, however, filled the eye as a longer and altogether bigger man, though there was but three pounds difference in their weight. Thorpe, as his opponent tried to draw him, declined the temptation and retreated, closely and warily followed by Mace, who, at length seeing an opening, instantly planted a right-hander on Thorpe’s nob with a swiftness that completely astonished the Londoners. Thorpe did not shrink, but tried to cross-counter Mace’s left, when dash went in Jem’s mauley such a spank on Thorpe’s proboscis, that the Londoner was hit clean off his legs, a fair and indisputable “knockdown,” thus scoring the first event. On being carried to his corner, Thorpe was seen to be distilling the crimson from his olfactory organ, and “first blood” was also awarded to the member for Norwich. Thus early the odds were offered on Mace, but no response was made even to an offer of 6 to 4, followed by 2 to 1 from a Norwich speculator.

2.――Mace lost no time in getting to work; he lashed out his left before he was well within distance. Thorpe retreated, but Mace did not get near enough for a prop, and Thorpe appeared to be confused at the manner in which his antagonist had planted on him in the opening bout, and was by no means desirous to have a second dose. In his tactics, however, he did not display science, for he neither hit with precision nor judgment. In his former battle with a 12st. opponent Thorpe fought with steady resolution, but the quickness and cleverness of Mace seemed to unnerve and puzzle him, and he hurriedly missed both hands, while after a little manœuvring, Mace let fly left and right in rapid succession on the head, and then got cleverly away. Thorpe, after following his man up, dashed out wildly with the right, and just missed getting home a stinger. Mace, in returning the compliment, again delivered a rattling spank on the nose, when Thorpe went down.

3.――Thorpe, acting under the instruction of his seconds, led off, but was neatly stopped. Determined not to be denied――Jemmy Welsh seeing that out-fighting would never do, urged his man to go in, and go in he did in an impetuous manner, just reaching Master Jem on the top part of the cranium. In the counter-hitting, Mace had all the best of it, and after a scrambling kind of rally, they closed at the ropes, when both went down, Mace rolling over his opponent.

4.――The countryman administered a pretty one-two on the front of his opponent’s nob, who did not appear to have the least idea of how to stop these telling visitations. In returning the compliment, Thorpe hit out wildly, and succeeded in getting slightly on Jem’s brain canister. This brought the combatants to a close, when Mace threw his man and fell on him; the London division looked blue at this proof of superiority at close quarters, and the “Norwich novice” was pronounced a “stunner,” by more than one good judge.

5.――The Londoner led with the left and right, but without precision. Mace, in the countering, planted the left on the cheek, and in a bustling rally fought his man to the ropes, when Thorpe succeeded in getting home a heavy spank with the right on the top of the knowledge-box, and Mace slipped and went down.

6.――Bill, in opening the ball, tried the right, but again missed. The London party vociferously encouraged their man, declaring the countryman was “half-licked.” Mace retreated as his antagonist came dashing in; but Thorpe was not to be denied, though, in the exchanges that ensued, he had all the worst of it, for Mace delivered the left and right full on the _os frontis_, when Thorpe went down in the middle of the ring, bleeding profusely.

7.――On coming up, Thorpe displayed considerable marks of punishment, having a cut over the left peeper, and one under the right, a proof that his antagonist was a hard hitter, as well as a quick and rapid fighter. Bill again tried to take the lead, and to put in a hot ’un on the nob with the right, but the intended compliment was not within the mark. Mace, as Thorpe dashed to him for in-fighting, sent both mauleys full in the middle of the Londoner’s dial, but, in stepping back, slipped, and partly went down on his knees. On the instant, however, he recovered his equilibrium, and, after some spirited exchanges, in favour of the countryman, they closed, when Thorpe went down against his will.

8.――Thorpe was unsteady on coming up; Mace had no sooner been met by his antagonist than he delivered the left with telling force right on the mark, following it up with a one-two on the nob, and then, to avoid his opponent’s rush, being near the ropes, went down cunning.

9.――The supposed success of Thorpe in fighting down his man in the last round led to encouraging cheers from his partisans, who declared the countryman was “cutting it.” Thorpe, after leading off with little or no effect, closed, and got home a heavy thwack on the side of the head with the right, when, after a little fibbing, Mace broke ground, and went down.

10.――Mace came from his corner with a smiling countenance. Thorpe had all the will to be dangerous, but lacked the judgment, for, in commencing the attack, he was again out of distance. Mace, when he had worked his way well to his man, administered the left and right once more on Master Bill’s damaged pimple, and then, as Thorpe rushed in for the close, went down easy.

11.――After two or three ineffectual attempts, Bill went in resolutely and got home with both mauleys on the side of the nob; Mace, after returning the compliment, with a slight addition by way of interest, closed with his opponent, and both went to grass, Thorpe under.

12.――Thorpe with the left got home slightly on the head, but in trying to improve upon this he was well stopped. In a wild rally the Londoner fought his man to the ropes, when the countryman with both the left and right gave him an additional dose of punishment on the nob, drawing another supply of claret. After these exchanges the men closed and fell.

13.――Thorpe, after leading off, napped a stinger on the side of the nob, when he immediately closed with his opponent. Some half-arm fighting ensued, all in favour of Mace, and both were down.

14.――Bill, in a wild impetuous manner, went dashing in at his man, but in the counters did little or no execution. Mace, after steadily planting both mauleys on the head, retreated, and in breaking ground slipped and fell.

15.――The Londoner made an attempt with the right, but was well stopped. As Mace broke ground, Thorpe followed him up with much gameness and resolution, and in the exchanges delivered a tidy spank with the left on the side of the head, when Mace went down to avoid the close, with more prudence than pluck.

16.――Mace, who had been allowing his opponent to do all the work, now saw he had him in hand; with great quickness and precision he let fly with both hands at the head, and repeated the dose without a return. Thorpe rushed at his man for the close, when Mace went down laughing.

17.――Thorpe met his antagonist with much resolution, and with the right planted a stinger on the side of the head. Mace, in retreating, slipped and went down, but on the instant he was again on his pins, and renewed the battle. In the counter-hitting he got home with telling effect, and in retreating from his man he again slipped and went on his knees, but instantly jumped up and faced his opponent. Bill, though, as usual, receiving all the punishment, stood his ground manfully, until they closed, when, after some little fibbing, Mace went down.

18 and last.――Mace in this bout gave his antagonist the _coup de grace_ in the most off-hand and masterly manner. Thorpe came up desperate, and Jem, after stopping the opening shots of his opponent, delivered his left and right with stinging force on the middle of Master Bill’s nob, the last hit with his right being full on his nasal prominence. This immediately sent Thorpe to grass, and when “time” was called, it was found that he was in no condition to renew the contest. Hereupon Jemmy Welsh throw the sponge up in token of defeat, the battle having lasted twenty-seven minutes.

REMARKS.――There was but one opinion among the _cognoscenti_ as to the winner――namely, that he was one of the best boxers that we have seen for many a day. He is a quick and rapid fighter, and hits with judgment, precision, and remarkable force, as the condition of poor Thorpe’s head strikingly manifested. The Londoners knew by repute that he was considered to be a good general; but we are confident that they never for a moment imagined that he was anything like the man he turned out. As will be seen by our description of the rounds, he fights remarkably well, and when in danger has the ability to get out of it in clever style. From first to last he had the battle entirely in his own hands, Thorpe never having the remotest chance of winning, for he was out-fought and out-manœuvred in every round. Mace at the weight is a strong-made, powerful man, and if his pluck and bottom are in any way equal to his other qualifications, we can only say that it will require an opponent of first-rate ability to beat him. This tournament, however, is by no means a fair criterion of those qualities, for he had the fortune and skill to get in no way punished, absolutely winning the contest without so much as a black eye. Thorpe, the unfortunate loser, is, there can be no doubt, a very game man, but he will never be able to obtain a front position in the P.R. It must, however, be borne in mind that, as a game and determined fellow, he did his best, and it is to be hoped that he will not be forgotten either by his friends or by the winners. All being over, the company returned to the metropolis, which was reached before seven o’clock in the evening.

The money was given to Mace, at Mr. G. Smith’s, King Street, Norwich, on the following Thursday, when several matches were talked of, but nothing came of them. After a sparring tour, we find our hero in London, making Nat Langham’s his headquarters, and offering to do battle either with Mike Madden or Bob Brettle, of Birmingham, at 10st. 3lbs., for £100 a side. He was also “nibbled at” by Job Cobley (nicknamed by Baron Nicholson “the Elastic Potboy”) whose victories over Webb, Bob Travers (the black), and George Crockett, had brought him into the front rank of middle-weights; Cobley’s engagement with Mace going off, owing to the former being matched against Bob Brettle. Some pourparlers with Jack Grant also ended in talk, until, early in the month of September, Mace having left a deposit in the hands of the Editor of _Bell’s Life_, Mike Madden covered the same, and articles were signed for a fight for £50, to come off in the Home Circuit, on the 20th of October, 1857.

Mace was now in business as a publican, keeping the Swan Inn, Swan Lane, Norwich; and at the final deposit at Nat Langham’s on the previous Thursday we heard an ominous whisper to the effect that there would be “no fight;” while, _per contra_, we were assured by both parties that each meant fighting and nothing else. On the Friday Mr. Lockwood, of Drury Lane, on the part of Madden, and Langham, on the part of Mace, attended at the Editor’s Office, and were there informed, as that gentleman could not be present, he should exercise the power vested in the stakeholder by the articles of naming the referee, and further that he should appoint Dan Dismore to that office, to which neither of the parties made the slightest objection. On the Monday the men went to scale at Mr. Lockwood’s, and here there were loud complaints on the part of Mace’s friends about Madden’s style of weighing, they stating him to be overweight, also that he jumped off the scale before the balance was fairly ascertained, and, putting on his clothes, refused to return. On the other hand Madden and Co. averred that Mace never meant fighting, that after the weighing he went out of the house in his shirt sleeves, and did all in his power to attract the attention of the police; and that in the evening he went to Gravesend, where he ostentatiously paraded himself, and even proclaimed the whereabouts of the coming mill.

On the Tuesday morning, on reaching the ground, we found an excellent ring, which was quickly surrounded by a large number of Corinthians and other Ring patrons, prepared to witness what many expected――a real good battle. To their disappointment and surprise, however, when all other preliminaries were arranged, Mace and his friends stepped forward, and formally objected to Dan Dismore as referee, on the ground that he had money on the fight. Dan instantly replied that he had not a shilling on the result, and that he should not have been present had he not received the letter appointing him referee. Mace’s party persisted in their objection, and various propositions were made, among others one by Mike Madden himself, who said he was willing to fight with two umpires and without any referee; but to this Mace objected, as “contrary to the articles.” Several gentlemen were proposed for the onerous and thankless office, who either declined or were objected to; so at last what was to have been the second fight (between Clamp and Gibbs) was got off amidst disgraceful confusion, Clamp proving himself the best man in one hour and thirty minutes. Both Madden and Mace remained in or at the side of the ring while the men were fighting, and after some more discussion of the vexed question of a referee, all returned to London. On the Wednesday, after a patient hearing of both sides, the stakeholder declared that Mace having refused to go to the scratch, when called upon by the duly-appointed referee, had thereby deliberately violated the articles and forfeited the stake, £100, which in due course was handed over to Madden. An unusual amount of irrelevant correspondence, statements as to shares of stake-money, training expenses, unpaid bets, promises and defalcations, from Mace, Madden, and Messrs. Lockwood, Hayes, Dismore, Keene, &c., followed. Finally, after six months’ quibbling, a new match was agreed on, and the 10th of March, 1858, named as the day of battle.

Well do we remember the early muster on that spring morning at the Eastern Counties Railway terminus at Shoreditch. There was “old Mike,” whose deafness, solidity, and stolid look had already earned him the prefix of “old,” though he numbered but thirty summers; he was buttoned up to the chin, in an old-fashioned drab box-coat, with a deep-red neckerchief, and a sealskin cap, the ears of which completely covered his ears and cheeks. He was anxiously inquiring of the group around for his “friend the enemy,” as the time for starting was near. We entered the station. Could it be true? We had the word of the traffic station-master for it. After a brief conversation on the platform, in which some “d――d kind friend” inopportunely alluded to the lamentable result of “ould Mike’s” last battle――that with Jack Jones, of Portsmouth――Jem, with a nod of the head and a cheerful expression, left his friends, and seating himself in an Ipswich carriage just about to steam out of the station, coolly waved a “good-bye” to the astonished group! Another account states, that after Madden and Co. had gone down by the appointed train, Mace was found in a neighbouring coffee-house, whither he had taken refuge from an impending arrest by the police! It is not of much consequence which is the correct version, as the claim of Madden to forfeit from the absence of his opponent was made and fully admitted.

That the pugilistic qualifications and cleverness of Mace were still believed in by some of the best judges of boxing is shown by the fact that “George Brown’s novice,” as Jem was now called, was thought good enough to back against Bob Brettle of Birmingham, whose conquests of Roger Coyne, Sam Simmonds, and Bob Travers were then fresh in the memory of Ring-goers. George Brown, Billy Richardson, and Jack Macdonald were sponsors, and these knowing ones declared that the 21st September, 1858, would show “the coming champion.” Nevertheless, serious misgivings haunted the public mind, not only when the last deposit of the £200 stakes was “tabled,” but even on the short railway journey which preceded the voyage per steamer to Shell Haven, odds being taken that there would be “no fight that day.” Great, therefore, was the satisfaction when it was found that Mace was on board the boat, not only well but cheerful, and apparently confident. After a pleasant run down the river, a fitting spot was selected on the banks of the Medway, where Tom Oliver and his assistants pitched an excellent ring on a lovely piece of greensward.

The Champion of the Midlands was first to cast his beaver into the ropes, amidst hearty cheering, Alec. Keene and Jem Hodgkiss attending as his esquires. Mace soon after showed, advised by Jack Macdonald and Jemmy Massey. It wanted ten minutes to twelve when the men shook hands, the seconds retired to their corners, and the men threw themselves into position for

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――There was very little time lost in manœuvring, both men surprising their friends by an almost nervous eagerness to get at it. Mace at once made play, and let go both hands in the style that had so disconcerted Thorpe; Brettle, however, making a good stop or two, and returning wildly, getting two or three severe cracks, one on the ear so specially heavy that the blood appeared from his auricular organ, and the first event was scored to Mace. After a short rally Brettle closed; Mace hit up sharply, but Bob got the crook and fell over him. The friends of Mace thought their man meant fighting, and the odds which had been offered――5 and 6 to 4 on Brettle――subsided to evens.

2.――The men threw themselves into good form; Brettle tried to lead off with the left, but was stopped neatly, and after another offer and a shift, Jem landed his right smartly on Brettle’s left ear. Again there was a stop or two, and Mace got home slightly; Brettle retreated, and measuring his man as he came in, let go his right on the left side of Mace’s head, on the temple; down went the Norwich man, and the round was over. Alec Keene claimed “first knock-down” for Brettle, and the referee awarded it. Mace was picked up by his attentive seconds, when a strange commotion was seen in his corner; he glared round for a few seconds, then suddenly swooned in Jack Macdonald’s arms. Mac and Massey shook him, and the latter bringing a stool into the ring, tried to seat him thereon. In vain: his legs fell about like Mr. Punch’s, or the nether limbs of a _fantocchino_, and his toes determinedly found their way under the ropes. The syncope was so determined that the Brums began to roar and jeer, and the Eastenders to swear; when the enraged Mac administered such a vice-like pinch to his man’s ear, that he roared lustily, but the next moment was as insensible as ever to all outward things. “Time” was now called, and “Time!” was repeated by the referee. Jem was set up in a perpendicular position, but those recalcitrant legs sent up their heels, and Jem would have assumed a devotional attitude, but that the “stunted lifeguardsman” held him up by main strength, while his head fell sideways on Macdonald’s shoulder. “Time!” the eight seconds’ “grace” were counted. “There are none so deaf as those that won’t hear,” was once more verified, and Bob Brettle was declared the conqueror, the actual fight having lasted _three minutes_. On the boat it was observed that Brettle’s last hit had raised a very blue mouse on Jem’s cheek-bone, but that it had knocked him out of time――_credat Judæus Apella_――indeed we are sure no Sheeny from Houndsditch would believe it.

