CHAPTER III.

JAMES BURKE (KNOWN AS “THE DEAF’UN”).

1828-1843.

No one who reads with attention the chequered career of James Burke will deny that “The Deaf’un” deserves to rank as one of the most honest, courageous, hardy, simple-minded, and eccentric fellows who ever sought praise and profit in the Prize Ring. Jem was the son of a Thames waterman who plied at the Strand Lane stairs. Left at an early age to the charge of a widowed mother, young Jem betook himself to the amphibious calling of “Jack-in-the-Water,” at the stairs where his father once plied with his “trim-built wherry.” At the time of which we write, before steam-boats, with their gangways and ugly dumb-lighters (the latter to give way yet later to a noble embankment with its broad granite-stepped landing places) had superseded the “caus’eys,” and “old stairs,” from Wapping to Westminster, the favourite and popular mode of transit of the dwellers in Cockaigne to Lambeth, to the glories of Vauxhall with its _al fresco_ concerts and 30,00 (additional) lamps; to Cumberland Gardens, with its trellised tea-boxes, and “little gold and silver fish that wagged their little tails;” to the Red House, Battersea, with its gardens and pigeon shooting; to “Chelsea Ferry,” with its elm-bordered promenade and Soldiers’ Home, and to the numerous places of riverside resort, was by “oars or sculls,” plied by the brawny arms of the “firemen-watermen,” one of the most laborious and deserving fraternities who devoted their well-earned and well-paid services to the pleasure-seeking public who patronised the broad highway of the Thames. The popularity and consequent prosperity of the stalwart “firemen-watermen” (for most of them wore the handsome coat and badge of, and were retained by, one or other of the great London Insurance Offices, and were the only organised body for the extinguishing of fires and saving of life) extended to the humble “Jack-in-the-Water,” whose duty consisted in wading bare-legged into the rippling tide, dragging the sharp nose of the wherry on to the paved causeway, or by its pile-protected side, and there steadying it, while the “jolly young waterman” politely handed his “fare” over the rocking “thwarts” of his smart, light boat to his or her cushioned seat in the “stern-sheets.” For his services in thus holding on, and thereby securing the balance of the staggering land-lubbers, for a pair of “sea-legs” were never included in the cockney’s qualifications, “poor Jack” seldom went unrewarded by one or more “coppers,” for we had not then come to the “age of bronze.” This humble and weather-beaten calling was by no means an unprofitable one to a hardy, handy, and industrious lad, such as young Jem Burke undoubtedly was.

The date of Jem’s birth was Dec. 8th, 1809, in the closing years of the “war of giants,” and in his earlier days London was alive with war excitement; with processions on the Thames of the gilded and bannered barges of the Corporation and the public companies, with gaily painted pinnaces, shallops, and house-boats, aquatic fireworks and illuminations, and galas in honour of our victories in Portugal and Spain; to say nothing of frequent grand doings along the then bright river on all sorts of City “gaudy” days. It was moreover the line of procession on the 9th of November and other times when my Lord Mayor went in state to Westminster; and of continually recurring wager matches of skill and strength for prizes given by citizens, public bodies, and aquatic clubs, for the encouragement of the Thames watermen “between the bridges.” All these have vanished with the crowds who enjoyed them. The “fireman-waterman” is as extinct as the dodo. The half-penny or penny steam-boat of an utilitarian age has “improved him off the face of the earth,” and the picturesque silver Thames runs a paddle-churned _cloaca maxima_ of the great towns in its upper course, by the stately buildings of our Palaces of Parliament and Palatial Hospital, sweeping by where once Strand Lane stairs offered itself as a convenient outlet for “taking the water,” along a spacious embankment, with its leafy avenues, bordered by lofty stone-built public edifices. Far different the Thames by which the young Deaf’un earned his “crust,” and added to the poor comforts of a widowed mother. Then the merry-makings we have above alluded to made the miscalled silent highway a lively and populous show-scene, to the profit of such snappers-up of unconsidered trifles as our “poor Jack,” whose Christian name was Jem. As to the “schooling” of our hero――for a hero he unquestionably was――it amounted to that sort of general knowledge which could be picked up in that “university” which Mr. Samuel Weller declares to be the best for sharpening a boy’s wits――the streets. The Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge as yet was not; the “schoolmaster” was altogether “abroad,” in the wrong sense; and the Briarean School-board had not yet “comprehended all vagrom” boys and girls, and taught them the “three R’s” in spite of their teeth. “Reading, ’riting, and ’rithmetic” not being in the curriculum of young Jem’s “’varsity,” he was perfectly innocent of those accomplishments, despite Dogberry’s assertion that to “read and write comes by nature,” though at figures, we can certify from our own personal converse, the Deaf’un had, on special occasions, an almost intuitive aptitude. His knowledge too, upon out-of-the-way subjects, was occasionally surprising; he had much “mother-wit,” a quaint felicity of expression, a sly touch of humour, and a quiet stolidity of look and manner, the outcome of his infirmity of deafness, which amused the hearer, from the apparently unconscious humour with which his comical notions were set forth. Of Jem’s physical powers and muscular endowments, the story of his Ring performances in after years will sufficiently speak.

Thus the young “Jack-in-the-Water,” like Topsy, “grow’d,” and we need not say he was well furnished in these respects to take his own part in the very rough “battle of life” to which he was from his earliest infancy introduced.

That the future Candidate for the Championship, born and bred in those “fighting days,” when Gully and Gregson, Belcher and Cribb, were on every tongue, should have yearnings to “improve his gifts,” as the goody-goody books express it, was but a natural sequence to what philosopher Square calls “the eternal fitness of things.” Hard by the Strand Lane stairs stood a well-frequented public-house, known as “The Spotted Dog,” the landlord of which was an ex-pugilist of no mean renown, hight “Joe Parish, the Waterman.” What wonder, that Joe’s judicious eye noted the good “points” in the sturdy little “Jack-in-the Water’s” build and disposition, and that he befriended the boatman’s orphan, patting his head as he warmed his chilled hands by the tap-room fire, where he dried his always damp and scanty clothing, and, as the Deaf’un himself has told us, saying, “You go straight, Jemmy, and we’ll see if you won’t be a topsawyer among ’em yet”? This early patronage by Joe Parish, as we shall see hereafter, continued down to Burke’s latest days, a fact creditable to both parties.

A passing remark on the pugilistic eminence of watermen may here be in place. Jack Broughton, the Father of the Ring, was a waterman; as also was Lyons, who beat Darts for the Championship in 1769; while, passing over many boxers who plied the oar, the names of Bishop Sharpe, Harris, “The Waterman,” Harry Jones, and the Deaf’un’s “guide, philosopher, and friend,” Joe Parish, occur to us. No wonder, then, that on the 5th of February, 1828, young Jem Burke, under the wing of old Joe, was by the ring-side at Whetstone, near Barnet, an admiring spectator of the eccentric battle which there and then took place between a couple of dwarfs; one a Welshman named David Morgan, a vendor of shrimps and shell fish well known in various sporting and other public-houses, and the other Sandy M’Bean, a Scotch professor of the Highland bagpipes and the “fling.” After a ludicrous display of bantam game, Taffy was declared the conqueror, the second of the canny Scot carrying him out of the ring _vi et armis_, in spite of his protestations that he “wasna beaten ava’,” though the poor little fellow had not the ghost of a chance.

And now there was a pause, and a purse of £14 being collected, Ned Murphy (who had already fought M’Carthy, and a commoner or two), presented himself as a candidate for the coin. Our hero (who, doubtless, knew something of the challenger), eager of the opportunity of showing the stuff he was made of, at once, with the approval of Joe Parish, stepped into the ropes, and threw down his cap as a reply. No time was wasted in elaborate toilettes, and the ring being cleared, all eyes were bent on the “big fight” of the day, which, on this occasion, was presented as the afterpiece. Mister Murphy was so cock-sure of the money, and so eager to win, that he went off at score to polish off “the boy” for his presumption. Not only was his gallop stopped by some clever straight ’uns from the resolute young Jack, helped by an occasional upper-cut as he went in, but he, in turn, was fain to stand out, and retreat to “draw” his opponent. Young Jem, however, was not to be had twice at this game, and Mister Murphy not quite liking the look of the job, began to fight for darkness, which was fast coming on. Harry Jones, who was picking up Murphy as a “pal,” seeing the dubious state of affairs, stepped up to the referee and asked a “draw.” The men had now fought 50 rounds in the like number of minutes, and were quite capable, if they were of the same sort as the last dozen, of fighting 50 more; so the Young’un was persuaded to “whack” the stakes, and make up matters over a pot and a pipe at “The Spotted Dog,” by which arrangement Mr. Murphy got the “half a loaf” which is proverbially “better than no bread,” while the young “Jack-on-the-water” was in the seventh heaven of delight, not only at his success (for he felt he must win), but at the possession of several golden portraits of His Majesty George the Fourth, of a value which to him seemed to vie with the fabulous treasures of Aladdin’s cave.

Jem was now “a card,” not only at the Strand Lane _soirées_, but was a free and accepted brother at all the sporting cribs in the hundred of Drury, Wild Street, the pugnacious purlieus of Clare Market, and among the “porterhood” of Covent Garden. Those were rough times, and among other rough entertainments the “rough music” of the butchers of Clare Market was not the least popular. Their marrow-bones and cleavers were always ready to “discourse” loud, if not “sweet music,” upon occasions of a wedding, a birth, or a christening among their own fraternity, or when any popular or well-known inhabitant took unto himself a wife. Foremost in these charivaris was one Tom Hands, who further had the reputation of being “sudden in quarrel,” and with him and the Deaf’un there had passed a sharp round or two at one of these uproarious gatherings, which had ended in their being separated by their friends.

On August 14th, 1828, Ned Stockman and Sweeney were matched to fight at Old Oak Common; the affair being arranged at a dinner at Alec Reid’s, at Chelsea. The ring was pitched, the expectant crowd assembled, and “time” was called. Peter Sweeney showed in battle array, but where was the “Lively Kid”? and echo answered “where?” He didn’t show at all, and a forfeit of the stake being then and there declared, his representative urged as a reason for what Sweeney called “making a fool of the public,” that Stockman “preferred his match with Harry Jones” (in which he was deservedly thrashed on September 16th, 1828). As the day’s draw thus proved a blank, and the meet could hardly separate without sport of some kind, a whip was made for an impromptu fight. The hat went round, and the cash being gathered by Alec Reid and the renowned Frosty-faced Fogo, a hint from one of the Clare Market Guild of Kill-Bulls that Tom Hands would like to cross hands with Jem Burke, there and then, if the namesake of “the author of The Sublime and Beautiful” dared face him, was at once seized with avidity. A shout went up from a hundred lungs as the burly butcher, his hair shiny with grease, and his cheeks red as a peony, drew his blue smock over his head and proceeded to divest himself of his upper clothing; nor was “poor Jack” without friends. Behind him stood Joe Parish and Alec Reid; Hands being seconded by Sweeney and a Clare Market amateur. The fight was a sad exposé of Tom Hands’ want of skill in the opening, and lack of what a slaughterman never should be deficient in――pluck. The Deaf’un, who looked hard as iron and solid as the trunk of a tree, fought the first three or four rounds on the retreat, jobbing the butcher fearfully, and bleeding him from every vein of his fleshy jowl; then, having got him down to his own weight, he reversed the process, and fought him all over the ring so effectively that in the 10th round, 17 minutes only having elapsed, Hands’ second threw up the sponge in token of defeat, the butcher being terribly punished, while the Deaf’un was scarcely marked.