The elation of Brettle’s friends at this victory led them into a mistake. They matched their man against Tom Sayers, and on September 20th, 1859, in a short quarter of an hour, seven rounds disposed of the Brum’s pretensions, as may be fully read in our last chapter.

Mace’s next match remains a yet-unexplained riddle. He was backed on this occasion by Bob Brettle――the man who had defeated him with such apparent ease――against one of his own townsmen, Posh Price, at 10st. 10lbs., for £50 a side. Price was a boxer of proved game and no mean capabilities. The deposits were posted by Brettle in the name and on the behalf of a man called in the articles “Brettle’s Novice,” and it was not until the last deposit that it was declared that Jem Mace was the “Novice” thus described.

On the 25th of January, 1859, after the gallant battle between Dan Thomas (the Welshman) and Charles Lynch (the American), in which the former was victorious, a special train having conveyed the spectators and combatants from London Bridge to Aldershot Common, the ring was cleared and re-formed by Fred Oliver and his assistants. No sooner, however, had the ropes been tightened, and the stakes driven firm, than, to the chagrin of the expectant assemblage, a detachment of the rural constabulary made their appearance, and a move into the adjacent county of Surrey became imperative. The transit was quickly and safely effected, and no sooner was the ring adjusted, than “Brettle’s Novice,” attended by his backers, tossed his cap into the ropes in token of defiance, and stood revealed to all as Jem Mace of Norwich. His condition and bearing not even the most prejudiced could find fault with. The men went to scale on the previous day at George Brown’s, “The Bell,” Red Lion Market, both being well within the 10st. 10lbs. Posh Price, who was born in 1832, and won his first victory in the Ring at eighteen years of age, was as yet unbeaten. He had successively defeated Mush, Boucher, Leighton, Benson, Holland, Liddy, and lastly the once renowned Ben Terry, who fought a draw with Harry Broome. In all these battles he had borne himself bravely, and showed no mean amount of skill. It was not, therefore, to be wondered at that Price was favourite in the betting at 5 and 6 to 4. The Birmingham man was seconded by Sam Simmonds and Joe Wareham, while Mace had behind him Jem Hodgkiss and Brettle. Price, whose age was twenty-seven――Mace being one year older――was all his friends could desire in point of condition, and his hardy, good-natured mug wore a smile of confidence in the result of

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――On the retirement of their seconds the belligerents at once threw themselves into attitude, the superior freedom of Mace’s style being quite evident to the initiated. He played round his man, watching him keenly; Price looking somewhat puzzled how to begin. Presently Posh broke ground, and retreated, keeping a good guard; Mace followed his man closely, and, getting well within distance, popped in his left on Price’s mazzard, but was countered by Price’s left on the forehead. Mace stuck to his work, and caught Price right and left in the head. Posh fought determinedly in the exchanges, but Mace drove him back, planting the left on Price’s right eye with such severity that the ruby streamed down his cheek. (First blood for Mace.) After a break and a little wincing they again got within striking distance, when some heavy exchanges ended in Price being on the grass.

2.――The men went at once to work, and some slashing exchanges followed, in which Mace, partly from a hit, and partly from a slip, was down. In an instant he was on his feet again, and as the Brum, somewhat surprised, retreated before him, followed him close. Near the ropes Posh made a stand, and hit out with both hands. After some fine two-handed fighting in favour of Mace, Price was on the ground, Mace walking smilingly to his corner.

3.――Mace forced the fighting. He led off with astonishing rapidity, doing terrible damage to the Brum’s dial and cranium. Posh stood to his guns like a man, but Mace’s metal was too heavy for him. Nevertheless, in the exchanges, Price got in a hot ’un on Mace’s jaw, and another on his neck, that made Master Jem look serious, and although the odds had changed, the Brums took heart from the general opinion of Mace’s deficiency of game. In the close both were down at the ropes.

4.――Mace led off rather short, and as he got nearer Price planted his left in the middle of his opponent’s nob. (Tremendous cheering from the Brums). Mace drew himself together, and fighting rapidly, got heavily on Posh’s eye and mouth. The gallant Brum paused a moment, then dashed in, and after a magnificent rally, in which Mace astonished the spectators by the straightness and rapidity of his hitting, Price went down against his will.

5.――Jem lunged out his left, delivering an enlivener on his adversary’s brain pan, and getting cleverly away from the Brum’s returns. After a little sparring, Mace got again within distance, and in some clipping left-handed exchanges got with tell-tale force on the Brum’s dial. Posh, scorning to retreat, stood his ground, and fought up. In the fall both were down, Price undermost.

6.――Mace opened the ball with a shot from the left, when the Brum retreated. Jem followed, and again got in the left with telling effect. They closed at the ropes, when Posh, who was catching pepper, got down.

7.――Heavy counters, each doing execution on the head. As Price retreated, Mace followed, and as the Brum turned on nearing the ropes, Mace caught him a terrific right-hander on the head, just behind the ear, opening a cut from which the carmine ran copiously; Posh, who appeared dazed by the effect of this rasper, went down on his knees in the middle of the ring.

8.――Price came up slowly but steadily; in an instant Mace dashed in with electric rapidity, right and left, in his opponent’s damaged frontispiece; Price was, however, by no means idle, and stuck to Mace in the counter-hitting. In a rally Posh was down.

9.――Mace came with alacrity from his corner; he was almost unmarked, while poor Posh’s countenance was out of shape in every feature. Still he kept his form――such as it was――and tried to stop his man, too often ineffectually. Mace drove him to the ropes, and would have screwed him up for fibbing, but Posh slipped down through his hands.

10.――Posh made a desperate attempt to lead off, but Mace stopped him artistically, and caught him a smasher on the proboscis for his temerity; Posh in turn retreated, when Mace followed him. Price, to avoid a heavy right-hander, ducked his head, and in doing so caught his foot in the grass and fell.

11th and last.――The combatants came up readily. The Brum seemed determined upon a last effort to stem the tide, and the Norwich man at once accepted the attack. The exchanges were effective and sharp, and while the men were thus fighting, Mace hit his man a terrific blow on the left arm, which caused Price to drop his hand, and stagger to his corner. A swelling on the fore arm was instantly visible, and it was stated that the small bone of the limb was fractured. Sam Simmonds stepped forward and declared that his man was disabled, and he would not permit the game fellow (who had risen to his feet to renew the contest) to fight any longer. The sponge was accordingly thrown up, and Mace hailed the winner, the battle having lasted exactly 17 minutes.

REMARKS.――We do not remember to have seen such severe and cutting punishment administered in so short a time in any battle of modern times. Mace, in this contest, not only justified the high opinion of his scientific quality which we always entertained, but displayed a steady resolution for which none had given him credit. True, he was never in danger of losing the fight, and as round succeeded round his superiority became more manifest. He fought throughout with wonderful quickness; and that his hitting was as hard as it was precise poor Posh’s battered mug and bruised carcase fully testified. Of the gallant Brum, we can only say he was out-classed, out-generalled, stopped, foiled, and punished at all points; and, as he did all that became a man, he deserves the respect of all who admire pluck and resolution; and it should not be forgotten that at last his defeat was due to an unfortunate and disabling accident, not to a surrender. The £100 was given over to Mace on the Tuesday following, at Bob Brettle’s “White Lion,” Digbeth.

Mace was now a publican, hanging out his sign at the Swan Inn, Swan Lane, Norwich, and exhibiting his talents almost nightly at the “Baronial Hall,” West End, Norwich. In the early months of 1859 we read, “Jem Mace, wishing to try his hand once again in the London P.R., will fight any man at 10st. 7lbs., in four months from the first deposit, for £100.” This was answered by Job Cobley; but for a time the friends of the “Elastic Potboy” hung back, and George Crockett offered himself at 10st. This weight was simply preposterous as a limit for Mace. Dan Collins, too, Sayers’s first opponent, proposed; but, doubtless fortunately for himself and friends, the match went off upon a question of amount of stakes.

At length in November, 1859, Bob Travers (then known as “Langham’s Black”) responded to Mace’s cartel, and articles were drawn to fight on the 21st of February, 1860, for £100 a side.

The character and antecedents of Travers left no doubt in the minds of the patrons of pugilism that Massa Bob would fully test the stuff of which Jem Mace was really composed. With the exception of a solitary defeat by Job Cobley, Travers’s reputation had been well won. In his first battle, October 29th, 1855, he beat Geo. Baker, in two rings (after an adjournment from October 19th) in twenty-three minutes, for £25 a side, at Tilbury. In February, 1856, he conquered Jesse Hatton, at Combe Bottom, in 76 minutes, during which 39 hard rounds were fought. George Crockett succumbed to his arm at Egham, in 37 rounds, occupying 114 minutes, on May 13 in the same year, in which also (he was fighting too often) he suffered his first defeat by Job Cobley, after a tremendous battle of 3 hours and 27 minutes, in which 110 rounds were fought. In January, 1857, he beat Cleghorn for £100 a side, on the Medway, in 36 rounds, 87 minutes, and in May 13th of the same year defeated the accomplished Bill Hayes, in 3¾ hours (!), the stakes being £100 a side. Beaten by Bob Brettle (Travers fell without a blow), January 27, 1858, he received a forfeit of £90 from Johnny Walker, who did not show, on the 25th May, 1858; and in April, 1859, beat the game and unflinching Mike Madden in 45 rounds, 97 minutes, at Ashford, Kent; and this brings us to his present engagement.

With such a deed-roll Travers’s chance was booked as a certainty by the circle at the “Cambrian,” where Massa Ebony was a “bright, particular star,” especially as many persisted in asserting the visible “white feather” in Mace’s plumage.

The men injudiciously delayed their departure from town until nine o’clock, and after a long journey by rail much time was lost before the excursionists got on board the “City of Rochester” steamer. John Heenan, the Benicia Boy, was among the voyagers, attended by Jack Macdonald, and was, as may be imagined, “the observed of all observers.” After a long water trip a debarkation was attempted in Essex, on an oft-visited spot, and there the ring was pitched, and all in readiness, when the police came in sight, and all were compelled to go on board again. After another steam trip of five miles a landing was effected in Kent. Travers, who won the toss for choice of corners, had for seconds Jerry Noon, and, to the mystification of many, Jem’s whilom patron Bob Brettle, with whom a feud had arisen. Bos Tyler and Jack Hicks attended upon Mace. Travers at the opening was an immense favourite, 2 to 1 being offered on him. It was five minutes to five o’clock when the men’s toilettes were completed and they stood up for

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――As they faced each other there could be no doubt that the condition of the combatants was faultless. Travers’s skin shone with an unmistakable lustre, resembling a dark piece of fine old Spanish mahogany. His massive and deep chest and broad lines displayed a grand development of muscularity, denoting the possession of exceptional strength. The only circumstance that detracted from his general appearance was his legs, and the looseness with which, like most niggers, he was put together. He looked all over smiles and grins, and as if perfectly confident he must be the winner. Mace, possessing the superiority in height and reach, with his keen eye, symmetrical frame, and graceful freedom of attitude, looked from head to foot an athlete to whom, if the heart were there, anything might be possible. His friends declared that he had “screwed his courage to the sticking place, and could not fail,” and the event proved their trust to be well grounded. Travers, after a little manœuvring round the ring, tried to lead off with the left, but was short. Mace was awake, and as Bob jumped back, Mace followed him, and Bob again hitting out, Mace nailed him with the left on the cheek, and then with the right on the left peeper. In the close, after a smart dose of fibbing, they struggled for the fall, when Mace threw Bob, but not cleverly. There was an attempt to claim first blood for Mace, but it was not admitted.

2.――The ice being fairly broken, the men were no sooner up than at it. Bob again led off, out of distance, with the left, then retreated with rapidity; Mace followed him up, and some sharp exchanges followed; the Black getting home on Jem’s mouth, while Mace was home with both hands on the Woolly-one’s nob. In shifting position, Travers got with his back on the ropes and rolled down.

3.――Both men came eagerly from their corners, and at once sparred for an opening. The Black, who was as lively as a young kangaroo, hopped about the ring; Mace kept to him, so at last, after hitting out without effect, Travers got down. (Disapprobation.)

4.――The combatants came up smiling. As yet there had been little harm done Travers, as usual, opened the ball, planting the right on the body; in return, Mace timed his man with fine precision, landing both left and right effectively, the latter on the point of the chin, when the Black went down on his hands and knees.

5.――After manœuvring and breaking ground, the men got to the ropes in Travers’s corner; the Black, after slight exchanges, getting down cunning. (There was an appeal of “foul,” which the referee disallowed, saying “Go on.”)

6.――As the Darkey, in somewhat ungainly fashion, was dancing about the ring, Mace went to him, and at the ropes planted both mauleys on the head with rattling precision. In the close Travers had his back on the ropes, when Mace tried to put on the hug; Travers got down.

There was here a general cry of “Police!” and a posse of these unwelcome intruders came to the ropes, when Bob, in his anxiety to “make tracks,” nearly ran into the arms of the Philistines. Jerry Noon had also a narrow squeak for it, and had he not jumped into the river and swum to a boat, he would certainly have been nailed, as the Bobby who had singled him out did not give up the chase until up to his middle in water. The escape so pleased several of the lookers-on who had reached the steamer in boats safely, that a subscription was made to “dry Jerry’s clothes,” and liberally presented to him when on board. The battle thus interrupted had lasted 21 minutes, and as darkness would soon come on, the steamer’s prow was directed homewards, and the referee ordered a meeting for the next day.

At an early hour on Wednesday morning, the men and their backers were on board, and at a few minutes after nine Fred Oliver announced all to be in readiness. Mace was first to throw his castor in the ring, which action was immediately followed by Travers, who entered with the same grin of nonchalance as on the preceding day. Mace had scarcely a visible mark, while the black’s ebony complexion concealed all but a cut over the left eyebrow. A rumour was spread that Mace’s left arm was partially disabled; but this proved a _canard_, no doubt flown to influence the betting, the Black still being backed at 2 to 1. The seconds were the same as on the first day.

THE RENEWED FIGHT.

Round 1.――Just before the commencement of hostilities, Travers proposed to back himself to any amount at evens, and produced a roll of notes about as thick as the steamer’s shore-rope for that purpose; but Mace politely declined, regretting that his exchequer was not so flourishing as to permit him to indulge in such speculation. Travers, in taking the initiative, broke ground with more haste than judgment. Jem again followed him, got home with both hands, and, after a close at the ropes, the Black slipped down anyhow.

2.――After a little sparring Mace got home beautifully on Bob’s black-letter title-page, when Travers retreated, hitting out wildly. Mace counter-manœuvred and followed, when Bob paused a moment, then rushed in hand-over-hand, but did not get home. Mace planted his left with fine judgment, following it with a job from the right; there was a little fibbing in the close, and both down by the ropes.

3.――Travers again led with the left, the blow alighting on Mace’s breast, when Mace caught him on the side of the head. Bob retreated, and went down to avoid. (Bos Tyler here appealed to the referee, who declined to notice the get down. “Go on.”)

4.――The Black, all activity, was all over the ring, Mace watching his gyrations keenly and following him close up. After a little fiddling, Mace got near enough, and planted his left sharply, but Travers, ducking his head at the instant, caught the blow on the top of his impenetrable skull. The Black tried to take a lead, but did not get home; Mace, getting to distance, planted a sharp left-hander in Bob’s face, who fell immediately in the middle of the ring. (Loud cries from Mace’s partisans of “Stand up! remember the 13th rule!”)

5.――Both men went eagerly to work, Mace got on a stinger over the left eyebrow; after some wild exchanges, in which Jem peppered the nigger handsomely, both were down, Travers first to earth.

6.――Travers dashed to in-fighting, when Mace again propped him beautifully, and after a scramble in the close, Bob got down anyhow.

7.――Travers, leading with the left, again reached Mace’s breast, when Mace stepped back and recovered guard. As Bob now broke in turn Mace followed as usual, and taking exact measure, popped in his left on the Darkey’s thick lips; Bob again sidled and skipped about the ring and as Jem was letting go a straight one the Black fell, as a bystander observed, “with the wind of the blow.”

8 to 14.――Similar in character, and an appeal by Hicks to the referee followed by a “caution” to Travers from that functionary. From the 15th to the 30th round Travers pursued the same dropping tactics, getting home with little effect at the opening of each round, but unable to prevent Mace’s stinging deliveries, from which his left eye was now fast closing, besides other serious disfigurements. Loud disapprobation was expressed at the Black’s shifty tactics, and in the 32nd round the referee got into the ring and went to Travers’s corner to warn him of the danger he was incurring. Bob assured him his fall was accidental, from the state of his shoes and the ground.

33.――Travers fought his man foot to foot in a fine rally, the hitting all in favour of Mace, and both down.

34.――Bob tried to lead once more, but Jem countered him beautifully, and the Black in getting away fell.

35 to 40.――Travers at the old game again, leading off, getting home slightly, and then scrambling or slipping down to avoid the consequences of standing up to his man. That Mace was winning as fast as his opponent’s shiftiness would allow was manifest. In the 57th and last round, after hitting out, the Black shifted his position, and as Mace was delivering his blow deliberately threw himself down. The referee now decided the battle against him, and Mace was hailed the victor at the end of one hour and thirty-one minutes. A scene of disgraceful confusion followed; Travers’s friends assailing the referee with the foulest abuse, and refusing to accept his decision. Travers shed tears, and declared he was ready to fight on, refusing to shake hands with his opponent. Travers was severely punished; Mace’s bruises were unimportant.

After some acrimonious disputation and letter-writing, the referee’s decision was properly upheld by the stakeholder, and the money handed over to Mace at Mr. Smithers, “Golden Cross,” Charing Cross, Norwich, on the ensuing Friday week.

We have already noted the fact of the disruption of friendly relations between Mace and his quondam conqueror and subsequent friend and patron Bob Brettle. In the early months of 1859 this ill-feeling took the form of a challenge from Mace to Brettle, and some haggling between the disputants on minor details and conditions. Mace’s last two exhibitions had so far restored the much-shaken confidence of his admirers as to satisfy them, however otherwise inexplicable his “in and out running” might be, that, at his weight, none could “live with him,” when he really meant “to stay.” So they listened to his solicitation to give him a second trial “with the only man who had ever beaten him, and that by a fluke”(?). In reply to Jem’s challenge for £100 Brettle replied that being now a “bung” in a good way of business it would not pay him to train under £200. Holywell Lane and Club Row, and a “voice from Norwich” preferred a bigger stake, so the prelims. were soon settled. The 19th September, 1860, was named as the day, and Oxfordshire, as (half-way between London and Birmingham) the _locus in quo_. Accordingly, the London division took their departure from Euston Square, meeting Brettle and Co. at Wallingford Road; there all alighted, and, under the pilotage of a local amateur, a charming spot was selected. Many of the older Ring-goers, however, expressed doubts as to the judiciousness of the selection, and foreboded an interruption, which came all too soon. No time, therefore, was lost, and at a few minutes before noon the men shook hands, and began.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――As the men toed the scratch it was clear to all that they were both all that could be wished in point of condition. Mace had three or four pounds’ advantage in weight, and also a trifle in height and length. Brettle, who looked rounder, bore a smile of self-satisfaction on his good-natured mug, and as he swung his arms in careless fashion, and raised his hands, he nodded to a friend or two, as if quite assured of the result. Brettle tried to lead off, but Mace stopped him coolly, and tried a return, which was prettily warded off by Brettle, who shifted ground. Bob offered again, but was stopped, and Jem popped in a nose-ender in return which drew Bob’s cork, and established a claim of “first blood for Mace.” Bob shook his head as if annoyed, and in he went ding-dong; the exchanges all in favour of Mace, who hit straightest, hardest, and oftenest. Brettle closed, and Mace was under in the fall.

2.――Brettle exhibited some red marks indicative of Mace’s handiwork, while Mace showed a mouse under the left eye. Bob again opened the ball, but he was baffled, and as he persevered Jem popped him prettily on the nose, and then on the mouth, Brettle, nevertheless, giving him a rib-bender with the right, and on Mace retorting on his kissing organ Bob got down.

3.――Brettle’s countenance bore increasing marks of Mace’s skill as a face-painter, but he lost no time in going to work; Mace stood to him, and sharp counter-hits were exchanged; Mace on Brettle’s left eye, Brettle on Mace’s jaw. Exchanges and a close; the men separated, and Mace, in getting away, fell.

4.――Brettle was more cautious. He waited, and tried to draw his man. After a little manœuvring Brettle, amidst the cheers of the Brums, dropped on Mace’s conk a rattler, producing the ruby. Jem looked rather serious, and the Brums were uproariously cheerful. Bob tried it again, but failed, for Mace was first with him with a smasher on the mouth. Brettle bored in, but Mace threw him cleverly, and fell on him.

5.――Brettle slow, being shaken by the blows and fall in the last round. Mace waited for him, delivering right and left straight as an arrow, and getting away cleverly from the return. Bob followed him wildly, getting more pepper; and in the end Brettle was down in the hitting.

6.――Brettle’s left daylight was nearly obscured, and the right showed a distinct mouse. His mouth too, was out of symmetry, and his nose, naturally of the Roman order, resembled a “flat-fish.” Notwithstanding, he went in, and got it on the nose and mouth, returning in a wild and ineffective fashion, until a hot left-hander brought him to his knees in anything but a cheerful condition. At this point a cry of “Police,” was followed by the appearance of a posse of “blues,” headed by a magistrate from Didcot. Hostilities were immediately suspended, and all returned to the train. On a council being held, the “manager” who had deprecated this landing, declared that there was now no hope of pulling up at any part of the line; so there was nothing for it but to order the men to meet the referee on the following morning. “Book agen” was the _mot d’ordre_, which was doubly vexatious for the Birmingham division, who _nolens volens_ had to journey to London, with very doubtful prospects of getting back their money at the next meeting.

After some discussion, all parties agreed to a renewal of the combat on the 20th of the month. The day proving exceptionally fine, the men and their friends started at an early hour from Fenchurch Street, concluding the rail part of the journey at Southend, where a couple of steam-tugs were in waiting, and a voyage to ground on the sea-coast of Essex, never before visited by the Fancy, was chosen. The odds on Mace were not taken, Brettle’s friends being few, and lacking confidence. At five minutes to one, all being in order, the men stood up.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――Brettle had not entirely got rid of the marks of the previous week’s encounter; besides a cut under the left eye, the right optic was “deeply, darkly,” but not “beautifully blue,” and his face looked somewhat puffy. Mace had no more than a skin-deep scratch or two. No sooner had Brettle toed the scratch, than instead of forcing the fighting he stepped back, as if to try whether an alteration in tactics might change the fortune of war. Mace appeared fora few seconds doubtful, then drawing himself together, he slowly followed his man. Getting closer, Brettle let fly his right, and got home on Mace’s head, too round to be effective, while Jem’s counterhit caught him flush on the dial. Brettle broke ground, Mace after him; Bob got home on Mace’s body, but fell at the ropes in retreating.

2.――Mace came up smiling, and was met cheerfully by the Brum. Mace was no sooner within distance than he made his one two on the nose and eye, Brettle’s returns being short and ineffective. As Bob shifted position he slipped down on one knee, but instantly rising renewed the battle. In the struggle at the ropes, Mace was under, and a “foul” was claimed, on the allegation that Brettle had tried to “gouge” his man. The referee said “Go on.”

3.――Mace came up with a slight trickle of claret from his proboscis. Brettle’s face looked as if Mace “had been all over it.” Brettle fought on the retreat, but Mace was too clever at long shots for him to take anything by that manœuvre. As Bob broke ground, Mace nobbed him so severely that his head nodded like a mandarin, and on a second visit down went Bob, staggering from something very like a knock-down.

4.――The Brum came up bothered; yet he faced his man boldly――it was observed that he hit with the right hand open. Mace timed him with a straight prop and retreated. The Brum bored in; the men got across the ropes, when Brettle, lest Mace should fib him, slipped down, as quickly as he could.

5th and last.――Brettle came up quickly, but Jem, perceiving he had got his man, stood to him, and delivered both hands with marvellous rapidity. Bob hit away desperately, fighting his opponent to the ropes, where Jem delivered two more punishers, and Bob was down “all of a heap.” His seconds carried him to his corner. “Time” was called, when Mace sprang rapidly from Johnny Walker’s knee. Brettle’s seconds were still busy at their man, until, the given eight seconds having expired, Jem Hodgkiss threw up the sponge, and Mace was hailed the conqueror; the second fight having lasted seven minutes, the first twelve――nineteen minutes in all.

REMARKS.――These shall be as brief as the battles. From first to last Brettle was out-classed, over-matched, and out-fought, Mace fully proving that once on a winning track, at a winning pace, he was not to be beaten.

In the summer of 1860, a gigantic Lancashire wrestler, 6ft. 2½in. in stature, and balancing 15 stone, put forth a claim to the Championship, and to do battle with this Goliath no better man was found than the once-hardy Tom Paddock, now on his last legs. They met on November 5th, 1860, when poor Tom was knocked out of time by the clumsy Colossus in the 5th round (see _ante_ p. 307). With Sam Hurst――having formed a very low opinion of his boxing capabilities――Jem was most anxious to try conclusions, rightly estimating that a triumph over such a “man mountain” would dissipate any lingering doubts in the public mind of his personal pluck and prowess.

Accordingly, articles were drawn for a fight for £200 a side, Waterloo Day, the 18th of June, 1861, appointed for this interesting combat, and a trip down the river agreed to by both parties. It was determined that, to avoid interruption, an early start should be effected, and so well was this arrangement carried out that at a quarter before nine o’clock the queerly-matched pair stood facing each other in a marshy field on the river-shore, in the centre of a well-surrounded ring; Bos Tyler and Woody being entrusted with the care of Mace, Jem Hodgkiss and Jerry Noon nursing the North Country “Infant.”

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――The old comparison of “a horse to a hen,” was not so fully verified as might be supposed, there being five stone difference in their relative weights, though the discrepancy in size was certainly remarkable. There was another point of contrast which, to the eye of the initiated, was fully worth consideration in any calculation of the chances of victory, and that was, the condition of the men. The Norwich champion’s compact symmetrical figure, well set-on head, bright keen eye, and finely-developed biceps, with tendons showing like knotted whipcord, muscle-clothed shoulders, square bust, flat loins and rounded hips, the whole supported by a pair of well-turned springy-looking pedestals, looked a model gladiator. Hurst, on the other hand, loomed big, heavy, clumsy, while a slight lop-sided lameness, the result of a broken leg, which accident had befallen him since his battle with Tom Paddock, did not improve the naturally ponderous slowness of his movements. His skin, though clear, seemed loose in parts, and the flesh looked flabby on his back and sides. There was an ungainliness in every movement, too, which suggested a second edition of the Tipton Slasher, considerably enlarged. His face, however, was tolerably hard, and he had a look of determination which augured well for his own opinion of success. His friends depended much upon the effect of any single blow he might get in in the course of the mill, feeling a kind of confidence that any damage he might incur from Mace he would put up with without a murmur, and that he certainly possessed an amount of game which, had it been backed by an ordinary share of the other attributes of a pugilist, must have rendered him invincible. On taking position Hurst at first stood well, with his left rather low, and, if anything, his elbow a little too close to his side; his general attitude, however, was good, and all fancied he had improved since his appearance with Paddock. This, however, lasted for a very brief period. Mace appeared steady, serious, and cautious, and fully aware of the difficulties he would have to face. He sparred round his man, in and out, feinting with all the skill of a perfect master of the art, but for some time did not venture near the gigantic arms of Hurst which swung like the sails of a windmill. At last he crept up, and after a quick feint led off on Sam’s left eye, but not heavily. Hurst made a chop in return, but out of distance. Jem again crept near, feinted then hit Sam heavily, left and right, on the cheek and nose, without a return. Hurst, not liking this, lumbered after his man, and a sharp exchange followed, Mace on the cheek and Hurst on the ribs. Mace retreated, looking serious, walked round his man, jobbed him swiftly on the nose, and got away laughing. Hurst tried another rush, and made one or two chopping hits which Mace easily avoided and then planted a straight right-hander on the nose, gaining “first blood,” amidst the uproarious cheers of his friends. Hurst still bored in, but only to receive another smack on the left eye; he just succeeded in reaching Jem’s lips, and the latter fell, laughing.

2.――Sam came up with the claret trickling from his nose, and his left eye swollen and discoloured; he commenced business at once by rushing at his man, slinging out his arms with no sort of precision. He caught Mace on the ribs and back, close to the shoulder, rather heavily with his right, which made the latter look very solemn, and caused him to retreat awhile, stopping right and left, and avoiding close quarters. At length he shook himself together, and again playing round, put in a heavy hit on the left cheek, and then got home with great force on the nose, drawing more blood; this he followed with a straight job in the mouth, drawing the ruby from the giant’s lips. The spectators were astonished at Sam’s inertness. Hurst let go both hands, when Mace with ease stepped between his arms, and delivered both hands with the quickness of lightning, and with tremendous force, upon the nose and eye. Again and again did he do this, and then step away, inflicting fearful punishment, and laughing defiance at Hurst’s ungainly attempts at retaliation. Hunt, who was clearly a mere chopping block to Mace, seemed bewildered by the severity of the hitting, but still persevered, only, however, to be jobbed heavily on the mouth, nose, and left eye, which latter was quickly shut completely up. Still the game fellow persevered, until it seemed perfectly cruel to let him go on. Mace did exactly as he liked without a return, and at length in a close both were down. It was a dog fall (side by side), but it proved that Hurst’s supposed superiority of power was destroyed, probably by the weakness of his leg. Mace was almost scatheless at the end of the round, while Hurst, as may be imagined, was fearfully punished.

3.――Hurst, notwithstanding his injuries, was first to the scratch, his left eye closed, and the whole of the left side of his cheek bruised and cut; his nose too was swollen and bleeding. Mace, with the exception of a slight scratch on his mouth, was little the worse for wear. Hurst, in desperation, immediately rushed at his man, but Jem met him with a stinger from his right on the nose, drawing a fresh stream, and jumped back, covering his head completely. Sam, furious, persevered, but the more he swung out his arms the more did he lay himself open to an attack. He hit round, he sawed the air, he chopped, and, in fact, did everything that a perfect novice would do, but it was only to expose him to more attacks from his artistic foe. At length he succeeded in planting a heavy blow on the jaw, which almost knocked Mace down, but Jem steadied himself, and returned desperately on Goliath’s mouth. Mace got away, stepped quickly in again, and hit Hurst severely in the face, left and right, without a return. Hurst, thoroughly confused, tried another rush, but Mace retreated all round the ring, repeatedly jobbing him with impunity as he lumbered after him. At length Jem caught his foot against a stake, and fell, but was up in an instant, and after a feint or two got home on Sam’s good eye twice in succession. Hurst’s returns were ridiculously short; in fact they were not like blows at all, and never seemed to come from the shoulder. At length he got a little right-hander on the body, but received two heavy left-handed hits in quick succession on the cheek. Sam, in rushing in, here stepped on to Mace’s toe, the spike in his boot entering the flesh, and inflicting a severe wound. Jem drew back his foot in pain, and pointed to it, but Hurst shook his head, as if to say it was unintentional. After Mace had inflicted a little more punishment he slipped down; poor Hurst, who was completely blown by his exertions, panting like an overdriven dray-horse, stood in the middle of the ring. Some influential friends of Hurst’s wished him here to give in, but his principal backer would not bear of it.

4.――Jem merely showed a slight bruise under the left arm, while Hurst was awfully punished about the face, but was still strong. He rushed at his man at once, who laughed, got away, and then, after leading him a dance, turned, and delivered another tremendous hit on the blind eye. Again and again did Hurst follow him, and as repeatedly did Mace hit him with stinging effect in every direction. Mace at last seemed tired of his exertions, and stood for a short time with his arms down. Hurst also rested a little from sheer exhaustion; at length he made another rush, and Jem, in getting away, slipped down. Hunt pointed at him, as much as to say it was deliberate, but Jem was up at once, and offered to resume the round, but Hurst’s seconds took him away. Thirty minutes had now elapsed.