Indeed the effects of this encounter could not have seriously affected him, seeing that, on the day but one afterwards, namely on August 16th, the Deaf’un was again on Old Oak Common, to witness the battle between Mike Driscoll and Pat M’Donnell. This affair disposed of, a new Black offered himself “under distinguished patronage,” as the advertisements say, to box anyone for “a purse.” The Deaf’un, always ready, slipped modestly into the ring, announcing to Mike Brookery, the M.C. on this occasion, that he should like to be “introduced” to Massa Sambo for the next dance. The affair was a mere farce. The black had but one qualification, that of a first-rate receiver; as a paymaster he was nowhere. After rushing in head down a dozen times, and getting upper cuts and sound right-handers on the ear innumerable, he rolled down for the last time at the close of thirty-three minutes, declaring “Me can’t fight no more,” and the purse was handed to the Deaf’un.

In 1829, the Deaf’un, who was now regularly enrolled in the _corps pugilistique_, was with a sparring party in the Midlands, where, in the month of March, the great contest between Jem Ward and Simon Byrne was to come off near Leicester. The reader will find this fiasco, known as “The Leicester Hoax,” in its proper place in our second volume. On the 10th of March, 1829, an immense gathering from all parts of the kingdom was assembled at Leicester; and the great event having ended in smoke, and Bill Atkinson, of Nottingham, having beaten Joe Randall, in the ring prepared for the big’un’s, the day being yet young, a purse was collected. For this a big countryman named Berridge, of Thormaston, offered to “try conclusions.” The Deaf’un joined issue, and a smart battle ensued. The countryman was so overmatched that after 22 minutes, in which 11 rounds were got through, each ending by Berridge being hit down or thrown, his backers took him away, and Burke walked off with the 10 sovereigns.

Burke was now matched with Fitzmaurice (an Irishman nearly 13 stone, who subsequently defeated Brennan and Tim Crawley), for £25 a side, to come off on Epsom Racecourse in May; the _rencontre_ was prevented by police interference, and the affair postponed to June 9th, 1829.[14] That day being appointed for the fight between Ned Savage and Davis (the Black), at Harpenden Common, near St. Alban’s, it was arranged that the Deaf’un and Fitzmaurice should follow those worthies. It was fortunate for the travellers who went to see the first-named fight that the Deaf’un and Fitz. were in reserve, for the affair of Savage and the bit of ebony proved “a sell;” and so the second couple were on the turf in good time, and in a well-kept and well-ordered ring. Young Dutch Sam and Gaynor, who had come down with Savage, volunteered to second Fitzmaurice. On standing up Fitz. loomed large in height and length, but a survey of the sturdy Deaf’un, his firm attitude and compact strength, brought the betting to even. We shall not attempt to detail the fight, which extended to no less than 166 rounds, fought under a burning sun, and lasting two hours and fifty-five minutes. There was some clever stopping in the earlier portion of the battle on the part of the Deaf’un, but he could not reduce the strength of Fitzmaurice, and he himself became exhausted. After the 70th round the fight became a question of endurance; the Deaf’un at the end of the rounds lying on his stomach on the turf to get wind, declining to be picked up by his seconds, kicking up his heels in a comical manner, and declaring himself “all right,” in reply to their anxious inquiries. On these occasions Young Dutch Sam and Gaynor, knowing the “blown” condition of their man, cunningly kept prolonging the “time” between the rounds, Fitzmaurice generally getting down, and the Deaf’un almost always rolling across, over, or beside him. About the 150th round both men were nearly incapable of delivering a hit, and Fitz. was more than once out of time, but the Deaf’un went in again, and so condoned the offence. At last, at the end of the time mentioned, Fitz. fell in his own corner from a left-handed poke; the sponge was thrown up, after as game and scrambling a fight as could well be imagined, and the Deaf’un was hailed the victor. Burke in a few minutes walked to his carriage, while poor Fitz. was conveyed to Wildbore’s, the “Blue Boar,” St. Alban’s.

At the Deaf’un’s benefit, on the following Wednesday week, Fitzmaurice was unable to put on the gloves as promised, but Young Dutch Sam did so. Although the Deaf’un was certainly a foil to show off the brilliancy of Sam, that accomplished boxer was somewhat mortified at the improved style of Burke, who more than once gave him an opening in order to send in a clever return; keeping his temper so unruffled that loud applause followed his exertions. Indeed not a few of the “knowing ones” expressed their opinion that the Deaf’un would yet puzzle some of the “fashionable” 12-stone men.

About this time, as we learn incidentally from the report of his next battle, the Deaf’un met with a serious accident――a rupture――for which he received surgical treatment, and was compelled to wear a truss. Nevertheless, we find him in August under an engagement to fight Bill Cousens, who is described in _Bell’s Life_ as a fine, fresh young Chichester man (who had already beaten Tom Sweeney and “the Cheshire Hero”), on the 25th of August, on which day they met at Whetstone. Tom Oliver and Frosty-faced Fogo were the M.C.’s, and we are told the “crowd was considerable. Swells and scavengers, drags and dust-carts,” conveying the motley groups to the scene of action. Cousens was seconded by Tom Oliver and a “Sussex friend,” Burke by Ned Stockman and Sweeney. The weather was again intensely hot. Cousens had the advantage in length of reach and height, and a trifle in weight. Cousens, though receiving most punishment, had it all his own way in throwing, and several times gave the Deaf’un such desperate falls, that the battle was supposed to be at an end; but the Deaf’un’s hardy frame seemed to resist all vicissitudes, and he came again and again; on one occasion, about the middle of the fight, so flooring Cousens that the odds went round to 2 to 1 on the Deaf’un. In the 95th round, Cousens got the Deaf’un on the ropes, and kept him there until the stake and rope gave way. The Deaf’un would not leave off, though advised to do so, when Reuben Martin stepped into the ring and threw up his hat in favour of Cousens, and the Deaf’un was withdrawn from the ring, after fighting 101 rounds in two hours and three minutes. The reporter says, “it was stated that Burke was suffering from the effects of a rupture.”

That this was not, at that time, of a very serious nature may be inferred from the fact, that the Deaf’un finished up 1829 by balancing this, his only defeat, with yet another victory. On December 1st all the pugilistic world was on the move into Sussex to witness the great (second) fight between Ned Neale and Young Dutch Sam for £220 to £200, which came to nought, owing to the arrest of Neale on his way to the battle-field on a warrant issued by Mr. Chambers. Sore was the disappointment and loud the complaints of the hundreds who had left London on this hog-shearing expedition, as they surrounded the admirably formed ring at North Chapel, Sussex, and were told that there would be “no fight,” as Messrs. Ruthven and Pople, two “active and intelligent officers,” as the penny-a-liners styled them, had grabbed Neale, and were so strict in their attentions that they had declined to lose sight of him; indeed, they had at once carried him off in a postchaise to the great Metropolis. Harry Holt stepped forward, and addressing “the inner circle and boxes” (the latter represented by several four-in-hand drags and hired wagons), proposed “a collection.” Sam also presented himself amidst applause, rattling some coin in a hat. The money-matter was soon arranged, a big countryman named Girdler stepping into the ropes, and laying claim to the guerdon against all comers. In a few seconds the well-known, hardy mug of the Deaf’un was seen as he made his way through the crowd, and, amidst some cheering, declared that “he didn’t minds a shy at that chaps, if he did lose his sticks,” while Girdler, who had many country friends, said with a grin, “He knowed all about Mister Burke, and didn’t care a varden for ’un.” To give éclat to the affair, Jem Ward and Fogo offered themselves to second the Deaf’un, whereon Young Sam and Cicero Holt volunteered to wait upon the countryman.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――Girdler was certainly, as Sam said, “big enough for anything,” and when be threw his hands up, did it in a style that showed he was not the mere yokel he had been supposed. The Deaf’un looked as serious and as stolid as a pig in a pound, and as solid as a stump of a tree. He nodded at his opponent, and pointed down to the scratch, to which Girdler at once advanced, and the Deaf’un went a step back smiling. Girdler let fly his left; it was a little too high, but just reached the Deaf’un’s nut, who returned on Girdler’s cheek sharply; heavy exchanges, in which Burke hit oftenest and last, and both were down on hands and knees. (6 to 4 on the Deaf’un.)

2.――The Deaf’un trying to get his distance hit short with the left; Girdler stopped his right, and popped in a sounding crack with his own right on the Deaf’un’s ribs, who broke away. (“Bravo!” cried Holt, “do that again for me.”) The Deaf’un grinned, licked his lips, and looked down slyly at his opponent’s feet. “Don’t be gammoned,” cried Young Sam. The advice came too late. Girdler rushed in, Burke popped his head aside, and the blow went over his shoulder, the countryman at the same instant receiving such a straight one in the mouth, followed by another over the left eyebrow, that he was brought up “all standing,” while the Deaf’un slipped down from his own blows. There was no mistake about the claim of first blood.

3.――In went Girdler like a bull at a gate. The Deaf’un, not clever enough to prevent him getting on a sort of pole-axe, hit on his impenetrable nob, from which we think the countryman’s knuckles suffered most. Burke hit up, but couldn’t this time stop his man, who bored him to the ropes, and got him down in a scrambling rally.

4.――Girdler again first; but this time Burke stopped him with one, two, and a ding-dong rally ensued, in which Girdler was first on the grass, blowing like a porpoise.

5, 6, 7, 8.――Sam cheering on his man, who answered the call cheerfully, but always got two for one in the rally, and in the 8th round fell over the Deaf’un’s leg on his face so violently that Ward cried out to Holt to take his man away. “Take your man away,” retorted Holt; “he can’t beat mine in a week.”

9.――Girdler came up game, but went in without any aim or precision; the Deaf’un propped him again and again, and at last ran in and threw him a burster. (Cheers for the Deaf’un.)

10, 11, 12.――A one-sided game. Girdler down at the end of each round against his will, and beaten by his own exertions.

13, 14, 15.――Girdler merely staggered up to be hit, and finally went down fearfully punished.

16.――Girdler came once more and made a wild rush; the Deaf’un stepped aside, and sending in his one, two, on the side of the countryman’s head, he fell over anyhow.

17.――Cries of “take him away!” from the Londoners; but Girdler would not have it, and was indulged with one more round, which ended in his being floored in the hitting; whereupon Holt stepped across the ring and beckoned the Deaf’un, who at once crossed and shook hands with his brave but almost insensible antagonist. Time, 89 minutes.

The immense assembly now dispersed, the roads being soon alive, especially that which led towards Chichester and London. On one of the four-in-hands was seated “White-headed Bob” (Ned Baldwin), then in the full sunshine of aristocratic patronage. Bob had spent the overnight, or rather the morning, at the Monday masquerade, then in vogue at “His Majesty’s Theatre,” in the Haymarket, and donning a most remarkable suite of grey moustaches, whiskers, and beard, the resemblance to the then Duke of Cumberland was perfect. As the populace recognised the counterfeit of the unpopular Duke, the fun was uproarious. Pulling up at the “King’s Arms,” mine host hurried out with a decanter of sherry, a waiter following with champagne. H.R.H. cried out, “No, thankee, waiter, the Duke will take something short!” The schnapps was supplied. “I’m glad to see ye, my people,” said His Royal Highness, “but d――――e if I like this stopping of fights; when I come next this way I’ll give you a turn, and if there’s no one else to fight, I’ll make one in a fight myself! Drive on, coachee!” And off went His Royal Highness in what the poet Bunn called “a blaze of triumph.”