5.――Sam, whose face was coloured all over, made another rush and got slightly home on the body, when Jem again slipped down. Once more he jumped up to renew the round, but Sam walked away to his corner at the call of his seconds.

6.――Jem made the fighting, and planted heavily on the cheek and nose, getting quickly and easily away. Again did he do this, and then again, hitting Hurst with stunning force in the middle of the head with both hands, until the poor fellow turned away completely bewildered. Nevertheless, he quickly rallied, and again tried his rush, but only to get into more difficulties, until everybody round the ring cried “Take him away!” (Hodgkiss here appealed to his backers to be allowed to throw up the sponge; they refused, indeed, it was evident that Sam himself would not yet consent to own that he was licked.) Sam made another rush, and after slight exchanges, closed; a brief struggle took place, when both fell, Hurst undermost. It was claimed by Mace’s friends as a cross-buttock, but it scarcely amounted to that, although Jem certainly had the advantage in the fall.

7.――Bob Brettle now appealed to Sam’s backers to give in, but in vain. Bob tried to get into the ring, and did throw up his hat, but was forced away by Sam’s backers. Mace offered to shake hands, and seemed unwilling to inflict more punishment, feeling that it was useless cruelty. Sam would not hear of surrender, but made his rush, and succeeded in getting home his right on the body, when Jem fell.

8th and last.――Hurst came up staggering, his face much disfigured; Mace also seemed rather tired. Sam made a final effort, letting go both hands, but was short, and received two more very straight hits on the cheek and nose, drawing claret in fresh profusion. Sam blundered in almost blind, and Mace pushed, rather than hit him, several times in the head, looking at him steadily and stepping back after each delivery. The “big ’un” was evidently powerless, and Jem was commendably forbearing. Another attempt was made by Brettle to throw up the sponge, and the referee stepped into the ring to remonstrate with Sam’s principal backer, but neither he nor Hurst would listen to reason. The consequence was that Jem was reluctantly compelled to hit him again, which he did with perfect impunity; and finally Jem Hodgkiss, finding it useless to reason with either Sam or his backer, took the responsibility upon himself, and threw up the sponge, forcing the unwilling giant to his corner, where Mace went up to him, and shook hands, although sorely against Hurst’s will, who could not even now reconcile to himself his defeat by one upon whom he looked with contempt. Mace was then proclaimed the victor, after fighting for _fifty minutes_. He bore his honours modestly, and as soon as possible went round with the hat, and collected the sum of £35 for his unsuccessful antagonist.

Scarcely was this done, when the police made their appearance, fortunately too late to prevent a satisfactory conclusion.

REMARKS.――Volumes could not prove more demonstratively the value of skill in the art of boxing as turning the scale against mere weight and strength, than this one-sided contest of Mace and Hurst. Poor Hurst, who had been trained by Turkish Baths, instead of hard work, ought not to have fought this battle. Apart from his want of condition, however, it was quite manifest he was not cut out for a fighting man. He had little knowledge of the art of self-defence, could not hit straight from the shoulder, and it was obvious that a man of his build and gait――even when endowed with the uncommon powers he displayed as a receiver――cannot hope to contend with success against extraordinary cleverness and activity, even though possessed by a man of far lighter calibre than himself. The unfortunate Sam was, however, a remarkably straightforward fellow, and from the first it was clear he had the interests of his friends more at heart than his own, and the greatest credit is due to him for his manly perseverance. No credit, however, is due to those who allowed him to go up after every possible chance of success had vanished.

As to Mace, his fighting was faultless; he was not called upon to display any great amount of gameness, though the mere facing such a giant and exchanging shots at close quarters involves a confidence and coolness that shows no small amount of personal courage. As to Mace’s attack and defence, they were in every respect indicative of the master. It redounds to his praise that he abstained from making a more rapid finish, as he certainly might have done, unless restrained by a desire to spare his almost helpless antagonist. This battle elevated to the Championship of England one of the most finished boxers who had ever gained the title.

Jem Mace was now on the pinnacle of success, and as――

“Envy doth merit as its shade pursue, And by the shadow prove the substance true,”

so the newly fledged Champion was carped at, criticised, challenged, and unfavourably compared with all sorts and sizes of preceding and even contemporary heroes of the Ring. As to the unconquered little Champion, who had, after his great battle with John Heenan, in April, 1860, finally bid farewell to the fistic stage, he had left no immediate successor; so “the world seemed left” for Jem Mace “to bustle in,” and the question of the cynical Cassius was for a time unanswered――

“When went there by an age since the great flood, But we were famed with more than with one man? When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome, That her wide walks encompassed but one man?”

“Time and the hour,” however, never fail to bring “the man,” and in these latter days of the Ring he came, in the person of Tom King, whose first appearance in November, 1860, and subsequent career, will form the subject of the concluding chapter of our history.

The form displayed by King in his first two battles, although neither of his opponents stood high in the pugilistic roll, was thought to give promise that the belt might again revert to a Champion of the traditional 12-stone calibre and stature.

There can be no dispute that after the retirement of Tom Sayers, the public sympathy with the Ring and favour with its professors had completely faded away, just as, in the preceding century (in 1760), after the defeat of Slack by Stevens “the Nailer,” the title of Champion was dragged through the dirt by a set of unworthy “knights of the _dirty_ cross,” until its restoration by the brave Tom Johnson. At a later period came its reestablishment in more than its former renown by John Jackson,[34] George Humphries, Mendoza, John Gully, the Belchers, Tom Cribb, and Tom Spring, and their successors, who live only in these pages which record its “decline and fall.”

To return from digression, we may state that the challenge of Tom King, and the signing of articles for £200 a side, for a meeting on the 28th of January, 1862, excited but faint interest even in those circles where a struggle for the Championship was wont to set all upon the _qui vive_. Indeed, those who were anxious that a change for the better should take place, and a removal of the disgraceful disorder which had driven from the ring-side those on whom both pugilism and pugilists depended for their existence, were fain to confess that pugilism was dead――dead by the hands of its own pretended friends, and the misconduct of prizefighters themselves. Still a few of “the old guard” rallied round the colours; and the good character of Tom King, with the now well-earned reputation of Mace, gave them hopes of a revival of honesty, manliness, skill, and “a fair field and no favour” for both men.

The morning of the 28th of January, 1862, dawned――if such dim light as struggled through the dense masses of dark clouds deserved the name of dawn――wet, cold, cheerless and miserable, and to add to this unpromising look-out, there were added unpleasant rumours that the “authorities” of half a dozen home counties had taken sweet counsel together how to frustrate the fight; that the magnates of the railway boards had been notified and communicated with on the subject of sinful “specials,” and the complicity of conveying company to the field of blood; that every police inspector and superintendent had been put on his mettle by the solemn warnings of “My Grandmother,” the _Record_, _Watchman_, and a host of “unco guid” newspapers and puritanical preachers, of “the awful responsibility to God and man” they incurred in not “stamping out” this “national sin.” We quote from a Sheffield print and preacher, who thus charitably described a fair and manly contest for the belt――the symbol of skill and courage in the exercise of the most humane mode of often unavoidable encounter between man and man, especially among the lower orders. We name Sheffield, because it was not long after infamous for the “organised assassination” council of Messrs. Broadhead and Co.; whilst its “public instructors” were denouncing and suppressing an art which certainly does not include ginger-beer bottles charged with blasting-powder placed under the beds of the wives and children of obnoxious parents; cylinders of dynamite thrown through the fanlights or windows of humble dwellings; the use of loaded bludgeons and fire-arms from street corners or behind dead walls; the splitting of grindstones; or the cutting of driving-bands, as modes of settling personal or popular disputes. Yet from all these murderous and treacherous cruelties the anti-fistic teachings of the Reverend Mr. Lilyliver failed to wean and guard his “lambs.” We return from this digression to our own “muttons,” whom, we opine, even in their last and worst days, were as unlike “lost sheep,” and perhaps less like “goats,” than their saintly slanderers.

Thus pleasantly forewarned by the croaker pessimists, the “managers” prudently declined to give any hint of the “whereabouts” until the Monday night previous to the encounter (January 28th), when tickets were purchasable at Jem Mace’s house (Jem was now landlord of the “Old King John,” Holywell Lane, Shoreditch), and at Nat Langham’s new house, the “Mitre,” St. Martin’s Lane, merely conveying the facts that the rendezvous was at London Bridge, and at the unusually early hour of six o’clock. The difficult point of choosing a referee was also judiciously arranged for. Arrived at the terminus of the South Eastern, we found a more numerous gathering of the “right sort” than we had anticipated; a proof that “still in their ashes lurked their former fires,” and that a well-conducted mill had yet attractions for the legitimate patrons of the sport. The last two championship battles (those between Tom Paddock and the Staleybridge Infant, Hurst, and Jem Mace and the same clumsy giant) were not, viewed as battles, anything but exposures of the lamentable lack of good men; while the disgraceful confusion, and double interruption of the police, of the yet more recent fight between Bob Brettle and Rooke, almost extinguished the last hope of the survival of the Provincial Ring.

It was nearly seven when the bell rang for departure, and the train steamed away on its journey. Owing to the excellent arrangements of Nat Langham, who acted for King, and Mr. Moss Phillips, who attended to the interests of Mace, all parties were duly deposited at their destination at a little after eight o’clock, Mace attended by Jack Hicks and Bob Travers the Black, his late opponent, and King by Bos Tyler and Jerry Noon. King, who had trained at Mr. Packwood’s, at Hammersmith, was in first-rate fettle; nor was Mace, who had taken his breathings near Norwich, and latterly near Newmarket, one whit behind him in respect of condition; each was “fit to fight for a man’s life.” “It is a long lane that has no turning,” and as we looked at the orderly array of the inner and outer ring, and the attentiveness of the ring-constables, armed with their brass-bound whips and their badges, we flattered ourselves for a time that the turning-point had been reached, and that “a fair fight and no favour, and may the best man win,” might once again be a phrase with a meaning. Thus dreaming, as “hope told a flattering tale,” we addressed ourselves to the duty of observing the fight we here chronicle.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――Having gone through the customary friendly salutation at the scratch, each man drew back and threw himself into position. There was at this moment a silence that might be felt, and the eager glances directed by all toward the combatants evinced the interest with which every movement was being watched by those surrounding the ring. There was undoubtedly much to rivet the attention of the patrons of the art; for though both were unquestionably fine fellows, yet there was that disparity between them which could not fail to impress itself even on the uninitiated. Mark the towering height of King, standing a clear 6 feet 2 inches in his stockings, and, as he faces his opponent with attentive watchfulness, but without a sign of nervousness or anxiety, how immense and preponderating appear the advantages in his favour. Tom, we were informed by Langham, when he last scaled, pulled down 12st. 8lbs., and taken for all in all must be declared a model man, although some judges of athletes declared his loins too slender for a man of his height Tom, like Mace, has a bright, keen eye, but he lacks the square-out jaw bone and hard angular contour which some judges of “points” declare to be always found in the “thoroughbred” boxer. Be that as it may, King’s length of reach, firm, round muscle, skin ruddy with the glow of health, and cheerful, courageous aspect gave promise of a formidable opponent, even to the scientific Champion, Jem Mace. As to the Champion, who pulled down 11st. 4lbs. on the preceding Monday, he was “all there,” and as he himself said, felt “fit as a fiddle.” After keeping on guard a few seconds, during which Mace was keenly scrutinising him, Tom dropped his hands, resting his left upon his left thigh; Jem, being out of range, and seeing that Tom had lowered his daddles, followed suit, and the position of the pair at this moment caused some astonishment. Tom rubbed his left forearm with his right hand, and Jem, who also felt the chilly effects of the morning air on coming out of his flannels, rubbed his breast with his right palm. Tom, in shifting, had got nearer his own corner, when Jem advanced, and, from the manner he gathered himself together, evidently intended mischief; his left was admirably poised, while his right played with firm elasticity, ready as a guard, or, if occasion presented itself, a shoot. Tom, however, was on the alert, and Mace, after putting out a feeler or two, sprung back to tempt Tom to follow. King, who at first seemed a little puzzled, smiled and retreated, cool as a cucumber in an ice-well. There was more than one repetition of the movement we have here described, the men shifting, changing position, and manœuvring all over the ring without coming to business. King had heard so much of the ability of Mace that he felt he was standing before the best tactician of the day, and would not lead off. Mace, on the other hand, with the perception of a practised general, found that he had before him a dangerous and determined antagonist; one whom it would not do to treat in the style he had made an example of big Sam Hurst. At length, after a display of almost every sort of drawing and defensive tactic, Mace got well in, delivering a neat nobber with the left, stopping the return, and getting away. King dashed at him, his height enabling him to hit over Jem’s guard, and Tom got one in on Mace’s head with the right; the men closed and fibbed, then getting on to the ropes, both went down. The seconds were instant in their attendance, Bos Tylor claiming “first blood” for King, which was admitted, as the cochineal was trickling from a cut on the Champion’s shin. King’s partizans were in ecstasies, and “Who’ll lay 2 to 1 now?” met no response.

2.――The cold rain now came down in earnest, and did not much abate throughout the rest of the mill. With ready alacrity each man came from his corner and scratched simultaneously with his opponent. Mace, who was still bleeding, looked flushed. After a little sparring, Mace popped in his left. His second hit was prettily countered, but notwithstanding King’s length, Jem’s blow seemed hardest, reaching home a “thought” before his adversary’s poke. Another exchange, Tom getting on the side of Mace’s head, but not severely, and Jem’s smack in return sounding all round the ring. In the close both were down.

3.――The ball had now been fairly opened, and each bout improved the spirit of the performance, on which even the pitiless rain could not throw a damper. Jem, on coming from his corner, was still distilling the _elixir vitæ_ from the old spot, which as yet seemed the only mark made. King went dashing in to force the fighting, and the hot haste of the onslaught marred the pretty position of Jem. Tom, who seemed to hit from the forearm rather than the shoulder, got home his left on the jaw, and then, with the right, reached Jem’s head; his superiority of length of reach being fully demonstrated. Jem, however, quite balanced accounts by two severe props in the nob; King closed, and Mace got down easy.

4.――The rapidity of King’s fighting seemed somewhat to surprise Mace, and he moved right and left in front of his man, his point well covered. Tom dashed in left and right, and went to work, his counsel advising the forcing principle; King, in hitting out, had his left hand partially open; Mace cross-countered with the left a smasher, but a second attempt passed over King’s shoulder. Jem broke away, and in retreating got to the centre stake. Tom, following, dashed out his right, when Mace ducked his head and slipped down, thereby escaping a rasper.

5.――Mace first to scratch, King promptly facing him. As Tom tried to lead off with the left, Mace showed how well he was fortified by his left-hand guard, and then retaliating with the right. King, in turn, retreated. Tom, in shifting, got to the ropes, when Jem weaved in, getting both hands on head and body. Tom lashed out both hands defensively, but could not keep Jem off until he chose to retire to his own corner, where he got cleverly out of difficulty and was down.

6.――King had evidently got home at the close of the last round, for Jem came up with his proboscis tinted with the carmine. Tom dashed at his man with more determination than judgment, hit from the forearm without doing execution; Jem, hitting up as he made the backward break, gave Master Tom a straightener, who, persevering, got his man down at the ropes; no harm done.

7.――Jem advanced to the scratch with a firm step and determined bearing, as if the difficulties of his position had only produced a concentration of the resolute “I will.” The men stood eyeing each other in the pelting rain; Jem rubbed his chest, which had a large red mark as though a warm plaster had recently been removed. After manœuvring round the ring, Mace got to range, delivering a well-aimed shot on King’s cranium. As Jem broke ground he nearly lost his equilibrium from the slipperiness of the grass, but quickly steadied himself. After a feint or two, they got well together and countered splendidly, Mace sending home his left on Tom’s right cheek, King getting his right on the Champion’s left peeper, raising a small bump, and causing him to blink like an owl in sunshine. The men, with mutual action, broke away, and manœuvred all over the ring. At last Jem, measuring his man accurately, gave him such a left-hander on the snuff-box that claret _du premier crû_ was copiously uncorked. As Mace retreated after this smack Tom went in rather wildly, and closing, got his left leg between Mace’s and threw him. (Cheers for King.)

8.――Tom no sooner faced his man than he made play, and got his right arm round Mace; he then tried to lift him by main strength for a throw, but the Champion put on the head-stop, with his hand on Tom’s face, and King had to let him go down an easy fall.

9.――King, by the advice of his seconds, again forced the fighting, slung out both hands, and closed, when Mace cleverly put on the back heel, and down went Tom undermost.

10 to 14.――The ropes had now got slack, and Puggy White busied himself in driving the stakes deeper, and tightening them. In this and the following four rounds, King still led off, and though his hits did not seem severe, he had got as often on Jem’s eye and nose, that his friends were confident of his pulling through.

15.――The odds seemed melting away like butter in the sun, and the backers of the Champion were just becoming “knights of the rueful countenance;” while Tom’s partisans were as merry and chirpy as crickets; Jerry Noon, especially, dispensing an unusual and unseemly store of chaff among the despondent patrons of Mace. King once again went at his man, and both were down at the ropes. King’s seconds claimed the battle for a “foul,” alleging that Mace had tried to force his fingers into King’s eye in the struggle at the ropes; the referee crossed the ring to caution Mace, who indignantly denied any intention of so unmanly an action.

16.――King seemed determined to lose no time. He rattled in, and Mace, nothing loth, stood up and hit with him, certainly straightest and swiftest. In the close both were down at the ropes.

17.――In sparring, the combatants changed positions, and paused in the centre of the ring. King had been fighting very fast, and wanted a breathing time. On resuming, he went in, and after some exchanges Mace got down easy at the ropes.

18.――Sharp exchanges, left and right, on the cheek, mouth, and jaw, when Jem, in shifting, dipped down. His seconds ran to him, but he motioned them away, resumed his perpendicular, and beckoned Tom with a smile to renew the bout. The challenge was cheerfully accepted, and fighting into a close both were down.

19.――The men were admirably seconded in both corners, and both came up clean and smiling, though each had the contour of his countenance seriously altered by his opponent’s handiwork. In a close both fibbed away merrily and both were down.

20.――There was an objection by Jerry Noon that Mace had some “foreign substance” in his left hand, King opened his hands before the referee, and Mace, following his example, merely showed a small piece of paper in his palm, which, however, he threw away. Mace’s left hand seemed somewhat puffed, and Tom’s leading counsel, observing this, told King that his adversary’s “left was gone,” which it was not, for Mace, this time, took the initiative, and landed the left sharply on Tom’s cheek. As Mace broke ground Tom followed, and when near the stake he landed a round hit from the right on Jem’s left jaw that sent him to grass――a clean knock-down blow.

21.――Tom, eager to be at work, went in, but he did not take much by his motion; after several exchanges, Jem retreated. Mace slipped and got between King’s legs in a defenceless position, holding himself up by the handkerchief round Tom’s waist. King gallantly withheld his hand, threw up his arms and smiled, walking to his corner amidst general cheering.

22.――King was now the favourite, odds being offered on him of 6 to 4, but no takers. King, as before, began the business, and Mace was down to close the round.

23.――This was a harmless bout. King bored in; Mace missed as he retreated, backed on to the ropes, and got down.

24.――Both men came up with alacrity, despite the pelting rain which streamed down their faces and limbs. King was evidently slower, and Mace tried a lead. He did not, however, get quite near enough, and Tom pursued him round the ring until both were down, Mace undermost.

25.――A curious round. Tom dashed at Mace, who stopped him, then twisted round and got away. Tom followed, and Mace propped him; at the ropes, when down, both men patted each other in a good tempered manner.

26.――Mace came up determinedly, but exhibited ugly punishment off the left eye and mouth. Still he was steady, and met Tom’s onslaught cleverly. King closed and tried to hold up Mace, but he slipped through his hands.

27.――Tom administered a right hander on the jaw, and down went Mace against his will for the second time.

28.――Mace recovered from the effects of his floorer in an amazing manner. Tom had now a serious bump on his right eye the size of a walnut, and had otherwise lost his facial symmetry. His friends were, however, more than sanguine, and urged him to keep his man at it. Tom tried to do so, but got nothing at it, and in the fall hit the stake.

29.――King got a round right-hander on Mace’s back of his head, and both were down――a side fall.

30.――Mace seemed wonderfully steady, and in good form. King, as before, made play; the ground was so soddened, cut up, and pasty, that a good foothold was impossible. Tom sent in his right, and Jem, with well-judged precision, returned with both mauleys, when King embraced him, but Mace put on the back-heel, and threw Tom cleverly on his back; as Mace rose first from the ground he patted King in a good-tempered manner, amidst cries of “Bravo, Mace!”

31.――King, as he sat on his second’s knee, seemed much distressed. His sides heaved like a forge-bellows; his seconds were most assiduous, and sent him up clean and fresh. Tom came slowly from his corner; not so Jem, who advanced quickly to the scratch, and then tried to entice his man to lead off. At last he did so, and gave King as good as he sent, when Tom forced Mace to the ropes. The latter turned himself round, reversing their positions, and, after a short wrestle, threw Tom with the back-heel a fair fall.

32.――Exchanges; King on the body, Mace on the head, and both down.

33.――King still forcing the fighting; Mace as lively as a grasshopper. After some pretty exchanges, Mace got home the left on his opponent’s right cheek――a cutter――a close, some fibbing, and both down, King over the lower rope, and partly out of the ring.

34.――Mace first from his corner, but had not long to wait for his opponent. Tom hit out with better intention than judgment, and failed to do execution. A close, Mace again got King with the back-heel, and threw him heavily.

35.――The sun of success was brightening in the East, though the clouds were pouring heavily. King was suffering from his protracted exertions, and “bellows to mend” was the case in his corner. His heart was good, and he fought gallantly into a close, catching pepper; Mace, after delivering a flush hit, falling in the middle of the ring.

36.――After a little manœuvring, the men got on the ropes, when King slipped down by a pure accident. As King’s friends had objected to Mace’s style of getting down, there were derisive counter-cheers and cries of “foul!” followed by enthusiastic cheers for both men.

37.――Tom’s seconds found that their plan of forcing the fighting had miscarried, and now gave opposite advice. King waited for Mace, who manœuvred and feinted, until Tom let go his left, and was countered artistically. Mace then stepped in and delivered his left full in King’s dial and in an exchange both were down in the middle of the ring.

38-40.――King, finding Mace his master at out-fighting, resumed his plan of going to work just as he was getting second wind. The rounds again were of the old pattern; King got the larger and heavier share of the hitting, and both were down, Mace choosing his own time to end the round. In the 40th round, King complained of Mace using him unfairly, but the referee saw nothing calling for his notice.

41, 42, 43 and last.――King was visibly distressed in the first two of these three final rounds. In the last of these bouts the combatants closed in the middle of the ring, when Mace, who had delivered a heavy thwack on King’s neck, struggled with him for the fall. In going down, King, who was undermost, struck the front of his head with great force on the ground. Tom’s seconds had him in his corner in an instant, as the position was critical. The die was however, cast. “Time!” was called in vain. Mace, who was eagerly watching his opponent’s corner, advanced to the scratch. The referee entered the ring, watch in hand. The eight seconds were counted; but King was still deaf to the call of “Time!” and Mace was hailed the winner, after one hour and eight minutes of rapid fighting on both sides. Scarcely had the fiat gone forth when a posse of police made their appearance, who, to do them justice, seemed glad that the affair was over before their arrival.

REMARKS.――The principal point to be noted is the admirable manner in which both the loser and winner fought out this gallant contest. The superiority of Mace as a scientific pugilist alone enabled him to contend with and finally defeat his brave, powerful, and in size and physique formidable antagonist; while to Tom King, the loser, the credit must be awarded of doing all that man could do towards victory, and yielding only to absolute physical incapability to continue the contest. Although, however, the majority were satisfied that the best man won, there was one who entertained the opposite opinion, and that was Tom King himself, as we shall presently see.

In April, 1862, some curiosity was awakened in fistic circles by the return of John Heenan to England, preceded by an _annonce_ in the American newspapers that he had “gone over to fetch the old belt, and to fight Mace, the so-called Champion.” Hereupon Messrs. Moss Phillips and John Gideon waited upon Heenan, on Mace’s behalf, offering to find £500 or £1,000, if needful, to make a match. Heenan repudiated the newspaper buncombe, saying that he had come over with the sole object of fulfilling an engagement with Messrs. Howe and Cushing’s Circus Troupe, and that he had “cut pugilism,” at least for the present. Jem, who was now a London “pub.,” and host of the “King John,” in Holywell Lane, was also on tour with Ginnett’s Circus, while in _Bell’s Life_ he declared his readiness to “meet any man for £1,000, barring neither country, colour, nor weight.” In reply to this, Bob Brettle, still sore from defeat, and, as he declared, “the ungrateful conduct of Mace,” undertook to back “an Unknown” for £200 and the belt against the Champion, and this Mace accepted. Hereupon King came out with a statement that Mace had requested him not to challenge him “at present,” for reasons which he gave, but now, as he had accepted a challenge, he (King) claimed first turn. It may be proper here to remark that King had joined Mace, at his request, in a sparring tour early in 1862, which lends strength to King’s statement. Mace’s backer having offered Brettle’s “Unknown” £25 to indemnify him for his forfeit and expenses, articles were signed at Nat Langham’s, on June 18th, for a fight for £200 a side and the belt, to come off within six months, the precise day not to be divulged until the night before the battle, which was to take place in November or December. How Tom King reversed the former verdict in 21 rounds, occupying 38 minutes, on the 26th November, 1862, may be read in the Memoir of King in the ensuing Chapter.

King having publicly declared his retirement from the Ring, Mace resumed the style of “Champion,” with whatever honours might still attach to that tarnished title.

In December, 1862, Joe Goss, of Wolverhampton, an unbeaten pugilist, weighing 10st. 10lbs., boldly offered himself to the notice of Mace for “any sum from £200 to £500 a side;” and although the Wolverhampton man waived any claim to the belt as the result of the battle, it was said by his friends that they did not see why, if Mace alone barred the way, their man should not claim the trophy. The match, though made in December, 1862, had a most unbusiness-like aspect in some of its details. The time of meeting being named as “nine months after date”――a most suspicious period of gestation for such an affair――September 1st, 1863, was the day. Nor was the amount of stakes less calculated to tax belief, £1,000 being set down in the book; Mace to post £600 to Goss’s £400, of which the Norwich’s man’s backers were to table £330 to Goss’s £220 at the final deposit.

Match-making, at this time, appears to have got “considerably mixed.” In May and June, Bill Ryall, of Birmingham, a twelve-stone man, “seeing that Goss, though articled to fight Mace, did not pretend to the Championship,” offered himself for “the belt and £200 a side, to the notice of the Norwich hero,” after he had disposed of Goss. Mace assented, and articles were signed, but before the decision of the affair now under notice. Ryall’s friends appear to have repented of their rash engagement, and forfeited the £25 or £30 down, as the penalty of their indiscretion. The Brettle party’s choice of Ryall as the man to lower the pretensions of Mace will seem the more surprising when we state that Goss had beaten Ryall on September 24th, 1860, and had fought him to a stand-still in a drawn battle for £100, February 11th, 1862. We will now return from this brief digression to the first encounter of Mace and Gross.[35]

On the making good of the last deposit of £330 to £220, and the announcement that it was duly “banked” in the hands of the Editor of _Bell’s Life_, the almost dormant interest of many of the incredulous was awakened, and crowds of anxious West End inquirers thronged to the “Mitre” (Nat had shifted from the “Cambrian”), the “Three Tuns,” the “Horseshoe,” the “Rising Sun,” the “Queen’s Head,” and the “Blue Boar’s Head;” while the East Enders were as eager in their endeavours to obtain the “straight tip” by looking in at Harry Orme’s, Joe Rowe’s, Jemmy Welsh’s, Jem Cross’s, Jem Ward’s, Billy Richardson’s, and the Champion’s own crib in Holywell Lane, Whitechapel.

Mr. Tupper having won the toss for Goss, the men went to scale at his house, the “Greyhound,” Waterloo Road, when both were found within the stipulated 10 stone 10 lbs., and, as we can safely affirm, from ocular demonstration, in the perfection of condition.

In the face of a vigilant and hostile magistracy and police, the managers necessarily adopted unusual precautions to confine the knowledge of the time and place to none but “safe men.” Accordingly, not only was the day kept secret, but it was not until the overnight that even the line of rail and amount of fare were disclosed to intending “excursionists.” When the “office” was given to those who were prepared to invest £2 2s. in cardboard, the rendezvous was stated to be the Paddington terminus of the Great Western, and the time _two o’clock_ a.m., on the morning of St. Partridge, September 1st, 1863; and thither, at that unreasonable and unseasonable hour, did the “sheep destined for the shearing” eagerly repair.

Unhappily for the fortunes, nay, the very existence of the P.R., it had become the practice of the floating fraternity of thieves, mobsmen, and “roughs”――the latter too often combining the two former in the same ruffianly individual――to stream to the railway station whenever they got scent of a Ring “excursion,” instinctively knowing that there plunder might be perpetrated. As where the carcase is, there will the birds of prey be gathered, so on this 1st of September in the darkness and gloom of a cloudy morning, a riot was got up outside the entrances to the noble building, and many persons hustled, robbed, and occasionally personally ill-treated, by a disorderly crowd which, we can of our own avouch declare, did not comprise in its whole body one single known pugilist. Yet more than one of our “best possible public instructors” informed the public that “a mob of prize-fighters and other ruffians robbed and maltreated the intending travellers with lawless impunity.” Passing the baseless imputation that “prize-fighters and other ruffians” were personally engaged in this nocturnal _mêlée_, we must declare that of all the scenes of riot and disorder we have witnessed, that at Paddington was the most disgraceful, and marked the lowest stage in the downward journey of the Ring, unless we accept the wrangles and rows of the partisans of the men at some minor fights as exemplifying the Miltonic paradox――

“Beneath the lowest deep a lower still.”

At the hour of four the train steamed out of the station, and it was currently stated that Wootton Bassett, in Wiltshire, about five miles below the great engine-works at Swindon, was our destination. On arriving at Didcot Junction it was perceived that the Oxfordshire constabulary were awake, like Johnny Cope, “Sae airly in the mornin’;” but their only exercise of their function on this occasion seemed to be to wave us a courteous farewell as we steamed off, with the addition of a few “’Varsity men” (in masquerade) who had become possessed of “the secret,” and joined our party. At Swindon we “watered” our iron horse, and about five miles farther the brakes were on, and all soon alighted. After some little refreshment of the inward man from the stores of a well-plenished hamper, the “meynie” getting what they could at a neighbouring public, we tramped a mile of a dirty lane, until it opened on a spot where the Commissary (Fred Oliver) and assistants had laid out an excellent ring. And now began the customary squabble between the “clever ones” on each side about the choice of a referee. The Editor of the chief sporting journal, for nearly forty years the consistent and able advocate and supporter of the Ring, had finally refused the now dangerous position, and had recently, in consequence of disorderly defiance of the representative of the paper, forbidden his reporter to officiate, unless in circumstances he might consider exceptional. Thus much valuable time was cut to waste. Finally, the reporter of a new sporting paper consented to act, was enthroned on the judge’s straw truss, and the men quickly made themselves ready. As they stood up Joe looked “as hard as nails,” while Mace’s elegant position, as he stood awaiting the anticipated onslaught of his opponent, was pronounced by more than one judge to be “beautiful.” To the surprise of all, however, after some not very graceful squaring of elbows and half-steps left and right, never venturing beyond the scratch, Joe retreated, and shaking his head with a grim smile invited his adversary to approach. Jem did not seem to perceive the advisability of this, so he smiled and nodded in return. Presently, after a shift or two right and left, Mace advanced, resolved to open the ball. Joe retreated, covering his points well, when from the outer ring rose a warning cry, and ere its cause could be asked, half a dozen “prime North Wiltshires”――not cheeses, but policemen――rolled into the ring. Mace darted under the ropes and skedaddled into a thicket, his retreat covered by his seconds, bearing his outward habiliments; while Joe had nearly rushed into the arms of one of the “rurals,” but luckily gave him the go-by, and “made tracks” in another direction. Meantime the “bobbies,” with the utmost good-humour, surveyed the flight, and, without interfering with the Commissary, left him to reload his light cart with the _impedimenta_ of the ring, then, slowly following the discomfited company, saw them safely down the road on their return to the train, which soon returned at the appointed signal from a “siding” where it had been temporarily located. Once on board, though the day was yet young, the victims were politely informed that no more could be done that day, and that the “Company’s” obligation to the “train charterers” would be discharged by the delivery of the “excursionists” at their starting-point at Paddington. “But,” added the referee, in an immediate conference, “I shall order, as I am empowered by the Rules, the men to meet again this day, at Fenchurch Street Station, and go down to Purfleet. When there, we must be guided by circumstances; but we will have the fight off to-day if possible.” That this was “gall and wormwood” to sundry persons who looked to another “special” rather than a “result” might easily be seen. They did not, however, dare to do more than prophesy disaster and obstruction, and propose “a meeting at the stakeholder’s,” or anywhere else, to procure postponement, which was properly and peremptorily negatived.