The topsawyers of the top-weights of the day set their public appearances at too high a figure for the poor, unsophisticated Deaf’un to obtain any hearing for his modest proposal to fight any 12 or 12½ stone man for £25 a side, so he sparred at benefits and at the fairs and tennis courts, and hung about looking for a job until September, 1830, when Gow, who had beaten Ned Savage in December, 1829, offered himself to the Deaf’un’s notice, and articles were signed for a meeting on October 5th. The toss being won by Gow, he named Woolwich, and thither all parties repaired. There, however, they found Superintendent Miller, of the Thames Police, with sundry row-boats, and off they moved into Essex; but they could not shake off the anti-milling Miller, who, calling on a couple of beaks, pursued the excursionists towards Leytonstone, reinforced by the “Essex lions.” A council was held, which decided that as the game was “U.P.” in Essex, a retreat to Temple Mills across the border into Middlesex was the only chance of a quiet meeting. A “horrid whisper” went round that Superintendent Miller had a warrant from the magistrates at Snaresbrook, and that two active constables were already on the track. Jack Carter, changing coat, hat, and handkerchief with the Deaf’un, with the quickness of a clown in a transformation scene, took the Deaf’un’s seat in a one-horse chaise, while both of the men made the best of their way towards Temple Mills. The ruse succeeded. Carter was yet a mile from the Essex frontier, when up rode a couple of mounted men, quickly followed by a posse of the amphibious Thames constables, and called upon the driver of the gig to “Stop, in the King’s name,” which he loyally and dutifully did, and away poor Carter was haled before the nearest beak, and his capture officially announced to the worshipful functionary. The culprit was brought forward. “James Burke,” said the awful representative of Majesty, reading the warrant, “it is my duty to commit you for a contemplated breach of the peace within this county of Essex――――” “Excuse me, sir,” interposed Jack, “my name isn’t Burke at all, and why these here gentlemen――――” “Then what is your name?” “I can save your worship trouble,” said Superintendent Miller. “I know this man well; his name is Jack Carter, and if I’d been at hand I shouldn’t have mistaken him.” “You are discharged, fellow,” exclaimed his worship, indignantly, and away went Jack, with a low bow to his crestfallen captors. At the bridge at Temple Mills the pursuit ceased, and all got over the river Lea.

The fight that now took place presented no features worth recording. The Deaf’un, who had always a touch of eccentricity, on this occasion appeared in the ring in a grotesque and original costume. His “nether bulk” was encased in a pair of green baize drawers, profusely bound and seamed with yellow braid, and with flying yellow ribbons at the knees, below which his sturdy pedestals were encased in a pair of bright striped worsted stockings and laced highlows. Although the day was waning, Burke managed to polish off his job before dark, Gow never getting a lead during 22 busy rounds, at the end of which his second, Birmingham Davis (who, as will be seen afterwards, fought the Deaf’un), claimed the fight for Burke, Gow not answering to the call of “Time.”

In the interim, before this affair with Gow, a curious incident illustrates the readiness of the Deaf’un, who was then always in training, to “do business at the shortest notice.” Bob Hampson, of Liverpool, visited London, where his fame as the conqueror of one Jack Pye, and subsequently of Wm. Edwards, at Bootle, and Bill Fisher, at Milbray Island, had gone before him. Bob offered himself, at £25 a side, to the notice of Burke; who expressed himself ready, as the Liverpool carpenter wanted to return northwards, to meet him at an early day as might be convenient. Two fights were “on the slate” for the 26th of the current month, one between Sam Hinton and the Bristol baker (Mike Davis), the other between the youthful Owen Swift, and an East End Israelite, of the name of Isaacs. To these the Deaf’un and Hampson were added, and all were satisfactorily got off at Harpenden Common on the same day.

Hampson, with these credentials, was the favourite at 6 and 7 to 4. Indeed, the chance of the Deaf’un looked by no means “rosy,” yet he never lost heart or confidence. Hampson came down to St. Alban’s under the wing of Tom Spring; to whose care he was recommended by no less a person than Jack Langan, Spring’s former foe, but now fast friend. Hampson came on the ground with Tom Oliver and Harry Jones as his seconds, the Deaf’un attended by Fitzmaurice (a former opponent) and Ned Stockman.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――As the men stood up Hampson did not impress the London connoisseurs favourably, either as to his boxing skill or his capability for rough work and endurance. He looked leggy, stood wide, and fidgeted, rather than manœuvred, in an anxious and hurried manner, while the Deaf’un, who was the picture of sturdy health, stood firmly facing him, eyeing him sharply, and only just moving so much as to prevent his opponent from stealing a march on him either to right or left. The Liverpool man, after some dodging, let fly his left and caught Burke a tidy smack on the cheek, but got a return on the mouth from the Deaf’un’s left, which more than balanced the account. A brief spar, when Hampson again was first, and reached the Deaf’un’s nob. This led to a smart exchange of blows, Hampson delivering several snowy hits on Burke’s dial, which, however, left hardly a visible mark, while the Deaf’un’s returns seemed to paint and flush the countryman. In the close Hampson got the Deaf’un’s head under his left arm cleverly, and hit up, but he couldn’t hold him, and Burke lifted him over and threw him an awkward side fall. (Cheers for the Deaf’un, but no offers.)

2.――Hampson again let off with the left, but was met with a counterhit, and Burke forced a rally; some sharp half-arm hitting at close quarters, in which the Deaf’un showed most strength. In the close both down.

3.――Hampson came up bleeding from the mouth and nose, and Burke seemed to have damaged his left hand. Hampson hammered away, and hit for hit was the order of the day. The men closed, and after a struggle both were down. (Even betting.)

4.――A short round. Hampson led off, but his blows left scarcely a mark, and after a break and some manœuvring Hampson slipped down.

5.――Counterhits with the left. Burke the best of the exchanges. Hampson the quicker fighter, but Burke the steadier and harder hitter. A long rally and no flinching till Hampson fell on his knees; Burke walking to his corner.

6.――Hampson dodging about and feinting with the left, the Deaf’un solid as a post, but moving his arms defensively. Hampson got in a smack with his left, which the Deaf’un countered, but not effectively. More weaving work, hit for hit, a close, Hampson thrown heavily. (6 to 4 on Burke.)

7.――Hampson seemed a little lame, and sparred for wind; Burke waiting. The Liverpool man, as before, let fly with the left, and reached Burke’s head just above the left eye, stopping the Deaf’un’s return neatly, amidst applause. The Deaf’un shook his wig-block and grinned. Hampson tried it again, and got such a return from Burke’s right in his ribs that he fell on his knees, but was quickly up again, and renewed the round in a lively manner, until the Deaf’un closed and threw him over his hip by a heave. (Applause.)

8.――Hampson came up blowing and coughed two or three times. He was evidently shaken by the last throw. He however kept in good form and led off. Burke shifted a little and retreated, but, biding his time, met Hampson with a fearful jobbing hit on the mouth that staggered him; Hampson returned to the charge and hit away wildly, and once and again the Deaf’un nailed him. This was not done without damage, for Hampson caught him with his right on the ear such a wax-melter, that if the Deaf’un could have been cured by that process he might have heard better for some time afterwards. A close embrace, in which neither man could get a hit, ended by Burke pulling Hampson down; both on the ground, blowing like grampuses.

9.――The last struggle had told most upon Hampson. He was distressed, while the Deaf’un might be described as “much the same as usual.” Hampson pointed to the scratch as they met, Burke shook his head, grinned, toed it, and then made half a step back as Hampson tried a feint with his left. Hampson once more led off, and there were some sharp exchanges. The Deaf’un nodded to Stockman as he got away, and Hampson did not follow, saying, “He can’t hit me hard enough, Mister Neds.” “I believe you, my boy,” replied the Lively Kid. Hampson again got on Burke’s nob, receiving a rib-roaster. Hampson was first down.

10.――Hampson made play, but the Deaf’un met him, and hit for hit was once more persevered in until Burke threw Hampson after a short wrestle.

11.――The Carpenter showed marks of severe punishment, and the Deaf’un’s cast-iron frontispiece was ornamented with some crimson patches and bumps. Hampson was evidently less inclined to go to his man, and worked round him _à la distance_. The Deaf’un, with a comical grin, in turn pointed down to the scratch with his right hand forefinger; Hampson seized the opportunity, as he thought, and hit straight at Burke’s head, who, quick as lightning, countered with his left on Hampson’s jaw. “Bravo!” cried Stockman, “I’d have told him to do that, only he can’t hear me.” The men were at it again, when Burke drove Hampson on the ropes and chopped him with the right. Hampson rolled down (7 to 4 on Burke).

12, 13, 14, 15.――Hampson came up game, and fought for a turn, but his confidence was gone, and the Deaf’un timed him, now and then putting in an ugly one, and ending the round by getting Hampson down.

16-20.――The Deaf’un still declined to lead off, but always had the best at close quarters. In the last named round Hampson dropped on his knees in the hitting, and the Deaf’un threw up his hands, bowed comically to the spectators, and walked to his corner. (Cheers.)

21.――Hampson, encouraged by his friends, fought vigorously, and at one time seemed to have got a turn; in the close the Deaf’un was under. (Shouts for Hampson.)

22.――Hampson appeared to have got second wind; he manœuvred round his man, and delivered one, two, neatly. The Deaf’un laughed and shook his head, but was short in the return. “That’s the way,” cried Harry Jones, “he’s as stupid as a pig. Hit him again, Bob, he’ll stand it.” Hampson did so, but the Deaf’un countered, and then went in for close work. Hampson could not keep him out, and was forced back on the ropes, where the Deaf’un hit him heavily until he got him down anyhow.

23.――Hampson much shaken by the last round; Burke waiting. “Why don’t you go in, Jem?” shouted Reuben Martin, “it’s all your own.” The Deaf’un nodded, and did as he was bid. The advice was not good, for Hampson nailed him sharply right and left, and in a rally Burke over-reached himself, missed his right, and slipped down.

24.――Some amusement was created by the Deaf’un’s evident attempt at _gammoning_ distress, to induce his opponent to come on. Hampson, however, fought shy. After some sparring they got closer, and again give-and-take was the order of the day, the _pepper-box_ being freely handed from one side to the other. Hampson was thrown, but not heavily.

25.――The tide was turned against Hampson. He retreated before the Deaf’un, who now assumed the offensive, and in a rally the Liverpool man was fairly hit down in his own corner.

26-40.――In all these rounds it was clear that Hampson’s defeat was a mere question of time. In the 40th round he was thrown heavily, and his friends proposed to give in for him; he, however, refused, and came up for the 41st round, when Burke hit him on to the rope, and then let him get down, walking away to his own corner. Hampson’s backer stepped into the ring and desired the sponge to be thrown up, saying it was useless to expose a brave man to further punishment. Time 44 minutes. The Deaf’un crossed the ring, shook hands with his opponent, and then indulged in a sort of hornpipe-step in his own corner, putting on his clothes with little assistance. Hampson was carried to his carriage, severely punished, complaining that he lost his power of wrestling from an injury to his leg in the 5th round.

REMARKS.――This battle tells its own tale. The Liverpool man’s friends had much overestimated Hampson’s scientific attainments, and equally miscalculated his opponent’s cunning defence, backed as it was by extraordinary powers of endurance, indomitable pluck, and cool courage. “Hampson was, up to a certain point, the cleverer man, but, that point passed, his chance was gone, and he was beaten by toughness, readiness, and strength. The Deaf’un by this battle has shown himself a dangerous competitor for any 12-stone man on the list. He is now the winner of seven fights, mostly with big men, and must not be meddled with by any mere sparrer. However flash and wide-awake he may think himself, he will find the Deaf’un knows a thing or two that will astonish him when it comes to real work. The 200 and 300-pounders, though ‘great guns,’ will do well to take our hint.” These last remarks, which we transcribe from a contemporary sporting paper, show the good opinion which Burke was fast gaining among the most competent judges of boxing merit. Of course the 200 and 300 pounders mean the men who fixed £200 or £300 as the price for a Ring appearance.