Arrived at Paddington, the neighbouring cab-stands were quickly cleared of their yawning waiters, whose glee at this unexpected and profitable “call” was certainly heightened when they “twigged,” as one of the cabbies told us, that they were “a-helping some of the right sort out of a fix.” At Fenchurch Street conveyance to Purfleet was quickly arranged for, and at 3h. 30m. the men, _materiel_, and company were duly delivered at the riverside. Here it was resolved, and prudently, that a transit to Plumstead Marshes should be made, as suspicious movements of an “Essex calf” were observed. Long Reach cost many no less a sum than ten shillings for the ferry; but this did not stop those who could command the best and least crowded boats, and at five o’clock, in a well-formed and certainly select ring,

THE FIGHT

Began with Round 2; for we suppose we most pay the compliment to the _four and a half minutes_ of “fiddling” at Wootton Bassett, as counting for Round 1. As before it was expected that the “terrific Joe” would force the fighting, and show that game and hard hitting must tell against mere skill, with a slight and apparently ineradicable suspicion among the provincials from the North Midlands that Mace had a “soft place” which Joe was the very man to find out. Nevertheless, the Londoners offered 6 and even 7 to 4 on Mace. Again Joe retreated, and as Jem followed got away again and again, though in anything but a graceful style. His intention to fight a crafty battle was apparent, and did not seem to please his country friends. At last the men came to a stand, Joe having his back to the ropes. Jem let go his left sharply, but was prettily parried. Mace drew back, when Joe, plunging at him, got home his left straight on the body, getting, as might be expected, a rattling smack on the mouth in return. Goss licked his lips, and dodged about; Mace got closer, and, swift as thought, planted a cutting left-hander on the left eyebrow. It was a caution, and the crimson instantly following, “first blood” was awarded to Mace. Joe in jumping away from Mace’s advance slipped and fell.

3.――Long and tedious sparring and manœuvring prefaced this round. Goss, to the dissatisfaction of many, being determined to avoid close quarters, and Mace equally resolved not to give a chance away at long shots. When they got closer, Mace sent in his left, and then his right slap in the middle of Joe’s head, when a couple of slashing counter-hits followed, Mace again delivering with precision on the head, and Goss on Mace’s forehead and chest. More sparring, Joe looking quite vicious, and twice missing his shifty adversary, until the latter accepted a rally, and some extraordinary counter-hitting took place to the advantage of Mace, he reaching Joe’s head, while the latter got home on the chest or shoulder. Joe was driven back, and as Mace pressed on to him slipped down.

4.――The men seemed warming to their work, and lost no time in the useless dodging which marked the previous rounds. Mace led off and jobbed his man severely through his guard, following his first smack with another, and then getting away. Goss, though quick in his returns, was hurried, and twice missed his right by Maces’s quickness in shifting. Mace worked round into the centre of the ring, when Joe bored in, in what his friends called his “own old style.” In the exchanges Joe dealt Mace a tremendous hit on the right eye, which instantly left its mark. Mace broke ground and retreated with his hands up in good form. (Vociferous shouting from the Gossites, “The Young’un wins! The Young’un wins!” and the excitement was immense at the Wolverhampton corner.) Mace steadied himself, and, after a short pause, Goss tried to get on to him again, when, after some two-handed fighting not remarkable for effectiveness, Mace caught his adversary such a well-distanced left-hander on the head that Joe went clean down against his will. (First knock-down for Mace, being the second event scored.)

5.――On appearing at the scratch the swollen state of Mace’s right eye told how heavily he had been hit in the preceding round. Goss, urged by his seconds, dashed in left and right, but was beautifully stopped. Joe tried to play round his man, but Mace stepped in, gave him a heavy hit in the mouth, then, after a few quick exchanges, closed and threw him.

6.――Both men were now much marked, showing how heavy the hitting had been. Goss moved all over the ring as before, leading off, but ineffectively, being either out of distance or easily stopped. Eventually they got close, and exchanged heavy left-handed hits. More chasséeing about the ring by Goss, till Jem got close, and brought on more counters, Jem planting swift and hard in the face with both hands. Goss returned left and right on the head, and went down on his knees at the ropes. Jem was about to deliver a stinger, but checked himself, laughed, and walked away.

7.――Goss led off, but out of distance, as was often the case when he attempted out-fighting. A long series of movements with no great merit in them followed, till Mace got in with his left, and then fine counter-hits came, Goss certainly hitting straighter than he had done in some preceding rallies. A little more manœuvring, and then Joe went at his man, and brought on some stunning exchanges――very heavy left-handed counters, Mace on the right cheek, Goss on the forehead. Goss, in getting away, fell.

8.――Joe appeared at last to be tired of the scientific and waiting business, and went pluckily at Mace. He was certainly first in the hitting, planting heavily left and right on the head. Jem returned a couple of smashers on the front of the head, and in some severe exchanges his length and straightness of delivery gave him the pull. The men closed, and after a good wrestle, in which Goss displayed great muscular power, he got the best of the fall, Mace being under him. (Great applause for Goss, who was evidently fighting up hill.)

9.――Once more Joe tried to lead off, but he was out of distance, and Mace could evidently make the fighting as he chose. At last they closed near the ropes, when they got a mutual hold, and some severe fibbing took place, both men getting it hot until they fell together.

10.――Goss, instigated by his seconds, tried a rush. He was neatly stopped, and seemed perplexed as to his next move. Jem drew back and Joe followed, got home his right on the body slightly, and was away. Mace stepped on to him, dealt him a left-hander on the head, and Joe slipped down.

11.――Mace now tried to make the fighting. He stepped in upon Goss, who retired and shifted round in the clear corner of the ring; at last Jem pinned him a stinger in the mouth, and then as he jumped sideways caught him a second crack with the same hand on the head; Goss rushed in, delivering both hands, and Mace slipped down amidst some hisses from Goss’s partisans.

12.――Some tedious sparring. Mace, who now evidently meant fighting, tried to induce Goss to lead off, but he would not. At length, Joe being, as Mace thought, pushed in a corner, in he went, and a spirited rally ensued. Mace got home on Joe’s damaged left eyebrow, but Goss gave him a couple of rib-benders, and, closing, proved his strength by bringing down the Champion a sounder on the turf, and falling on him. (Deafening cheers――“Joe’s waking him up!”)

13.――It was fully expected that Goss would now go to work in the “finishing” style that had earned his fame; but no! He again resorted to that clumsy yokel craftiness which could never beat a man of Mace’s skill and resource. He dodged about until Mace, seeing he had got him, dealt him a sounding spank on the head with the left, and then as he shifted about gave him a straight punch in the mouth with the same hand. Joe, stung with these visitations, went in too late, for though he got in a round hit on the side of Mace’s head, the latter clinched him and threw him.

14.――Goss, in performing his usual dancing steps around the ring, caught his heel against a stake and stumbled; Mace dashed at him, when Joe got down somehow. (A claim of “foul” was preferred by Mace’s seconds, but overruled)

15.――Goss was urged to “rattle in,” but he declined the experiment, and moved round his man, then, lunging out heavily with both hands got the left well home on the side of the head. Mace got quickly close, hit Joe severely in the mouth, and Goss fell in hurriedly getting back.

16.――Mace measured his man carefully as they stood sparring in the centre of the ring, and then swiftly sent in a stinging left-hander. Joe shifted again, and Mace, pressing him too closely, received a couple of good hits on the head. Goss away as before; Mace worked close to him, dealt him a crack on the head, and as he stepped in again Goss slipped down. (Disapprobation.)

17.――Goss all over the ring, but Mace pressed after him more sharply than hitherto. He fixed him at last, and delivered both hands like lightning on the head. A slashing rally, the best in the fight; Mace planting with amazing quickness and force, left and right, going home with severity. Joe stuck to his work, and lashed out desperately in return; but though he certainly hit his man heavily, Mace must have felt he had the superiority for good and all in this rally. The men closed, exhausted by severe exertion, and after a short struggle fell together.

18.――Goss came up bleeding freely from the left brow, nose, and mouth. His punishment was certainly severe; Mace was also marked. After some sparring Joe lashed out viciously with both hands, Mace slipped back, and Joe, overreaching himself, fell. No mischief done, but the Gossites looked blue.

19th and last.――Both slow to time. Mace, cool as a cucumber, seemed to be taking stock of his adversary, as if beginning a fight. Goss worked about, stepping first to one side, then the other, as if nervously anxious to begin “business.” Mace worked him slowly backwards, till close on the ropes, then, as Joe was about to break away, he delivered a tremendous right-handed lunge, straight from the shoulder; the blow landed on the left side of Goss’s left jaw, and at once hit him clean out of time. Poor Goss fell forward insensible, and all efforts of his seconds to rouse him proving vain, Mace was proclaimed the victor. Time, 1 hour, 55 minutes, 30 seconds.

REMARKS.――Notwithstanding the heavy hitting which came at intervals, we must pronounce this a bad fight; indeed, it could hardly be otherwise. Goss was entirely over-matched in science, length, and weight, and evidently felt it early in the fight. His dodging and clumsy wiles to steal a march on so perfect a practitioner as Mace were often almost ludicrous. His game, indeed his only chance, was to have forced his man to desperate rallies, and have trusted to his own hardihood, courage and endurance――though this, we do not believe, could have altered the final result. Mace, on the other hand, was, considering his manifold advantages, over-cautious. He not only would not risk a chance, but he continually gave a chance away by being too guarded. At the same time, we must admit that Mace’s mode of winning the battle on the line he had marked out exhibited consummate skill.

As a “side-light” may often elucidate a “dark corner,” we may remark, that within a few weeks of this £1,000 victory we learned in a disputation, that a neighbouring publican, and backer of Mace, declared that Jem’s was a “bogus” proprietorship, and that the Norwich “Champion” was heavily indebted to him.

At this period a wave of cant was passing over the country. The _Morning Star_, a London daily long since defunct, in which John Bright, the pugnacious Quaker, was largely interested, was furious in its denunciations of the authorities for what it called “their connivance in the brutalities of prize-fighters.” Contemporary with the scripturally named _Morning Star_, was a yet more straightlaced and puritan print, rejoicing in the title of the _Dial_, whose mission, as we learned from its prospectus, was to “purify the daily Press” by excluding from its columns not only racing reports and “so-called sporting news,” but even cases from the police-courts, divorce-courts, actions for slander or _crim. con._, and we know not what else of the doings of this naughty world. The _Dial_, after threatening to supersede the _Times_ (and all other dailies), spent nearly all its capital in a very weakly issue, and finally threw the balance of some thousands of pounds into the coffers of the _Morning Star_, which therefore contracted a marriage, and added the words “and _Dial_” to its title. We need not observe that marriage in the newspaper world invariably means the death of the weaker vessel; and so the _Morning Star_ and _Dial_, positively treated its readers, after a few flourishes of condemnation, with a full, true, and particular account of “this horrid prize-fight.” Surely hypocrisy and the eagerness of saints to “turn a penny” could not further go? On the other hand, the _Saturday Review_, a journal of manly independence, and a sworn enemy of cant, published in its impression of the succeeding week a life-like sketch from the pen of a scholar and a gentleman, of his adventures in going to and coming from the fight, with his impressions of what he saw thereat. Those who can refer to the number will thank us for the reminder: here we can only find room for the closing reflections.

“Looking dispassionately at this fight, and without admitting or denying the truthfulness of the descriptions of other fights that we have read, our conclusion is, that the epithets ‘brutal,’ ‘barbarous,’ ‘disgusting,’ and so forth, are quite uncalled for. There are people who don’t like fights, and there are people who view them as displays of skill and fortitude. Yet much that is objectionable in the acts of the supporters of the Ring and the practitioners of the art would disappear if respectable society, so called, dared to look less unkindly upon it and them. At any rate, we see no sufficient reason why magistrates and police should display such excessive zeal in hunting down a fight in such an out-of-the-way place as Plumstead Marshes, and are glad they did not finally succeed on Tuesday, September 1st, in disappointing the hundreds of people who had travelled 200 miles to see the battle between Mace and Goss.”

So far as the history of the Prize Ring is concerned we would here gladly close our record, leaving only the second combat of Tom King and John Heenan for its finale; but a page or two of the suicidal doings of its professors and destroying patrons must be added to complete its story.

In the first month of 1864 a challenge, as in 1860, came across the Atlantic. This time the cartel was in the name of one Joe Coburn, an Irish American, and was responded to by Mace, whose backers proposed a stake of £500 a side; and on May 27th, the challenger, accompanied by Cusick, known aforetime as the companion and trainer of John Heenan, and a Mr. Edwin James,[36] who described himself as Editor of the _New York Clipper_, arrived in London to settle the preliminaries.

The articles as finally drawn were to the effect that Mace’s party were to post £600, to £400 on the part of Coburn, and that at the last deposit £100 was to be handed to the latter as expenses; that a referee should be agreed on the day previous to the fight, which should take place in Ireland, over 20 and under 100 miles from Dublin; the money to be made good in ten fortnightly deposits.

On the occasions of these diplomatic protocollings, which were conducted with a Yankee ‘cuteness and cavilling that were suspiciously suggestive of knavery rather than straightforward honesty of purpose, we saw a good deal of Mr. Joe Coburn, and the more we saw of him the more assured were we that the astute “managers” of the affair must have had some other design in view than a fair fight for a thousand with such a man as Jem Mace. Joe Coburn, who stood about 5 ft. 8½ in., was a well-built fellow, something under 11 stone, and tolerably good-looking; his countenance was the reverse of pugilistic in formation or outline, his nose being decidedly of the Roman arch, and the bony contour of his face and nob rather of the “hatchet” than either the “snake” or the “bullet-headed” type. He told us that he was a native of Middletown, County Armagh; that he was in his 26th year, having been born July 20th, 1838; and that his parents took him to America at an early age. At first his “business matters” were entrusted to the care of the experienced Nat Langham, but “Ould Nat” was soon thrust aside by the loquacious Hiberno-American “agents,” “secretaries,” “friends and advisers” of Mr. Coburn, who, of himself, appeared quiescent, modest, and taciturn. And here a word on the wretched hands into which, in these latest days, the interests of the Ring and pugilists had fallen. In times of old, but yet within his memory, the writer has witnessed or been cognizant of conferences at Tom Spring’s “Castle,” at Jem Burn’s, at Limmer’s Hotel, at Tattersall’s, and especially in the editorial sanctum, the front parlour of No. 5, Norfolk Street, Strand, whereat Honourables, M.P.’s, and gallant Guardsmen――such patrons of pugilism as the Marquises of Drumlanrig and Waterford, Lord Ongley, Lord Longford, Sir Edward Kent, Sir St. Vincent Cotton, Harvey Combe――with squires, country gentlemen, and sportsmen, have taken part in discussing the interests of fair and honest pugilism and pugilists, and aiding them by purse and patronage. He may add that in those times Lord Althorp (afterwards Earl Spencer),[37] the present courtly diplomatist and Foreign Minister, Earl Granville (Lord Leveson-Gower), the greatest of the Sir Robert Peels, the Honourable Robert Grimston (brother to the Earl of Verulam), Lord Wenlock, Lord Palmerston, and the now venerable philanthropist, the Earl of Shaftesbury (then Lord Ashley),[38] with other “brave peers of England, pillars of the State,” did not disdain to sanction and approve, by example, speech, and pen, the practice and principles of boxing, and the peculiarly English and manly Art of Self-defence.

All these had already disappeared, or withdrawn in disgust, and left no successors. Their places were usurped by a clamorous crew of sharp practitioners, loud-mouthed disputants, and tricky match-makers――the sweepings of society in the Old and New Worlds. Those on this side of the water were backed by the ill-gotten gains of the keepers of low gambling hells and night-houses, those on the other side by the proprietors of bar-rooms, drinking-saloons, and the large crowd of loungers, loafers, and rowdies who hang on the skirts of the Sporting World of the Great Republic and are its disgrace and bane. The cardinal principle of these worthies, like that of the “welshers” of our own race-courses, being “heads I win, tails you lose,” it was certainly a trial for an Englishman’s patience and gravity to hear and read it urged, as a reason for choosing Ireland as a battle-ground, that our Hiberno-American cousins (or cozens) were afraid their man “would not get fair play” in England. But we must proceed.

No sooner had the conditions been duly published to the world in the sporting papers than the “high contracting parties” set off upon their provincial tours, with the summer all before them. With Coburn’s progress his “secretary” kept the newspaper press _au courant_; we were told, from week to week, how he put on the mittens with Joe Goss, Bill Ryall, Jack Rooke, Reardon, and others, at Birmingham, Manchester, Liverpool, Glasgow, and Dublin, and of course “bested” them. Those who knew how these things were arranged, took them with the needful “grain of salt,” and we coupled them with the significant fact that three of the pugilists named each separately expressed to us his envy at Mace’s good luck, and his regret that _he_ was not in his place to “try conclusions” with the newly imported “champion.” Mace, too, was not behind in travelling the “circuits,” having for his “agent in advance” and “secretary,” Harry Montague, well known, even up to 1881, as secretary to “Myers’s Great American Hippodrome and Circus.”

We skip over the months until we come to September 24th, at which time, strange to say, not a single detail seemed to have been arranged by either party, and when, at the last deposit at Harry Brunton’s, Barbican, the £1,000 was declared to be made good, and the £100 cheque of the stakeholder thereafter handed over to Coburn and Co., we must confess we were much exercised in mind to know what would be the next move in the _kriegspiel_. We were soon enlightened. Coburn’s representatives having won the toss, communicated that the rendezvous would be Mr. Woodroffe’s, “Cambridge Arms,” Island Bridge, near Dublin, on Monday, October 4th. Accordingly, to “mak’ siccar,” we booked ourselves, on the previous Saturday, by the “Wild Irishman” for Holyhead, and thence by the swift mail-packet, the “Scotia,” landed early on Sunday morning at Kingstown, suffering some delay from a tremendous south-wester in the Channel. Here we found our Irish friends all alive, and as full of questions and eager inquiries for news as if they had been ancient instead of modern Greeks. _More Hibernico_, too, we soon found that they could tell us more than we knew about the matter; for by way of a secret we were informed in the street, before we had landed six hours, that “Joe” (Coburn) “shure was in Limerick, and that the foight ’ud come off nigh hand there, at Goold’s Crass,” which, if thus publicly known, made us sure that it would not. We stood on the pier watching the arrivals. By the Liverpool packet came a large accession to the English division; among them Jerry Noon, Bos Tyler, Welsh, Hicks, with Fred Oliver, the Commissary, and his henchman, Puggy White, and not a few familiar faces from London, Birmingham, Manchester, and the North.

In Dublin we found not a few “London particulars” of the Press: the editor of _Bell’s Life_ (Frank Dowling), with young Holt as his aide-de-camp, the editor of the _Era_, ditto of two new penny _Sportsmen_, with half a dozen penmen of the London dailies and weeklies, all seeking pabulum for their “special correspondence” from the Irish capital. At “the Imperial” we met an American party, which included John Heenan, his “secretary (!)” Mr. Hamilton, Cusick, and the literary and artistic representatives of a New York “illustrated” journal. Here, too, we met our friend Shirley Brooks (the editor of _Punch_, _in posse_), looking fair, fresh, and pleasant, and more resembling a smart Meltonian fresh from “the shires” and following the brush across a grass country than a London Press-man just escaped from the consumption of the midnight gas. To him, as one of the “uninitiated,” we imparted our confidence, that he had better enjoy himself in the pleasant circles of Dublin society, than set out on any such “pig-shearing” expedition as the contemplated journey must in all probability prove.

Monday morning came, and we strolled down Dame Street. We were quickly hailed by a car-driver, “Would we like jist a dhrive to Monkstown? Shure an’ Mishter Mace is up there, at the Salt Hill hot-el, he is; an’ there’s lots o’ gintry as he’s a shtrippin’ an’ showin’ hisself to――shure I seen him mysilf through an open windy, yesterday marnin’; an’ by the same token he a-runnin’ a quarter race like a shtag, an’ batin’ his man, a rig’lar paydesthrian too. Will I dhrive yer hanner?” Yes; but not to Monkstown. At this moment we were accosted by an old, very old acquaintance, none other than the erewhile host of the “Blue Boar’s Head,” Long Acre, a renowned English “paydesthrian,” Drinkwater, better known in sporting circles by his alias of “Temperance.”[39] This worthy relic of a better period and better men, had been for some years located in the Irish capital, in a confidential employment in an extensive commercial institution, and, as he was among the curious, we mounted the jolting jaunting-car, and away we went for Island Bridge.

The scene here was curious, and quite novel to an English eye. Groups of people, consisting of men with a large sprinkling of slatternly women and barefoot children, were thickly scattered on the roads and river-banks, while vehicles of every description, and some of no possible description, rattled through the crowds amid cheers, shouts, and now and then objurgations and cries from the assemblage. Hard by, to complete the oddity of the picture, stood a squad of active, good-looking, and apparently good-humoured constabulary, each carrying his handy rifle-carbine and sword-bayonet, and all seemingly on the best of terms with Paddy and Shelah, and the “gossoons” who formed the holiday gathering. Making our way into the house we there found, that though the much-talked-of Goold’s Cross was the appointed _champ clos_, that not only was there, up to this time, no train or other mode of conveyance thither even suggested, but that the “assembled chiefs” were only about to discuss the nomination of a referee, as provided by the articles. Had this matter been left to Harry Brunton on behalf of Mace, and “Ould Nat” as the representative of Coburn, no doubt that matter would have been quickly and amicably settled. That this did not suit the “managers” was quickly apparent. We found a meeting much resembling, on a smaller scale, a Yankee “caucus,” or an assembly of French communards at Belleville, gesticulating, shouting, swearing, and all talking at once, while in the midst our deaf friend, Harry Brunton, Old Nat, Mr. Edwin James, and half a dozen Hibernian amateur counsellors in vain tried to obtain a hearing. Finally, as nothing could be done here, an adjournment took place to a more private apartment. Here the squabble was renewed. For referee, after various names had been assented to by Brunton and rejected by the Coburn party, the latter declared, that they would fight under the refereeship of no man but a certain Mr. Bowler, of Limerick, a person utterly unknown to any one present, and of whom no one could certify that he had the slightest acquaintance with the rules of the Ring, or the duties of the office thus proposed to be thrust upon him. At this time, too, it was truly reported that a body of 100 constabulary were posted near Thurles, and that a man had been just arrested at Goold’s Cross on suspicion that he was Coburn, who, however, was stated to be safe at a place called Ballangella, twelve miles from Limerick. Brunton now put his foot down in refusing the mysterious Mr. Bowler, and as Messrs. James and Co. were equally obdurate, the dispute as to whether _either_ party meant fighting went on until the clock struck three, when the match, according to the articles, was actually _off_. Hereupon Harry Brunton declared his intention of not trusting his man to the forbearance of the Irish police, and, unless a fair referee were agreed on, he would wash his hands of the whole affair and return to England. Harry then left the house, and embarked on board the Holyhead packet, Mace also leaving at nine o’clock. And now came the concluding scenes of this Irish comedy. The Coburn clique loudly proclaimed their intention of claiming the £900 in the hands of the stakeholder. They would go down to Goold’s Cross――and they did so――and then and there summon the “runaway” to meet their man. Resolved to see out the farce, we took tickets. On the platform were a hundred greencoats armed with carbines; and a ruddy-faced young rustic, whose name proved to be Ryan, as unlike Mace as could be, having been pointed out by some practical joker as Mace, was forthwith arrested as the redoubted English champion, but soon set at liberty. The ring, consisting of four posts and a rope, having been pitched at a place called Pierstown, Kilmana, and the police being assured that there being but _one_ man there could be no fight, stood laughing by, while proclamation for the appearance of the English champion was made and the stakes duly claimed, and so the curtain fell.

The scene shifts to England, where the stakeholder, after innumerable criminations and recriminations, declared “a draw” of the battle-money by each party as the only possible verdict. Of course the Mace party, and Harry Brunton especially, were seriously out of pocket by the _fiasco_, in travelling, training, and other expenses, beyond the £100 disbursed to Coburn and Co. The editor of _Bell’s Life_ thus sums up the case:――

“Looking at the matter calmly and dispassionately, we are led to think that Mace has been treated harshly. Of Coburn we have formed this opinion, that he never had the slightest intention of fighting; that he had not even trained; that he was a mere instrument in the hands of others, and believed the match would be turned to account by some trick of Yankee juggling, without the peril of exposing his cutwater countenance to the active props of Mace’s handy digits. Taking the affair as a whole, it has been one of the greatest and most fatal blows to pugilism within our memory, and will tend more to estrange and disgust true patrons of the Ring than any event of our time. We have not heard any more appropriate name bestowed upon any great disappointment than that invented by the sporting editor of the _Morning Advertiser_, when he described the no-result as ‘the collapse of a gigantic wind-bag.’”

While on the subject of the Press, we cannot refrain from a pleasant episode in relief of so much chicanery and knavery.

No one can deny the native humour of our Irish fellow-countrymen, and their keen sense of the ridiculous, hence some Irish wag turned this affair of Mace and Coburn to laughable account. A certain portion of the “unco’ guid” Puritan and eminently pious Catholic press of Dublin was loud in its outcries of horror, and its denunciations of the unhallowed incursion of “fighting men” into the peace-loving “island of saints.” It called loudly for the strong arm of the law to preserve intact the holy soil, miraculously cleared by St. Patrick, from a renewed invasion of foreign “vermin.” Some sly wag (the hoax was worthy of Theodore Hook himself) accordingly indited the following “pastoral” from the Cardinal Archbishop of Dublin, which, being forwarded to the leading Irish papers, found ready insertion and approving editorial comment:――

“_Dublin, Feast of the Angel Guardians, 1864._

“VERY REVEREND BRETHREN,――My attention has been called by some respectable gentlemen to a report now widely circulated, that this city, or its vicinity, is to be made the theatre of a signal combat between two foreign pugilists, who are about to expose their lives to imminent danger for a certain sum of money. This report must be the subject of great regret to every one who is imbued with the spirit of Christian charity, and who recognises in his fellow-man the image of his Creator. It is not necessary for me to call on you to use all your influence to preserve this Christian country from an exhibition so disgraceful, and so well calculated to degrade human nature. I shall merely request of you to publish, as soon as possible, from your altars, that such combats, in which human life is exposed to danger, are prohibited under the severest penalties by the Holy Catholic Church. Passing over the decrees of the Council of Trent, it will be sufficient to state that the learned Pontiff Benedict XIV. excommunicates the principal actors in such fights, their seconds, and all who encourage them, and all who designedly become spectators of such unworthy scenes. If you denounce these penalties from the altar I am confident that the faithful of this diocese, who are so devotedly attached to Holy Catholic Church, and so obedient to its laws, will listen with contempt to the invitation of those who would implicate them in the misdeeds of foreign gladiators, and will abstain from countenancing or encouraging anything condemned by our holy religion, and contrary to the dictates of the Gospel.

“PAUL CULLEN.”

The absurdity of the date of this “pastoral,” and the satirical retort on Lord Lyndhurst’s celebrated speech, in which he characterised the Irish as “aliens in blood, in language, and religion,” by describing Mace and Coburn as “foreign gladiators,” might have aroused suspicion. But no; with the godly, when they attack the wicked, _on fait flêche de tout bois_; so the Puritan and Methodist prints actually praised the anti-combatant zeal of the Cardinal, and the “pastoral” was reproduced with approbation in a paper containing two savage assaults――in one of which a man’s nose was bitten off――and four other outrages of the “foinest pisanthry” with weapons, in two of which the victims were left senseless and apparently dead!

That the English newspapers took the hoax _au sérieux_ is hardly to be wondered at, but the two following specimens, one ridiculing, the other approving, the ingeniously fabricated “pastoral,” are really worth preserving as curiosities of newspaper literature.

(From the _Manchester Guardian_, October 5, 1864.) “THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE PUGILISTS. “_To the Editor of the_ ‘EXAMINER’ AND ‘TIMES.’

“SIR,――I perceive from your journal of to-day that Archbishop Paul Cullen has issued a pastoral to his clergy against the great fight that was to have come off in Ireland, in which country it is well known that fighting is the very last thing the inhabitants ever resort to for the settlement of differences. As the men are not going to fight, there will be little difficulty in obeying the injunction of Cardinal Paul. Had it been otherwise, I am afraid a few of ‘the faithful’ would have been congregated in the outer ring, and perhaps some few (who of course could not read or had not read the Pastoral) might have got up some little independent shindies of their own, even as young buds surrounding the inner red roses, or noses. But are we quite sure the Archbishop really alludes to the same thing as we do? He describes the projected fight as between ‘two foreign pugilists.’ Now I understand Mr. Coburn is not an American, but an Irishman. Mr. Mace is undoubtedly from Norwich; and although, in a certain sense, that Quaker, crape-weaving city may be described as _in partibus infidelium_, yet letters from Limerick to Norwich are not yet forwarded _viâ_ Ostend. I fancy what the Archbishop means is this, that in the case of real native Irishmen――take the Belfast Catholics and Protestants, for example――fighting could not possibly occur, and that he wishes to show that only individuals ‘not to the manner born’ could import so dangerous a custom or practice into that peaceful land. A ‘foreigner’ from London or from Oldham might possibly come to fisticuffs in the county of Wicklow, but they would receive no countenance or encouragement from the peace-loving natives, who, refusing to hold their hats or coats, or to mop off any casual claret, would avert their eyes, and, like the soldier in the song, ‘wipe away a tear.’ I have no interest in the two persons called ‘foreigners’ by the Archbishop, but I think in so designating them his Eminence has administered a severer punishment than the occasion required. I should not like to retort upon the Archbishop or call my Irish fellow-citizens ‘foreigners’――writing a paragraph for your journal, for instance, to the following effect――‘Two foreigners, named Dennis Blake and Patrick O’Rafferty, were brought before Mr. Fowler for fighting in Deansgate. O’Rafferty, who spoke with a strong foreign accent, said “Blake tould me, plaze yer hannar, he’d jist bate the soul out o’ me in a brace of shakes, an’ Oi――――” Mr. Fowler, “I’ve evidence enough. You are ’aliens in blood, in language, and in religion”――I am quoting an eminent jurist――and you must pay a fine of ――, or go to prison.’

“It must, however, be a great consolation and relief to the minds of Mr. Mace and Mr. Bos Tyler that the Archbishop ‘passes over the decrees of the Council of Trent,’ and merely throws the ‘learned Pope Benedict XIV.’ at their heretic heads. It seems to me that one of the Pope ‘Bonifaces’ would be more appropriate in a case of ‘pubs,’ and prize-fighters, for a ‘stinger over the left.’

Faithfully yours, “J. F. T. “_Manchester, October 5, 1864._”

An extract from that immaculate journal _The English Churchman_, culminates the joke:――

“THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE BOXERS.