We have just seen that our hero fought and won two sharp battles within three weeks, and we have now to record yet another arduous conflict within the three weeks next ensuing, namely, on November 16th, 1830, on which day he met Tim Crawley at the well-fought field of Whetstone, for a stake of £50.

Mister Timothy was a stalwart Milesian coalwhipper, aged twenty-three, hard upon six feet in height, and balancing 13 stone, and though no relation to “Peter the Great,” was only a shade less than the fighting weight and stature of that ponderous ex-champion. Tim was “presented at the Castle,” not of Dublin, but in Holborn, by a distinguished Hibernian field-officer, who intimated to Tom Spring his readiness to post the “needful” for Tim in a trial with any man Spring might select. There was the Deaf’un, rough and ready, “standing idle in the market place;” and as he said, when he was asked as to when he would be ready if a match were arranged, “Well, you see, Misters, I’se ready at any time――the sooner the better――but where’s the moneys to come from? I’ll put down five of my own, buts――――” a well-known member of the Stock Exchange struck in immediately, “and I’ll find the second five, and perhaps some more, if it’s wanted.” So the articles were there and then drawn, and Tuesday, the 16th, set down.

East Barnet was the fixture, and on the appointed morning, despite a heavy storm of wind and rain, a numerous cavalcade thronged the roads from Finchley and Southgate to the rendezvous. Crawley came down in a brand-new white upper-benjamin, on the swell drag of his military patron. Tim was radiant, if the weather was gloomy, and assured his friends that “He thought mighty little of Misther Burke’s foightin”――(Tim had seen his battle with Hampson)――“if all he could do was what he did with that tumble down carpenther from Liverpool. By jabers,” he added, “I’m the boy that’ll tache him quite another sort o’ fun.” The storm increased in violence, the time was come, and all were waiting with what patience they could command. Crawley alighted from his vehicle and claimed the stakes, when Reuben Martin hastened up breathless and covered with mud, to announce that the Deaf’un would be there immediately. The Deaf’un had left Soho in a hired gig; the horse had proved a “bolter,” and after a gallop along the Finchley Road, and up a bye-lane into which he had been turned, had smashed the gig and deposited the Deaf’un and his pal in a clayey ditch, the former pitching on his head with no other damage than a mud-bath. The Deaf’un now hove in sight, attended by Welsh Davis (afterwards called “Birmingham”) and Ned Stockman; Crawley had the services of Harry Jones and an Irish “friend.” The colours were tied to the stakes, the ring whipped out, and amid a pelting shower of rain the men stood up for

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――Crawley stood over the Deaf’un by at least three inches, and topped him in weight by about a stone. He was, indeed, a fine muscular specimen of humanity, though some critical anatomists pronounced him too thick about the shoulder-blades, and, therefore, what is technically termed “shoulder-tied,” a defect which detracts both from the distance and the quickness of a man’s blows. The Deaf’un’s solid, trunk-of-tree look, was by this time familiar to all ring-goers, as he stood with his comparatively short arms, the left slightly in advance, and the right across covering his side and mark. Crawley lost no time in letting his adversary know his “little game,” for in he went, swinging out his left arm rather than hitting straight, and following it with a lunge with the right, both of which would have been ugly visitations had they got well home; but the first was stopped, and the second only just reached the Deaf’un’s ribs as he shifted ground; Crawley followed up his charge with more round hits, or rather misses, in exchange for which the Deaf’un, getting within his guard, hit up so sharply, the right on Tim’s eye and the left on his mouth, that he paused a moment before he renewed his hitting out. The Deaf’un had broke away, and now led Mister Tim a short dance round the ring, during which he propped the big ’un several times. Crawley lost his temper, and made a furious grab at Burke with his open right hand, catching him round the neck, when, to the surprise of all, the Deaf’un, throwing his arms round Crawley’s waist and butting him in the breast with his head, heeled him and threw him a clear back fall, adding his own weight to the concussion, which would have been far more serious but for the fact that the ground was about the consistency of a half-baked Yorkshire pudding. (2 to 1 on Burke.)

2.――Crawley came up with his face painted the colour of the sign of the “Red Lion,” and the claim of first blood for the Deaf’un was admitted. Tim was, however, nothing daunted, and smiled contemptuously at his opponent, who nodded his nob in reply. At it again went Tim, in the style which we at a later day recognised as peculiar to Ben Caunt, whom Crawley (though better looking and not so tall) much resembled in his bust and mode of hitting. The onslaught was again but partially successful, the Deaf’un hitting up at close quarters with unusual precision, while Mister Tim pummelled away, often at the back of Burke’s head, neck, and shoulders, until they closely embraced, when the Deaf’un got his man down somehow.

3.――Crawley came up strong on his pins, but already much disfigured. His left eye was nearly closed, his lips swelled and bleeding, and his cheek-bones and forehead full of “bubukles, and knobs, and whelks;” yet he went to work as before. After a stop or two, the Deaf’un again got his length, and sent in a smasher on Crawley’s damaged kissing organ, but could not escape such a right-handed “polthogue” from Tim’s bunch-of-fives on the top of his head as sent him staggering across the ring, amidst the shouts of the Emerald party. Crawley tried to follow up his advantage, but the Deaf’un recovered himself, was “all there” after a few exchanges, and finished the round by slipping through Crawley’s hands as he tried to grab him at the ropes.

4.――A short round. Burke’s nob again visited; a rally in favour of the Deaf’un and both down.

5, 6, and 7.――Very similar. Crawley showing increasing signs of punishment; the Deaf’un’s left ear tremendously swelled, and some blue marks about his frontispiece. In a rally Crawley missed his right and struck it flush against the stake. Burke was undermost in the last-named round.

8.――Crawley, a deplorable spectacle, rushed in and got jobbed severely; in the close Burke threw Crawley heavily. Tim had no pretence to wrestling skill, and his right hand seemed almost _hors de combat_ from contact with Burke’s granite skull and the oaken stake.

9.――Crawley nearly dark in one window, and the other with the shutter half-up. The Deaf’un now went in in turn. He allowed Crawley to get on his favourite right at the ribs, jumping aside at the moment with a quick step, and sending his own right as a return smash into poor Tim’s frontispiece. Ding-dong till both out of breath and Crawley down.

10-25.――The whole of these rounds were too much alike to deserve particular description. They varied only in which of the men finished the round by being first down at the close, and in this Crawley scored a large majority. In the 25th round Crawley’s remaining daylight became so nearly darkened that his last chance seemed gone. General Barton asked him to leave off, but he refused, saying, “Sure, yer hanner, an’ I can bate that fellow yet.” So he was indulged in seven more short rounds, and then, at the thirty-third, being in total darkness, his backers withdrew him after a slogging battle of 30 minutes only!

REMARKS.――Each time the Deaf’un appears in the ring, he surprises us by his manifest improvement. True, Crawley turned out a perfect novice, still the Deaf’un’s style of hitting, stopping, and getting away from a powerful and determined assailant was a clever demonstration of the art of defence; while the way, when the time came, in which he adminstered pepper with both hands at close quarters was something astonishing. Burke walked to his conveyance; he declared himself little hurt by Crawley’s body blows. Poor Tim was carried to his patron’s drag, and was soon conversable. He declared, no doubt with truth, that he “Couldn’t for the life of him make out how he was bate, at all, at all, no more nor a babby.” Some of the fancy suggested that the great Irish champion, Simon Byrne, with whom Jem Ward’s fiasco of Leicester was yet rankling in the public mind, might find his match in the Deaf’un; but this was not yet to be.

The sky had how cleared and the wind abated, when some fun was promised by a proposed fight between two well-known eccentric characters in the fistic world. These were no other than the facetious Tommy Roundhead, the trainer, and in after-time the “Secretary” to Deaf Burke, and the renowned Frosty-faced Fogo, D.C.G. (Deputy Commissary General), C.P.M. (Chief Purveyor of Max), and P.L.P.R. (Poet Laureate to the Prize Ring), for all these honours had been conferred on him by the Press. These illustrious wights had it seems differed (so it is rumoured) about the etymology of a Greek verb, the use of the digamma, or the literary attainments of Jack Scroggins; and in one branch of the disputation Tommy had not only asserted his own superiority in prose and poetry to the Laureate, but had offered to back Scroggins against him in writing blank verse or hexameters. Fired at the insult, the Frosty-faced’un tipped Tommy such a volley of _black (letter) chaff_ that the latter declared himself quiet dumb-founded and _nonplushed_; so he offered to post five bob, and to fight Fogo in the same ring as Burke and Tim Crawley, just to settle the knotty dispute. Frosty’s official duties having ceased with the exit from the ring of the two principals, the Deputy Commissary stepped into the middle of the ring, and “thrice called aloud for Richmond” (we beg pardon, Roundhead). Before, however, he was “hoarse with calling” Roundhead, Tommy appeared, ready stripped to the waist, hopping through the mud like a pelted frog. Shouts of laughter greeted his entrée to the ropes, and at once he of the Frosty-face, hearing his defiance answered, began (unlike the Homeric heroes) to divest himself of his panoply, and would have been quickly in his natural buff suit, had not the ring filled with curious inquirers, anxious to learn the cause of this unusual commotion. The matter explained, the _literati_ (represented by the ring-reporters), the University wranglers, and the aristocracy of the P.R., decided unanimously and with one voice (remember it was “raining cats and dogs”) that it would be derogatory for so distinguished a votary of Apollo to descend from Parnassus to roll his laurelled brow in Middlesex mud. “Forbid it, Phœbus, and ye Muses nine!” exclaimed Cicero Holt, then, descending to plain prose, he added, “Come, shove on your toggery, Frosty-face, you’ll catch cold, you old muff;” and, suiting the action to the word, he tried to thrust the “pen-hand” of the irate bard into the ragged sleeve-lining of his “upper Ben.” The task was impracticable. “There’s five bob down, and I’ll have a round for it,” cried the Fancy Orpheus. “Oh, d―――― your five bob, Frosty, we’ll make that right,” cried half-a-dozen voices. At that moment poor Frosty beheld with dismay the greasy sleeve of his old coat torn clean out at the shoulder, and his own naked arm protruding from the yawning rent. He felt like

“That bard forlorn, By Bacchanals torn On Thracian Hebrus’ side,”

so he cried for quarter; and being reassured that he would be indemnified for the five bob, and “leave the ring without a stain on his character,” as the police reporters have it, he was appeased, pocketed the affront (and the five shillings), and straightway, with assistance, returned to his chariot (a South Mimms farmer’s cart), in charge of his true-blue stakes, his ditto beetle, staples, tent-pegs, and neatly-coiled cordage. As for Tommy Roundhead, after calling the gods to witness his readiness to do battle, he waxed less pugnacious, and quickly “lost stomach for the fight” when he was told the victorious party (to which his principal and he belonged), had a dinner waiting at the “Blue Boar,” of which he was invited to partake. The rain had now come on again, and as Apollo was appeased, no one cared to expose himself any longer to the anger of Jupiter Pluvius, and all who had the means, got as quickly housed as possible; the pedestrians plodding their weary way through slush and mire to their humble homes, the equestrians rattling home to their more luxurious domiciles.

Hampson challenged the Deaf’un to fight for £50, within 30 miles of Liverpool, but the affair fell through.

The Deaf’un now came out with a challenge to any 12-stone man and upwards (bar Jem Ward), dating from Reuben Martin’s, in Berwick Street. This was promptly answered on the part of Birmingham (Welsh) Davis, who declared his £100 ready, if necessary. The match was, however, made for £50 a side on December 16th, 1830, “to fight within four months.” In _Bell’s Life_ of December 26th, 1830, we read, _à propos_ of a discussion of the merits of heavy weight exhibitors at the benefits at the Fives Court, and the sparring of Ned Neale, Young Dutch Sam, Tom Gaynor, &c., “The Deaf’un was transformed into a swell, but had not lost his civility, as do too many of his calling. He was never known to utter an oath or an offensive word to any one, and has established the character of a good-natured, well-meaning fellow.” Of how few men in most positions in life could this be written truly!

February 22nd, 1831, was the day, and Baldwin having won the toss for Davis, named Knowle Hill, near Maidenhead, the spot where he (White-headed Bob) beat George Cooper. Baldwin had forgotten that Sir Gilbert East had “departed this life,” and that his place was filled by an anti-millarian justice. Davis, with Arthur Matthewson and Perkins, the Oxford Pet, reached Maidenhead on Monday, and there also arrived Jem Burn, Reuben Marten, Burke, _cum multis aliis_. At an early hour Tom Oliver and Fogo were on the move to Knowle Hill with their _matériel_, when they spied three mounted men in the distance. “My mind misgives me sore. By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes!” quoth Fogo. The horsemen approached. “S’help me,” said Tom Oliver, “they’re beaks to a sartinty; I don’t like the Jerusalem cut of the first one.” And Tom was right. Up rode Sir Maurice Ximenes. “My good men,” said Sir Maurice, “if you don’t want to get into trouble you’ll clear out of both Berkshire and Wilts. Myself and these two gentlemen have determined to suffer no breach of the peace in our jurisdiction. Go back at once to your party and tell them so.” Tom

Scratched his left ear, the infallible resource To which most puzzled people have recourse.

“In course, yer worshup,” said the Commissary, “nobody would think of goin’ agenst yer worshup’s orders.” And he turned the head of his nag towards whence he came, muttering something very like a witch’s prayer for the Semitic nose and Israelitish carcase of his worship. All now were in motion for the Bush Inn, Staines, and, arrived there, Shepperton Range, in Co. Middlesex, was decided on. Burke, Reuben Marten, Stockman and company were on the ground in good time, but Davis was delayed by the overturning of his post-chaise between Windsor and Egham, through the clumsiness of his driver. It was, therefore, full two o’clock before he arrived, when no time was lost in preliminaries. Burke was seconded by Stockman and Reuben Marten, Davis by Harry Jones and Perkins. The colours being tied to the stake, and umpires and referee chosen, at the cry of “Fall back! Fall back!” and the crack of the ringkeepers’ whips, all settled themselves down, and the men began

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――Both men set to in good form, and covered their vulnerable points well. Davis looked brown, strong, and hardy, his trade of a coachsmith being one well calculated to promote muscular development. The Deaf’un was paler than usual, though he looked bright and confident. There was a sly looseness about the Deaf’un’s action that seemed intended to induce the Brum to go in. Davis tried a nobber with the left, but Burke got away smiling. More shifting and Davis let go his right at the Deaf’un’s ribs, and his left at his head; the former Burke caught on his elbow, the latter got home sharply, and exchanges followed. The Deaf’un broke away, counter-hits and a close, in which the Deaf’un gained the fall. A most determined first round, with as much fighting as half a dozen first rounds of our modern sparring professors.

2.――Davis bleeding from the nose and a cut on the left cheekbone. The Welshman got on a heavy smack on the Deaf’un’s eye, which twinkled and blinked again. Burke shook his head and hemm’d twice or thrice. “He don’t like it,” cried Harry Jones, “do it again.” Davis tried to do so, but was stopped neatly. Mutual stopping and shifting, until the Deaf’un balanced accounts by a straight’un on Davis’s left ogle that seemed to electrify him for the instant. Both men now got at it ding-dong. Davis staggered once or twice from the heavy hits, but recovered and went on again. At last Burke drove Davis into his corner and hit him down. (First knock down for the Deaf’un.)

3.――Davis flushed, but still strong, fresh, and active. Deaf’un hit short to draw his man, and then sent in a cross counter as Davis hit out with his left. A rally. Davis fought fast and furious; a close and Davis under in the fall.

4.――Heavy hitting and a bustling round. Jack as good as his master, and not a pin to choose. Towards the close Burke’s heavier metal told, and both were down, blowing; Davis undermost.

5.――Fast work and bellows to mend. A terrific round. Counter-hits; give and take and no mistake; Davis determined to get the lead, and Burke resisting his assaults like a brick wall. At last Davis closed, but after a brief struggle the Deaf’un flung him a clear cross-buttock, poor Davis’s legs whirling in the air like the revolving spokes of a coach wheel.

6.――Davis slow from his corner, but did not appear to be so much shaken by the last round as was expected. This was a very short bout. Davis retreated, and the Deaf’un went in; exchanges, and Davis down in his own corner.

7.――The Deaf’un, sly as a ’possum, would not go over the scratch, but kept throwing out first one elbow, then the other, with a funny little jerk, and looking his adversary all over with a kind of self-satisfied grin on his stoneware mug, as much as to say, “Let’s see what you are going to do next,” to which poor Davis certainly did not seem able to give any practical answer. He, too, shifted from side to side, then taking courage from despair, in he went, Burke jumping back from his first delivery, and each of their left hands coming “bash,” as a bystander expressed it, in the other’s face. Some more left-arm hitting, both men as game as pebbles, Burke’s broadsides the heavier, and poor Davis over on his beam ends.

8.――On being righted, and got once more on an even keel, Davis yawed and rolled not a little. Still the Deaf’un stood off, waiting for his opponent to make sail for close quarters, which he did, and again they were yardarm and yardarm. It was not for long; away fell Davis, reeling under the weight of the Deaf’un’s shot, and went over among the bottles in his own corner.

9.――It was surprising to see how readily Davis recovered from what appeared almost finishing hits. There was much advice-giving in Davis’s corner, and “Time” was more than once called before the Welshman was out of the hands of his seconds. The round was very short. Davis once again went in, and this time got on a stinger on the Deaf’un’s left ear, and a round one in the bread-basket. A scramble, and both down.

10.――Davis on the totter, but he steadied himself and got home his right on Burke’s body; good counter-hits. Davis got Burke on the ropes, but he extricated himself, and closing threw Davis.

11.――Davis hit short and stepped back. The Deaf’un did not follow. Some little time spent in sparring; both blown. At last the men got together, and Davis, finding he must do some hard fighting, went in hand over hand. Burke was with him and got him down in the hitting under the ropes. Burke walked to his corner while the Lively Kid performed a fancy step, leaving Reuben to make a knee. (Cries of “Take him away!” from the Londoners.)

12.――Davis came up all abroad. His knees seemed to shake under him. Still he steadied himself as well as he could, and hit out. Burke merely stepped in and hit him down with one, two.

13.――It was all over with Davis. He walked up to the scratch with an unsteady step, and stood there quite bewildered. The Deaf’un faced him. Some one in Davis’s corner cried “Don’t hit him!” The Deaf’un stepped over the scratch and caught hold of his right hand, Davis’s seconds rushed forward, received him in their arms, and conveyed him to his corner. Time, _twenty-seven minutes_.

REMARKS.――Burke is all to nothing the better fighter at points. The battle was never in doubt after the first few rounds. Experience, coolness, and readiness, and a good deal of work without much show, marked the Deaf’un’s tactics throughout. More than once he played off his favourite manœuvre with effect. This consists in throwing himself in a loose and careless attitude, and looking at his man’s feet, or anywhere but in his face, when, if his adversary takes the bait and comes in, he suddenly lets fly, and seldom fails to administer a couple of punishing blows, or at least a damaging counter-hit. David Davis, who, we learn, has a long time worked in London as a coachspring maker, and who beat Manning in the short space of 24 minutes on Wolverhampton race-course in December, 1828, has now been beaten by the Deaf’un in 27 minutes. The Brums were deceived by the reports of Bill Cosens, who never ceased disparaging the merits of the Deaf’un, whom he boasts of having “beaten easily,” though he has several times shuffled out of a second engagement with him. Davis returned to Birmingham on Wednesday week, after showing at the Deaf’un’s benefit, and the giving up of the stakes at Reuben Marten’s, on the following Tuesday. Davis’s chief visible hurts were these――injured left hand and discolouration of the eyes.

One Blissett, a 14-stone man, and a butcher by trade, having crept into favour with himself and his fraternity by some bye-battles, and defeating Brown (the Northampton Baker), was matched against the Deaf’un, not a few of the “kill-bull” brotherhood hoping to reverse the verdict in the case of Hands, who was still a popular favourite among them. In this affair the Deaf’un again posted the first “fiver,” this time out of his stake with Davis, whereon Tom Cannon, on the part of Mr. Hayne, promised the rest of the stake of £25, and the day of battle was fixed for the 26th of May. The betting began at 6 to 4 on the Deaf’un. Burke went into training at the “Crown,” at Holloway, and Blissett took his breathings at the “Black Horse,” Greenford Green. There was a good muster of the sporting public on the ground at Colney Heath, Blissett coming on the ground in style with a four-in-hand, sporting a crimson flag and black border, the Deaf’un a green-and-orange handkerchief. When stripped, Burke appeared in a fancy pair of white drawers of a glazed material, trimmed and bound with green ribbons, and tied with green bows at the knees, where they were joined by a pair of blue-and-white striped stockings. Blissett weighed 13st. 12lb., and stood 6ft; the Deaf’un 12st. 8lb., and stood 5ft. 8in.

THE FIGHT.

We shall give but a general sketch of the rounds of this one-sided affair. In the first round Blissett, who displayed more sparring ability than was expected, began by planting heavily on the Deaf’un’s eyebrow, which he cut, and thus gained the first event amidst the uproarious cheers of his admirers. Soon after, however, the scene was changed, for the Deaf’un, getting under his guard, gave him several such severe body blows, that the big one, who certainly carried too much flesh, literally staggered and caught the top rope with his hand, while the Deaf’un had his opponent’s head at his mercy, until, recovering himself, Blissett forced a wild rally, in which he bored the Deaf’un down, without doing much mischief. In the following rounds Blissett, who was already piping, tried to lead off, but generally either missed or was stopped, while the Deaf’un, every now and then, got in a rattling hit on the mouth, eyes, or nose, in pretty equal succession. Before the 10th round was reached, Burke had not only got his man down to his own weight, but forced The fighting, or the reverse, at his own will, getting slyly inside and under Blissett’s hands, and hitting up at half-arm with punishing effect. After two or three more rounds of furious and wild fighting on the part of Blissett, he fell off, and in the 13th round the Deaf’un closed, lifted him, and threw him heavily. In the 14th and 15th rounds Blissett, after receiving a prop or two, literally got down amidst some hissing. Despite Young Dutch Sam’s urging him on, the big one now fought shy; indeed he was frightfully punished about the head.

In the 17th and 18th rounds Blissett, after a hit or two, turned away and fell on his knees and hands; and when he fell in the 19th and last round from a coming blow, Sam threw up the sponge, and the Deaf’un was hailed the victor amidst loud cheering. Time, 44 minutes.

Blissett was conveyed back to town, and the Deaf’un, having dressed, assisted to beat out the ring for the next fight, in which Young Richmond (a smart bit of ebony only 18 years of age, son of the renowned old Bill), was defeated by the afterwards celebrated Jack Adams, a _protégé_ of Jem Burn.

Burke now laid by for a time, part of the interval from a boating accident, in which he badly injured the cap of his knees, which detained him in a hospital for several weeks. That this was serious we may conclude from the fact, that the writer was more than once told by the Deaf’un, in after years, that, “Though you can’t see nothing, misters, I often feels my leg go all of a suddent.” There was, in fact, a partial anchylosis, or stiffening of the joint.