“‘No good thing is without its attendant evil,’ is a platitude as old, at least, as the time of Lucretius. Old, however, as it is, and platitude as it has become, it is a truth, notwithstanding. The intercourse and intercommunion of nations is an undoubted good. It has, however, we are reminded, its repulsive as well as its attractive aspect. An international Congress may be useful. International Exhibitions, apart from the boastful self-sufficiency which attends them, may be good. International Copyright is what all authors sigh for, and we can even enjoy the noise and bustle of an International Dog Show. We have, however, advanced beyond this, and have within the last week only barely escaped the disgrace of another International Prize Fight. Amidst the dearth of political news; the stagnation of home scandals; and the absence of our chief notabilities from London, if not from England, Mr. Edwin James――the same person, we presume, who so recently ‘left his country for his country’s good,’ has sought to manufacture telling paragraphs for newspaper editors by getting up an International Prize Fight in the sister island.[40] Happily for the character of Ireland, its police, jealous of all fighting save amongst the native element, and with the lawful and national weapon――the shillelagh――have prevented a repetition of these scandalous scenes and gatherings; and the English Champion has had to return to London _re infecta_. With the squabbles of the would-be combatants and their friends――with the recriminations of Yankee sharpers and English blackguards, we have nothing to do. We leave the patrons of the Ring to settle the important question of the stakes among themselves. Nor are we about to try the patience of our readers with either a defence or an attack upon the immunities of the Prize Ring. What we desire to chronicle is the worthy attitude assumed by the Roman Catholic Archbishop of Dublin, who addressed the following letter to the clergy within his jurisdiction. [The letter will be found elsewhere.] This letter we gladly publish as worthy of the position of the writer. If successful, as but for an accident it might have been, it would have afforded an encouragement to the author, as it will be a valuable precedent to himself and to the rest of his brethren, and will, we have no doubt, lead them to ‘announce’ the same ‘penalties’ of excommunication against the midnight assassin, watching to take the life of his landlord; so that the pugilist and the hired murderer alike will before long both be sought for in vain in the peaceful ‘Isle of the Saints.’ With the fact of the publication of such a document we are too gratified to attempt to cavil at its language. The emphasis laid on the circumstance that Mace and Coburn were two ‘_foreign_ pugilists,’ and that they were two ‘_foreign_ gladiators,’ seams at first sight a covert way of claiming the monopoly of fighting for the faithful and non-alien portion of the community, and is hardly consistent with the fact that one of the would-be combatants was born in the county of Armagh, which is usually considered a part of Ireland. We have, however, no doubt that these words, though not literally correct, were judiciously thrown in by the Archbishop, in order to enlist the patriotism and national feeling of those to whom this letter was addressed, and with the hope that those Irishmen who might be indifferent to the wishes and orders of ‘Paul Cullen,’ would readily follow the directions of the writer when they were fortified by the belief that the two invaders of the peace――the two gladiators――were, after all, only ‘foreigners,’ and hence undeserving of the honour of an Irish audience.”

At the “settlement” of accounts――Messrs. James and Co., receiving a cheque of £400――a funny little incident of modern practice oozed out. Harry Brunton, among other liabilities, had made himself responsible to a silk-mercer for Mace’s “colours,” and now asked to be reimbursed. In olden times, when a pugilist distributed his colours, it was with the honourable understanding, on the part of the recipient, that in the event of victory the man should receive a guinea (subsequently a “sov.”), and _nothing_ if he lost. This was the understanding; not as a sale, but, as the newspapers say of correspondence, “as a guarantee of good faith.” In modern times, however, as Molière’s _Quack Doctor_ assures _Géronte_, “_Nous avons changé tout cela_,” and the gallant and generous dispenser insists on the prepayment of a guinea――we suppose “as a guarantee of good faith”――on the part of his patron. Indeed, we do not see how he could safely do otherwise, as the looms of Spitalfields and Coventry would hardly suffice to supply the demands of silk kerchiefs on “a promise to pay,” while the deposit of a sovereign each (not returnable), for a few dozen of handkerchiefs, invoice price 5s. 6d., most have a certain consolation in case of a draw or a lose.

Accounts being squared, Mace, as he said “to clear his character,” offered to fight Coburn anywhere in England for £100 or “on his own terms.” Bill Ryall, Joe Goss, Jack Rooke, also, were all “ready to meet Coburn.” The latter responded that he was ready to fight Mace, in “any part of Her Majesty’s dominions in America, for £1,000, but not in England _with a mob at his back_.” Brunton published a list of Mace’s backers, “to whom their money had been returned;” a similar document of the deposits made on behalf of Coburn might have proved a curiosity. Our sole apology for treating at such length these later doings is, that we look upon them as the concluding chapter in the downfall of the Ring, and as the elucidation of a question often put to us, “Do we consider its revival possible?” to which our reply has uniformly been, “Not only not possible, but not even desirable; ‘other times, other manners:’ its revival would be an anachronism.” Yet did the old bull-dog spirit die hard, and several good battles were contested in the years 1863-70. In November, 1864, a new big one, Joe Wormald, claimed the Championship, when he was answered by another big ’un, hight Andrew Marsden. Mace sent forth a challenge to meet the winner, who proved to be Wormald, who received the belt. The day of battle was named for November 1, 1865, for £200 and the Championship; but a severe accident disabling Wormald, Mace received the sum of £120 forfeit.

The year 1866, opened with another “train-swindle.” A second match “for £200 and the belt” had been got up with Joe Goss, and Tuesday, May 24th, appointed for its decision. About four hundred tickets having been disposed of by industrious touting, at two guineas first class, and £1 10s. 6d. second, the company started at half-past five on the appointed morning, on “an excursion there and back,” as the card-board expressed it. At 6h. 13m. we passed Farningham Road, and at 6h. 35m. slackened speed and disembarked at Longfield Court, near Meopham, Kent, where a ring was formed, and after the customary ceremonies, Jem Mace and Joe Goss――after much waiting for the police, who came not――stood up face to face, at a respectful distance, for the first and only round of the

NO FIGHT.

Round 1.――Mace would not lead off, but nodded and beckoned to Joe, who, however, declined his invitation and nodded and grinned in return, squaring his elbows and stepping first to right and then to left, in an ungainly manner, but never trusting himself within what Mr. Gladstone calls “a measurable distance” of a knock; Mace, also, politely preserving an interspace in all his manœuvres. As minute after minute dragged on, and it was clear neither man meant to fight, the referee stepped into the ring, and warned the men, unless blows were struck he would declare “a draw.” The announcement was received with the utmost indifference by both the principal performers, who walked about during the discussion, chafing their arms and breasts with their hands, and exchanging recognitions with acquaintances and friends. Again the men faced each other, and again alternately advanced and retreated; fifty minutes, one hour elapsed, and not a blow was struck. Again and again did the referee remonstrate. He might as well have “whistled jigs to a milestone.” At the end of 74 minutes he leaped into the ring for the last time, and amidst the laughter and hisses of the spectators, declared it “a drawn battle;” whereupon the unscathed gladiators shook hands, grinned, and put on their clothes, Mace coolly informing us, that he had “sprained his ankle severely a few days before,” and that “he was not fit to fight;” though how that ensured Goss’s forbearance was left unexplained. So all returned to town――the sheep and their shearers.

“Hope springs eternal in the human breast,”

and so, in the hope of witnessing a fight at last, Mace signed articles once again for £200, and to ensure that the men should get closer together this time, a ring of 16 feet was agreed upon. In this, on August 6th, 1866, Jem Mace displayed indisputable superiority by giving Master Joe an exemplary beating in 21 rounds, occupying one minute over the half-hour.

The bubble of 1866-7 was the appearance of a new “Irish giant,” standing 6 ft. 4½ in., first dubbed O’Baldwin, and afterwards Ned Baldwin――a name familiar to Ring history. Having beaten one George Iles, O’Baldwin claimed the belt, and Mace (who had retired) backed “an Unknown” against him. This “Unknown” Mace afterwards declared to be Joe Goss; but Mace having got into trouble over a battle between Holden and Peter Moore, at Derby, and Joe injuring his shoulder in his Bristol fight with Allen, Mace was allowed (for a consideration) to name Joe Wormald in his stead, and to postpone the fight for a fortnight, and yet farther to Saturday, 23rd April, 1867, so as not to clash with the Two Thousand Guineas Stakes. Will it be believed that 300 persons travelled that morning by the South Eastern Railway to find that “the Giant” had somehow mistaken the terminus, and by a misdirection was sitting in a four-wheeler, doubled up like a pocket-knife, under a dry arch in Tooley Street, while the special steamed off without him, and so Joe Wormald received the £200 forfeit?

To console the confiding public, Mace now offered himself to the notice of O’Baldwin on the usual terms, to meet on October 15th, 1867. The £400 was made good, and Jem was ordered from Newmarket, where he was training, to Woodford, Essex, when it was communicated that the officers were after him, and he crossed over into Surrey. Here, at Herne Hill, he was arrested by Sergeant Silverton, of the Metropolitan Police, together with Pooley Mace, his cousin, brought before Sir Thomas Henry, at Bow Street, and duly bound over to keep the peace in sureties of £300. At the examination, Inspector Hannan stated that the tickets were, to his knowledge, sold at two, three, and four guineas. So each man, as we were told next week, “drew his stake,” on the ground of “magisterial interference.” Again Mace had retired, and Joe Wormald being disabled by illness, O’Baldwin was left, like the Giant Blunderbore, “King of the Castle.” The reader has already, in this Memoir, had the opportunity of forming an opinion of the pugilistic pretensions of Sam Hurst, “the Stalybridge Infant.” Yet Sam Hurst was dragged from his obscurity, and it was thought a good thing might be made of the _gobemouches_ by a Championship fight between the giants! This was, however, too utterly preposterous, and it broke down. In December, 1867, Joe Goss and Wormald were matched, which ended in a forfeit, and Wormald, O’Baldwin, and Co. were announced as departing for America!

Here, in 1868, as we learn from the Transatlantic journals, Joe Wormald and the prodigious O’Baldwin were matched “for 2,500 dollars and the Championship of the World.” They met at Lynnfield, Massachusetts, when, after a scramble of ten minutes in a single round, the “sheriff and his merrie men” interfered and stopped further proceedings. Thereafter, we are told, the “stakeholder having ordered Wormald to renew the fight,” and he not complying, that functionary handed the money to “the Irish champion,” a proceeding which, in the words of Lord Dundreary, “no fellah can understand.” After returning for awhile to England, Mace sailed for the Antipodes, and by the latest accounts was a prosperous publican in Melbourne.

Our tale is well-nigh told. In 1870, Jem Mace, being in America, met Tom Allen for 2,500 dollars a side. They fought near New Orleans, on May 10th, when Jem polished off the Birmingham bruiser in style in 10 rounds, 44 minutes.

As the design of “PUGILISTICA” is to supply a reliable and honest history of the British Prize Ring and the deeds of its worthies, we shall here drop the story of New World rowdyism. The Ring had finished its career――had died in the country of its birth; its last expiring flicker had sputtered out, and _exit in fumo_, exiled for its misdeeds to a land where its true merits and principles never had an existence. Having thus traced it to its ignominious end, we return, for a single chapter, to the doings of Tom King, whom we have already styled “_Ultimus Romanorum_.”

[34] See PUGILISTICA, vol. i., p. 33, _et seq._

[35] The career of Joe Goss shows that even in the last days of its degeneracy the P.R. had brave men who would have gone straight, had they not been warped from the direct course of honesty by knaves who sought only to make the pugilist the instrument of their own nefarious ends. Goss’s birthplace was the file-making town of Wolverhampton, on the 16th of August, 1838; and he made his _début_ at the age of twenty-one, in a battle with Jack Rooke, of Birmingham, for £25 a side, on the 20th September, 1859. His defeat of Rooke in 1 hour and 40 minutes, after 64 sharp rounds, was a promising first appearance, seeing that that boxer had recently beaten Tom Lane――brother to the renowned “Hammer” of that ilk. His next match was with Price, of Bilston, a 12 stone man, who has been often confounded with Posh Price, of Birmingham――also, at a subsequent period (1862) beaten by Goss. This battle ended in a forfeit by Goss, he being arrested at the instance of his father when going to scale, November 9th, 1859. Joe was determined not to be baulked, and at a meeting between himself and Price, the latter offering to fight him for £10, as a solace for his disappointment, the money was posted, and the men met on the 10th of February, 1860, near Wolverhampton. Joe’s activity, power of hitting, and fearless style soon brought his opponent down to his own weight; and in the short space of 25 minutes, in which 15 rounds were fought, Price was consummately thrashed. Bodger Crutchley, who was in high esteem for his victories over George Lane, Sam Millard, Bos Tyler, Smith (of Manchester), and who had last fought Posh Price a drawn battle (interrupted by the police), was Joe’s next opponent. They met near Oxford, July 17th, 1860, for £100 a side, when, after a gallant struggle of 120 rounds, lasting 3 hours and 20 minutes, Goss was hailed the victor. On September 24th, 1861, Joe met and defeated Bill Ryall, for £50 a side, in 2 hours 50 minutes, during which 37 tedious and shifty rounds were fought; and on the 11th of February, 1862, Joe a second time faced Bill Ryall for £100 a side (on the Home Circuit), for _three hours and eighteen minutes_, when, as neither man could or would finish, the referee declared “a draw.” This brings us to his battle with Mace for £1,000, detailed above. On December 16th, 1863, Goss entered the ring with Ike Baker for £100, whose pretensions Joe disposed of in 27 rounds, lasting 80 minutes, the punishment being all on one side. Joe’s next two matches were defeats by Mace. On March 6th, 1867, Goss was matched for £100 a side with Bill Allen, of Birmingham. This was a remarkable muddle; after fighting 34 rounds in three different rings, time inclusive 1 hour and 54 minutes, darkness came on, and “a draw” was declared. Soon after Allen sailed for America, landing at New York, July 21st. Joe, who considered he had been treated unfairly, and robbed of the fair reward of his milling superiority, followed him, and, notwithstanding his voyage, issued his challenge to Allen on the 8th of April, six days after his arrival. This was promptly accepted, and the match made for 5,000 dollars (£1,000), to be fought for on the 7th of September. We need hardly remind the reader that the Irish newspaper Press of the United States is in the hands of expatriated Irishmen, whose buncombe and bombast is only exceeded by their prejudice and ignorance. These worthies magnified the contest into a battle for “the Championship,” but as Goss had been two and a half times beaten by Mace, and Allen had done nothing in England beyond drawing the stakes in a forfeit with Posh Price, and failed to do the same in his draw with Joe Goss, it would puzzle “a Philadelphia lawyer” to know how this could be a “fight for the Championship of the World,” except of Irish America, to which title they are both welcome. The “Cincinnati Fight” ended by a “foul” blow, Tom Allen hitting Goss when on the ground! _Sic transit_, &c.

[36] We need not say that this gentleman was not the ex-recorder of Brighton, ex-member for Marylebone, and ex-Q.C., who about this period had left this country for the New World.――ED.

[37] See Vol. I., Preface, pp. viii. and ix.

[38] No doubt many of the weak-kneed brethren, the disciples of a flabby, invertebrate pseudo-humanitarianism, will feel surprised, if not scandalised, at this claim of Lord Shaftesbury as a patron of pugilistic practice. His lordship’s Christianity, however, has always been practical, and of the order called “muscular.” Witness his gallant successful efforts to emancipate the poor little white slaves in our factories by his glorious Ten Hours Bill, and other humane legislation――legislation, let it never be forgotten, opposed by John Bright and the Gradgrind social reformers of the doctrinaire and politico-economical kidney. The friend and benefactor of the Street Arab, the Shoe Black, and the founder of Ragged Schools bore outspoken testimony of his admiration of boxing only a few weeks since in a speech at Exeter Hall, at the Young Men’s Christian Association, wherein he recommended sparring with the gloves as a gymnastic exercise of high value, and recalled, at eighty years, the days when he was himself accounted no mean antagonist, and “reckoned a good boxer among those who were judges of the art.” His style was worthy of a Homeric hero――a Nestor of the Ring.

[39] Some who remember “old times” and “the Kentish Town match,” may like to hear that on his annual visit to England, in December last, we smoked a pipe and recalled faded scenes and memories over a cheerful glass with “Temperance” Drinkwater; his activity, mental and bodily, being phenomenal for a man in his 77th year.――ED.

[40] The clerical Editor’s “presumption” is equal to his gullability. We have already pointed out that these gentlemen are “two Dromios.”――ED.