In May, 1832, at a dinner at Tom Cribb’s, in Panton Street, Spring, the ex-champion, Josh Hudson, Ned Neale, Jem Burn (his old antagonist, Ned Baldwin, had just dropped the reins and quitted his box at the “Coach and Horses,” St. Martin’s Lane), and other leading pugilists were present. The after-dinner conversation, of course, ran on the past exploits and future prospects of the Ring. The remarkable group of pugilists――which included Jem Ward, Peter Crawley, Jem Burn, Ned Baldwin (White-headed Bob), Shelton, Tom Cannon, Ned Neale, Young Dutch Sam, Alec Reid, and Bishop Sharpe, the successors of Tom Spring, Langan, Bill Neale, Ned Painter, Josh Hudson, Oliver, and Hickman――had, before 1832, each fought his last fight, and “the slate” was positively clear of any engagements among the “heavies.” Among the guests was a cavalry officer, whose regiment being ordered for India (“short service” and “home leave on urgent private affairs” were not then in fashion), expressed his regret to jolly Josh Hudson, that he believed the race of “big ’uns” was extinct, and that he should “never see the like again” of those present. Josh, of course, coincided, but when the soldier added, that he would gladly give “a note with a strawberry-tart corner” to see such a mill, old Jack Carter, who had come in with the dessert, “put in his spoke,” and asked Josh whether he couldn’t “find him a job,” as he was ready and willing, and felt himself man enough for any second-rater who would make a good fight for a little money. Jack added that he had only the day before seen Burke rowing at Woolwich, being well of his bad knee, and complaining of the “deadness” of everything, and that they had come up to town together.

“Where there’s a will there’s a way.” The soldier had no time to spare, and was prompt; the men promised to be at the “Old Barge House,” Woolwich, on the morning of the 8th of May, meeting on the previous day at Josh’s “Half-Moon” tap, to make final arrangements. Tom Oliver, who was present, was officially engaged, also Jack Clarke; Dick Curtis and Frank Redmond volunteered to pick up the Deaf’un, and all was smoothly settled.

There was a select muster, with an unusual sprinkling of swells, on that pleasant morning of the merry month of May in the Woolwich Marshes, near the “Old Barge House,” round the newly painted stakes and a new set of ropes, &c., recently presented to Tom Oliver by the F.P.C. (Fair Play Club), through the hands of Tom Belcher. The men were punctual. Carter was waited on by Barney Aaron and Sol. Reubens (who had lately fought Tom Smith, the East End Sailor Boy). Old Jack certainly looked “hard,” and also, as Barney added, “brown and stale, like a well-kept loaf.” He, however, stripped “big,” and showed the outlines of the once boasted “Lancashire hero,” the opponent of Spring, Richmond, Cribb (in a turn-up), Shelton, and Jem Ward. He was neatly got up, but showing unmistakable marks of age, as well he might, for Jack was now entering his 43rd summer, having been born in September, 1789. The Deaf’un, too, was in good trim, deducting the ugly defect of a stiff knee――a serious drawback when opposed to length, weight, and height. Of these, however, the cheerful Deaf’un made no account, and was as lively and quaint as a Merry Andrew, in his grotesque green and yellow kickseys, and striped coverings of his sturdy pedestals.

The fight, though displaying courage, offered little in the way of science. For the first four rounds Carter bored in and drove the Deaf’un against the ropes, where he tried in vain to hold him for a “hug,” the Deaf’un hitting up sharply to the damage of Carter’s figure-head, and then getting through his hands with little damage. The Deaf’un was certainly out of order somewhere in the victualling department, for towards the middle of the short fight he retched and was violently sick from his exertions in a throw. This revived the hopes of the Carter party, against whom the game was evidently going. It was, however, but a passing gleam; the Deaf’un shook off his qualms of indigestion, rattled in without standing for any repairs, old Jack became stiff as a wooden image, then groggy as a sailor three sheets in the wind, and finally, at the end of the 11th round, went down “all of a heap,” and declared he “could fight no more,” at which conclusion it took him only 25 minutes to arrive.

The ring cleared, Josh announced to his patron that he had, foreseeing that the big ’uns might, one or the other, “come short,” provided an after-piece, by then and there getting off a “little go;” said “little go” being the match between Izzy Lazarus[15] and Jem Brown (the go-cart man). This was indeed a rattling and active fight, until, after an hour’s sharp milling, in which capital “points” were made by both men, the Thames police landed from their galleys and compelled a move, at the same time informing them that “it was no use crossing the river, as they should follow them up or down, either to the City-stone at Staines, or to Yantlet Creek.” In this hopeless state of affairs it was proposed to divide the original £10 stakes and the added purse, which was assented to by the Napoleon, of Go-cart men, and his Israelitish opponent, who had had, no doubt, quite enough of each other “at the prishe.” The “swell” division bowled back to the great metrop., well pleased with their day’s outing, though the drop fell rather suddenly on the second pugilistic performance.

The Deaf’un for some months confined himself to the business of an exhibitor and teacher of the art, superintending the sparring rooms at the “Coach and Horses,” and demonstrating at Reuben Marten’s on certain nights in the week. He might also always be depended on (which many men not so good as he were not) to lend a hand in aid of any poor pug in distress or difficulty.

Towards the close of 1832 the Deaf’un formed part of a professional party (organised by his late opponent Jack Carter), who visited Manchester, Liverpool, Bradford, and other towns, to enlighten the Lancashire and Yorkshire tykes upon the true principles and manly practices of the art of self-defence, as taught in the best schools of boxing. These milling missionaries――we have seen less laudable missions since that day――of course awakened more or less a “revival” of “fair play,” the study of the gloves, and the legitimate use of the fist among both the “upper” and “lower” orders. While at Hull an immense specimen of a gigantic North countryman, of the name of Macone, having had “a try with the gloves,” thought “he could lick any of these Lunnoners except Jock (Carter) and he was too old to talk aboot.” The Deaf’un thought quite differently; so £20 a side was put down, and, with only a few days’ training, Macone and the Deaf’un faced each other at Lackington Bottom, near Beverley, on the 8th January, 1833. “Macone,” says the meagre report of the battle, “stood 6 feet 2 inches, and weighed 15 stone, and had polished off several big yokels in first-rate style. The Yorkshireman was in first-rate condition, while the Deaf’un was generally thought not quite up to the mark. He weighed 13 stone (a little too heavy) and stood 5 foot 8.” Of the battle we have scanty particulars, yet the reporter adds, “it was such a fight as would not have disgraced the days of Cribb and Belcher. Burke had to do all he knew to obtain a victory over his large opponent, who turned out the bravest of the brave, and took his gruel without a murmur, until he could no more stand up to receive.”

We have here, for the sake of keeping the chronological order of the Deaf’un’s fights, followed on with his “crowning triumph” over the mighty but unskilful Macone, and shall here “hark back” a few months, just to show how ready Jem Burke was to “negotiate” with any boxer who might be “getting mouldy for want of a bating.” His old adversary Cosens appears to have thought that the Deaf’un’s accident had laid him “on the shelf,” for he kept from time to time firing off challenges, in Pierce Egan’s and other sporting papers. Here is one of them, which certainly savours of “gag,” especially as the writer was then upon a sparring tour, and in the same paper advertises a “benefit” at Brighton:――

“The Editor of _Life in London_.

“SIR,――I wish to inform Deaf Burke, as he takes upon himself the ‘Championship of England,’ that I am ready to fight him again. Should he think proper to do so, I will meet him at the ‘Wheatsheaf Inn,’ Chichester, within a fortnight, and make a match for £50 a side, to come off within one or two months, as he may prefer.

“Hunston, January 24, 1832. WM. COSENS.”

Immediately beneath this epistle we read as follows:――

“SIR,――I understand that Josh Hudson sent something like a challenge to me in your paper last Sunday. If he means fighting I will meet him at the ‘Coach and Horses,’ St. Martin’s Lane, on Monday evening next, for from fifty to one hundred a side.

“St. Martin’s Lane, May 22, 1832. JAMES BURKE.”

This affair of Hudson’s was a mere “flash-in-the-pan.” Josh’s day was decidedly gone by, while the Deaf’un, whose birth dated but five years previous to Josh’s first ring-fight, was in the prime of youthful strength and vigour.

Another of Burke’s challengers at this time, a Welshman of the name of Bill Charles, “loomed large” in the Principality and the West of England. He had twice beaten Jem Bailey, of Bristol, and polished off several rural commoners, and recently (June 4, 1832) conquered a local favourite, Tom Trainer (much under his own weight). From this triumph the _soi disant_ champion’s bounce became so intolerable that Trainer’s friends clubbed their resources, and resolved to back the Deaf’un, as a fit and proper man, a very _Orlando_, to floor this braggart _Charles_; but unfortunately this portion of _As You Like It_ was not rehearsed in Taffy-land, the “Lunnon cove” not being to the liking of Charles’s friends. Burke went down to Newport (Monmouthshire) to make the match; but the Welshman’s backers (like Aminadab’s servant when he opened the door, on the chain, to the bailiff) seem to have taken alarm at the formidable appearance of the Deaf’un, and Mr. Charles replied, on behalf of his patron, “Master hath seen thee and he doth not like thee;” preferring to forfeit a small deposit. Burke offered to fight “the Welsh Champion” half-way between Abergavenny and Newport, or near Bristol, or at Monmouth Gap, for £50 or £100 a side, but the affair went off, and Burke returned to London――matchless.

On the retirement of Ward from the Championship, among the crowd of pretenders to the title, the Deaf’un certainly had the fairest claim, having fought his way up, refusing no opponent, and disposing of every competitor, save one, and he afterwards declined to risk a repetition of the contest, upon transparent quibbles.

At a meeting at Tom Spring’s, in a pugilistic palaver, wherein matches were discussed, examined, and the _pros_ and _cons_ agreed and decided on, the Deaf’un, in his peculiar style, suggested, that he would like a match with Young Dutch Sam, “becos he was so clevers,” or Simon Byrne, “becos he was big enoughs,” or, in fact, with anybody that “tought himselfs champions.” At first Young Sam seemed disposed to take up the glove, but on reflection he said, “Burke was too heavy for him by more than a stone and a half. That was giving too much away.” Shortly afterwards a well-known Irish Colonel coming in, declared his readiness to back Byrne against the challenger, and a meeting was appointed for the following Tuesday at Spring’s. On the day named Simon’s “needful” was tabled; but alas! the poor Deaf’un was obliged to acknowledge his failure in enlisting any kind friend to back him, as “they were all out of towns when he called on ’em. But,” continued he, “to shows as I means fightins there’s a soverins of my owns to begins with――let Byrne’s friends cover thats, and on Thursday week I hopes I’ll make it tens, an if not――why, I’m de fools.” Two gentlemen present, admiring Burke’s pluck, added a sovereign each, making three, which were covered by Spring for Byrne. _Bell’s Life_, speaking of this meeting, says: “It is to be hoped that Burke will not lack supporters; he may not possess the gift of the gab, but he wants none of the requisites of a British boxer; he is honest, brave, and confident; and from his past good character, as well as the prompt humanity he lately showed in rescuing fellow-creatures from danger at the risk of his own life (we allude to his saving two children, who were buried in the ruins of some houses in Essex Street, Strand), it would be discreditable to see such a man lost for a trifle. It is always in the power of many to assist one, and here is an opportunity for those who wish to patronise the old British game of boxing upon honest principles which should not be overlooked.” The week after this appeal Burke found his friends (he did not call upon those who were “out of town,” he told us), and the match was made for £100 a side, to come off on the 30th May, 1833.

A singular circumstance occurred to the Deaf’un on his way home from Spring’s on the night when the occurrences took place which led to this anecdote of Burke’s good qualities. A fire was raging in Long Acre, in a poor and populous neighbourhood, at which Burke especially distinguished himself, and was honourably mentioned for his courageous exertions, rescuing a great deal of humble property at no small personal peril.

As we propose to give but a brief sketch of the ring career of Simon Byrne, as a pendant to the present memoir, we shall not here break the thread of our story, but proceed at once to the details of this unfortunate contest.

“The Irish Champion” was backed on this occasion by “all the talent.” Jem Ward, Ned Neale, Tom Spring, and Jem Burn were, to use a professional phrase, “behind him,” and he had at his command all that money and skill could do for him. On arriving in town from Liverpool, Simon’s weight exceeded 15 stone, and this mountain of flesh he had to reduce and did reduce to 13st. 4lbs. With this view he was at once sent off to Ned Neale’s, at Norwood, and, under his skilful superintendence, by hard work and sweating, this reduction was effected; but not, we are convinced, without impairing his natural stamina, for Byrne’s habits in Ireland were, so said rumour, far from abstemious. Burke, on the contrary――for the Deaf’un was never a slave to liquor――had only to improve his condition by good air, sound food, and healthful exercise, of which he took at Northfleet, under the eye of the veteran Tom Owen, a full share both on and off the water, much of his time being spent in rowing. Burke on the morning of fighting weighed 12st. 4lbs., the weight which Captain Barclay declared, when combined with science, to be heavy enough to box Goliath himself. We ought not to omit that Tom Gaynor generously took Burke under his wing, and guaranteed his training and personal expenses.

No Man’s Land was fixed upon for the battle, in consequence of an undertaking on the part of Mr. Coleman, of the Turf Tavern, St. Alban’s, to raise £25, to be equally divided between the men. On Wednesday evening, May 29th, the night before fighting, both men reached St. Alban’s in good spirits, and both confident as to the result. Burke was the favourite in the betting, as he had been, more or less, since the match was made; the odds varying between 5 to 4 and guineas to pounds. The arrivals at St. Alban’s were not numerous on Wednesday, but on Thursday morning there was unusual bustle, and as the day advanced the crowd of vehicles was such as to recall the olden times of the ring. The piece of turf chosen for the encounter was smooth as a bowling-green; in fact, nothing could have been more suitable to the purpose, or better calculated to have afforded a good view of the contest, but for the irregularity which prevailed among the throng, who, in spite of all entreaty, crowded round the ropes and stakes during the battle, and, by the most disgraceful confusion, not only shut out the view of the combatants, but distracted the attention and excited the fears of the spectators by a succession of fights and squabbles. The men arrived on the ground soon after 12 o’clock. The Deaf’un was all jollity, and full of antics, having disfigured his Grimaldi countenance with white patches, for the amusement of the yokels, at whom he kept making wry faces all the way from his quarters; in fact, had he been going to a fair instead of into the P.R. he could not have been in higher spirits. Byrne was more staid, but still was cheerful. He was the first to enter the ring, attended by Tom Spring and Jem Ward; he was loudly cheered. Burke soon followed, accompanied by Tom Gaynor and Dick Curtis, and was received with equal marks of favour. A good deal of time was lost in settling preliminaries, during which the Deaf’un continued his playful tricks, much to the astonishment of Byrne, who exclaimed he did “not think the man was in his right sinses.”

On stripping, it was obvious that Burke, in point of muscularity, was decidedly superior to Byrne, especially in the arms and shoulders; he was also in the best condition. Byrne looked well, but there was a softness about his shoulder-blades which showed he was still too fleshy. He stood about an inch and a half over Burke, but, nevertheless, did not seem to have much advantage in the reach; upon the whole, the connoisseurs gave the preference to the Deaf’un, who was health personified. The men were conducted to the scratch at about half-past one, and immediately commenced

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――Both threw themselves into defensive positions; the Deaf’un grinning most confidently, and slyly looking at his antagonist. Byrne made one or two feints to draw his man, but Burke waited steadily for him. They then changed their ground. Byrne again made a feint, and after the lapse of some time, both cautious, Byrne let fly with his left. Burke countered heavily, and caught Byrne on the mouth, while he had it himself on the nose. Burke snuffled, and Byrne cried “First blood.” “No,” said Burke, and wiping his finger on his nose, withdrew it unstained. Another short dodging pause, when Byrne again let go his left, which dropped on the old spot; while Burke as quickly returned on the mouth; and again did the cry of “first blood” resound from all quarters; and, on inspection, the crimson was seen on Byrne’s lips, and on Burke’s proboscis, at one and the same moment. First blood was claimed for Burke, but disputed; and we understand the umpires and the referee decided it was a tie――giving neither the advantage. Some good counter hits with the left followed, and in the close, after an awkward scramble, both went down, without any decided advantage. On getting up both showed claret, Byrne from the nose and mouth, and Burke from the nose. Burke also showed the mark of a hit on the right brow.

2.――Long sparring. Burke waiting for Byrne to begin, being well on his guard. Both offered, but did not strike. At last Byrne popped in his left on Burke’s mouth, while Burke’s left, in the counter, went over his shoulder. Burke looked slyly down at Byrne’s body, as if intending to make his next hit there, but stealing a march, he threw in his left on Byrne’s mouth. Byrne was, however, awake, and countered. Mutual dodging. Burke stopped Byrne’s left cleverly; and after more sparring, Burke exclaimed, “Isn’t this beautiful, Simons?” while Gaynor said “his man was certain to win, and should be backed against any man in England.” Burke tried his right, but missed, and the men rushed to a rally. Heavy hitting took place, and in the close Byrne had the advantage, giving the Deaf’un the crook, and falling heavily on him, but on getting up it was obvious the hitting was on a par, as both had received some ugly clouts. These two rounds occupied 17 minutes.

3.――Burke stopped Byrne’s left in good style, and waited for the renewed attack. Both cautious. Burke again stopped a left-handed stinger, and succeeded in throwing in his own left on Byrne’s mouth. This brought them to a rally, and the hitting left and right was lively and pretty. In the close there was some good in-fighting in favour of Byrne, but in the struggle for the throw both went down slovenly, Burke under.

4.――Counter-hits with the left, when Byrne threw in a tremendous whack with his right on the back of Burke’s head; had it been in front the effect might have been conclusive. Burke, at the same moment, caught him in the ribs with his right. A rally followed, in which hits were exchanged; and, in the close, Burke was thrown. On getting up, both showed additional claret from their smellers, and Byrne had evidently had a refresher on his left ogle.

5.――A good rally, commencing with left-handed counters; both napped it. Byrne stepped back, and as Burke came he gave him the upper-cut with his right, and closing threw him heavily. Loud shouts for Byrne; and Jem Ward asked the Deaf’un how he liked that. The Deaf’un laughed, and shook his head, observing, “Very good, Misters.”

6.――The knuckle of Byrne’s right hand now began to swell――the consequence of its terrific contact with the Deaf’un’s canister in the fourth round. Pretty counter-hits with the left, ending in a rally, in which both hit away left and right. In stepping back from his own blow, Burke fell on his corobungus, and first knock-down was claimed, but not allowed, as it was clearly a slip.

7.――Counter-hitting with the left. Burke again made some pretty stops. The men fought in a rally to the corner, where Byrne caught Burke under his arm, and fibbed, but not effectively, and ultimately threw him, falling heavily on his _corpus_. “He can do nothing but throw,” cried Curtis; and the Deaf’un was up, and as jolly as ever.

8.――Heavy slaps, right and left; both had it on the nob. Burke was driven against the ropes, and Byrne fought well in. Burke butted,[16] and in the end got down, Byrne on him.

9.――Both cautious. Byrne again trying the feint, but Burke well on his guard. At last Byrne let fly his left, but Burke was with him, and returned it heavily. In the close, Byrne tried for the throw, when Burke hung by his arms round his neck. At last Byrne hit him a tremendous blow with his right on the body, and they both went down together.

10.――Both resined their hands,[17] and set-to as fresh as daisies. Byrne dropped in a slight muzzler with his left, which was followed by counter-hitting, and a severe rally. Byrne missed a terrific upper-cut, which would have told a fearful tale, and fell. Both exhibited considerable marks of punishment on getting on their seconds’ knees.

11.――Short counter-hitting with the left, followed by a determined rally, in which the nobbers left and right were severe. In the close Byrne down.

12.――Burke threw in a stinging hit with his right on Byrne’s ribs. A weaving rally followed, which was concluded by Byrne’s getting down, amidst the jeers of the Deaf’un’s friends.

13.――Byrne popped in his left. Burke tried to counter, but missed. A wild rally, in which Burke was driven to the corner of the ring, and fell; Byrne tumbling on him with his knee, it was said, in a tender place, whether designedly or not we could not judge.

14.――Byrne had a suck at the brandy-bottle before he commenced; when the Deaf’un rattled in, and gave him a heavy round hit with the right on the body, and went down from the force of his own blow.

15.――Counter-hitting with the left. Burke active on his pins. Byrne missed a right-handed hit, and fell, we suspect rather from design than accident.

16.――Burke popped in his left and right, two stinging hits. Byrne returned with the left, closed, and threw him.

17.――Burke now had recourse to “drops of brandy,” and Byrne, who had shown symptoms of distress, seemed to have got fresher. Counter-hitting with the left, both catching it on the chops, and showing more pink. A short rally. Byrne fought well in; and in the close, both down, the Deaf’un under.

18.――The fight had now lasted 45 minutes. Long sparring, and both slow in their operations. Burke, in his usual cunning manner, looked down as if studying the movements of Byrne’s feet, and popped in a whack with the left on his body; a manœuvre which he tried a second time, with equal success, with his right on the ribs. Burke stopped a left-handed hit, but caught another nasty one from Byrne’s right on the neck; it was a round hit, and missed the butt of the ear, for which it was intended. A short rally; when Byrne tried for the fall, but in swinging round was himself thrown.

19.――Burke showed feverish symptoms in his mouth, which was extremely dry. Long sparring, and pretty stops on both sides. Burke threw in a heavy smasher with his left on Byrne’s mouth, and followed it with tremendous heavy hit with his right on the ear. Byrne made a rejoinder with his left on the Deaf’un’s nose, and turned quickly round on his heel. “How do you like that?” cried Ward. Both ready, and on their guard; Burke evidently waiting for Byrne to commence; but incautiously putting down his hands to wipe them on his drawers, Byrne, as quick as lightning, popped in a snorter. Loud laughter at Burke’s expense. Burke rushed to a rally, and some severe hitting right and left followed, Byrne receiving a cut over his left eye. Byrne administered the upper-cut, and in the close, went down.

20.――One hour and 20 minutes had now elapsed. Counter-hitting with the left, but not much execution done. In the close, both down. Byrne’s right hand seemed to be of little use to him.

The same style of fighting was persevered in, with little advantage on either side, till the 27th round, by which time one hour and 47 minutes had elapsed; and the crowd had so completely closed in round the ropes as to prevent the distant spectators from witnessing the progress of the fight.

In the 27th round, after counter-hits with the left on both sides, at the head, Burke popped his left heavily on Byrne’s body. Byrne rushed to a rally, and Burke, retreating to the ropes, received a heavy hit in the head, which dropped him. The first knock-down was here universally admitted.

In the 29th round Burke was thrown heavily, his head coming with tremendous force on the ground; and in the 30th, Byrne, catching him against the ropes, gave him some severe body blows with the right, and finally threw him. While lying on his face, Burke was sick, and threw up some blood; his friends looked blue.

31.――Burke came up weak, and rather groggy. Byrne rushed in, and hit him heavily on the ribs, and in the close again threw him. Byrne now became a decided favourite, and was evidently the fresher man.

In the 35th round, two hours having elapsed, Byrne again caught Burke at the ropes, and in the in-fighting, gave him some severe punishment, while Burke butted. Burke thrown.

36.――Byrne pursued the same system of boring his opponent to the ropes, and peppered at him while in that position. In trying for the fall, Byrne held Burke up by the neck for some time, trying to fib with his right, but not effectively; but at last Ward gave him the office, and he let him go, falling heavily upon him.

37.――Burke sick, but still resolute. From this to the 43rd round Byrne seemed to have it his own way, and Burke was so much distressed that his friends began to despair of success. Tom Cannon now jumped into the ring, followed by several others, and considerable confusion prevailed. Cannon had been backing Burke, and evidently came to urge him to renewed exertion. He loudly exclaimed, “Get up and fight, Deaf’un; do you mean to make a cross of it?” A person who was equally interested on the other side struck at Cannon, and ultimately got him outside the ropes. In the interim, Burke went to work, bored Simon down against the ropes, but fell outside himself, while Simon was picked up within the ring.

In the five following rounds both fought in a wild and scrambling manner, equally exhausting to each; and in the 49th round, Burke, who had summoned all his remaining strength, rattled away with such fury that Simon at last went down weak. Here was another change, and Burke again became the favourite. From thenceforth to the 99th round, repeated changes took place. On one occasion the hat was actually thrown up to announce Byrne’s Victory, from the impression that Burke was deaf to time, as he lay, apparently, in a state of stupor; but, to the surprise of all, Curtis again brought his man to the scratch, and he renewed the contest with unshaken courage. From the state of Byrne’s hands, which were dreadfully puffed, he was unable to administer a punishing blow; and round after round the men were brought up, surrounded by their partisans, who crowded the arena, and by sprinkling them with water, fanning them with their hats, and other expedients, endeavoured to renew their vigour. To attempt a description of each round, from the uproar which prevailed, would be impossible. Burke, whenever placed before his man, hit away right and left, at the body and head, and always seemed to have a good hit at him, although his left hand was almost invariably open. In the 91st round Simon gave him a heavy fall, and fell upon him; and it was here considered that the Deaf’un’s chances were almost beyond a hope. Still he continued to come up at the call of his seconds, and each round exhibited a determined display of manly milling; both hit away with resolution, and the men were alternately uppermost. At last, in the 93rd round, Byrne exhibited such symptoms of exhaustion that the shouts of the friends of Burke cheered him to fresh exertion, and, rushing in wildly, he hit Byrne down, and fell over him. This made such a decided change for the worse in Simon, and for the six following rounds he came up so groggy, that he was scarcely able to stand, and rolled before the Deaf’un like a ship in a storm. Bad as he was, he continued to meet the Deaf’un with his left, and to do all that nature would permit. Burke, however, proved himself to have the better constitution, and continued to pepper away till the last round, when Byrne fell senseless, and was incapable of being again lifted on his legs. Burke, who was also in the last stage of exhaustion, was immediately hailed as the conqueror, amidst the reiterated cheers of his friends. The fight lasted exactly 3 hours and 16 minutes and at its conclusion, Gaynor proclaimed that Burke was “Champion of England.” Ward, who was in the ring attending to Byrne, exclaimed “Walker,” but whether he means to dispute Burke’s claim to that distinction remains to be seen. Byrne was carried to his vehicle, while Burke, with difficulty, was able to walk from the ring. The scene that prevailed in the ring for the last hour was disgraceful, and shut out from the spectators a view of the most part of the fight. It would be difficult to say which side was most to blame, for in fact each man had his party, who were equally busy in their interference. It is but justice, however, to say that the men themselves received fair play, and that there was nothing done towards them which called for censure.

REMARKS.――Upon the character of this protracted fight we have few observations to make. The length of time which two men of such size continued to attack each other, and to pour in a succession of blows, without any decided effect, proves that, as compared with the olden members of the ring, they did not possess those punishing qualities which are essential to an accomplished boxer; and that they have earned little of that admiration which, in former times, was excited by the slashing execution of big men. Burke evidently possessed more cunning than Byrne, and often took him by surprise by threatening the body when he meant the head, and _vice versa_. The early injury to Byrne’s right hand was a decided disadvantage, and had he fought more at the body, from Burke’s sickness, it was considered the result might have been different. Taking the battle as a whole, however, it certainly entitled the men to the greatest praise, and placed them on record as boxers of the highest courage and extraordinary powers of receiving. But for the disorder which prevailed, we have no doubt the contest would have elicited universal astonishment, especially towards the finish, when the adversaries rushed to each other repeatedly, and hit away with unshrinking courage and perseverance, never going down without a mutual dose of pepper. As the battle drew toward a close, Byrne missed many of his left-handed counters, and in the 98th round received such a stinging hit with the right on his temple, that on coming up for the last time, it was clear his chances were gone by. The Deaf’un rushed in to finish, and, being still “himself,” had only to hit out and end his extraordinary labours.

The men, after the fight, were re-conducted to their respective quarters at St. Alban’s, and were both put to bed. Byrne was bled by a surgeon, but continued in a state of stupor. His punishment seemed to have been severest on the left side of the head; his left eye was completely closed, while his mouth and face generally were much swollen. In the body, too, there had been many blows, especially on his left side. He received every possible attention, and a gentleman who had been extremely kind to him in his training remained with him the whole night. Burke was by no means so great a sufferer, although he bore severe marks of hitting, and his arms, from the shoulders to the wrists, were black with stopping. To his heavy falls his sickness was principally attributed. As a proof that he was “all right,” as he said, after lying in bed a few hours, he got up and dressed, and went to town the same night, and showed at Tom Gaynor’s, where he received the congratulations of his friends, and talked of throwing down the gauntlet to all England as soon as he recovered.

In the same paper we find that poor Byrne’s state had become very precarious on the day after the fight; that his head had been shaved, and leeches applied to the bruised parts. It was thought by his friends that his mind was deeply affected by his defeat, and that he suffered as much from this feeling as from bodily injuries. On the Saturday night intelligence was received in town that the poor fellow was much better, and it was hoped out of danger, but these hopes, unfortunately, were not destined to be realised, for we find in the next number of _Bell’s Life_, the following remarks:――“Poor Simon, on the Saturday after the mill, became so much better that he was apparently quite himself, and expressed his thanks for the attentions he had received. He said, ‘if he died, of which he had a presentiment, his death would be more attributable to the irregularity of his mode of life before he went into training, than to any injury sustained in the fight.’ His mind, however, was evidently deeply affected by his defeat, and he frequently declared he would rather have died than been beaten; and, indeed, such was his increasing nervous agitation, that in the course of the evening he again relapsed into insensibility, from which he did not afterwards recover. On Sunday morning an express was sent off to London for Spring, who had been called to town on business. He immediately obeyed the summons, and on arriving at St. Alban’s, and finding the precarious state in which Byrne was, at once sent for Sir Astley Cooper, who humanely proceeded without delay to the house where Byrne lay, and entered into consultation with the gentleman who was in attendance. Sir Astley at once saw that the case was hopeless. He, however, administered such remedies as he thought best, and remained with the poor fellow until his death, which took place at half-past eight in the evening. It was believed by both medical men that the symptoms of the unfortunate man were aggravated by his depressed state of mind at his defeat. There was also a strong belief that the reflection of his having been instrumental to the death of Sandy M’Kay also preyed upon his spirits, as he expressed a presentiment of his own death. From the first moment of his entering the ring, it was observable that his countenance wore an aspect of deep care and thought, and when Burke was distressed, he regarded him with evident feelings of commiseration. While he fought with manly courage, and never shrank from danger, it was clear he was not following the suggestions of his nature. He was not, in fact, a quarrelsome man, but on the contrary, seemed animated by the most kindly disposition, and was alike mild in his manner and his language. Burke, also, although a rough, unpolished man, evidently had no feeling of animosity towards his unfortunate antagonist; the only object he had in view was to obtain victory. In fact, no two men ever entered the ring whose sentiments towards each other were so thoroughly devoid of malice, and whose object was so entirely wrapped up in the desire of fame; the one being influenced by a wish to wipe out the prejudices excited most unjustly from a former defeat, and the latter by anxiety to excel in a profession which from his boyhood was the darling object of his ambition. With all his roughness, however, Burke has given traits of an excellent disposition he has on more than one occasion risked his own life to save the lives of others. He is also strictly honest and sober, and altogether his character stands so high that this alone has led to his obtaining backers.”

The inquest was held on Byrne on the Monday after the fight, before Mr. Blagg. Some of the witnesses deposed that the men were often carried to the scratch; and that towards the conclusion of the battle they did not think they could have gone up alone.[18]

Mr. Kingston, a surgeon of St. Alban’s, who attended the deceased, stated that he bled him, and applied leeches to his head; that there was concussion of the brain, but that the deceased was occasionally sensible. Witness attended him constantly until his death. On a _post mortem_ examination he found a great deal of extravasated blood about the left side of the head. The brain and dura mater were also distended with blood. The heart, liver, and intestines were perfectly healthy. Deceased was a fine, muscular man, and witness attributed his death to the congested state of the brain, combined with prolonged and violent exertions, and the mental suffering under defeat.

The Coroner: “Then deceased came by his death from the blows?”――Witness: “In my opinion, had the deceased been the victor instead of the beaten party there would have been a chance of his recovery. There was not sufficient injury on the head to account for death.” The Coroner attempted to find out the names of the time-keeper and referee, but without avail, and at length summed up, and the jury returned a verdict of “Manslaughter against Deaf Burke as principal in the first degree, and Tom Spring, Jem Ward, Dick Curtis, and Tom Gaynor, and the umpires and referee as principals in the second degree.” The coroner then made out his warrant for the committal of the parties against whom the verdict was returned.

The body of poor Simon was buried at St. Alban’s, on the Tuesday after the inquest. He was 32 years of age. An appeal was made by the Editor of _Bell’s Life in London_ for the poor fellow’s widow, which was headed by himself with five guineas, and to this, the same week, the Deaf’un, Spring, Ward, Gaynor, and Curtis each added a similar sum, and in a very short time the sum of £262 was raised for the unfortunate woman.

THE TRIAL.――On Thursday, July 11th, 1833, the trial of Spring, Ward, Gaynor, Curtis, and the Deaf’un took place at Hertford Assizes. On the previous day, when Mr. Justice Bailey charged the Grand Jury, he alluded to the case in a humane and impartial manner, and the Grand Jury found a true bill against all the parties concerned. On the Thursday morning, Burke and Dick Curtis, who had surrendered, were put to the bar before Mr. Justice Park, and pleaded not guilty. As Spring and the other two accused did not surrender at first, the trial of these men was proceeded with. Witnesses were first called who proved that the fight had taken place, after which Mr. Kingston, the surgeon who had attended Byrne up to the time of his death, was examined. He described the _post mortem_ examination, and the appearance of the body, in similar terms to those which he had used before the Coroner. He next said the fulness of the vessels of the brain might be caused in various ways, by blows, or falls, or excitement. After three hours’ fighting such an appearance might be produced; the exertion might have caused it without a blow. He did not find the vessels of the brain more distended where the bruises were than in the other parts; the cause of death was the congested state of the brain.

Examined by Mr. Justice Park: “Then, finding the vessels in the same congested state all over the head, as you have described, should you attribute that appearance more to general exertion than to blows or external violence?”――Witness: “The exertion the deceased underwent would have been sufficient of itself to have caused this appearance. I cannot say that the blows he received were the cause of death, either in the whole or in part. That was the conclusion to which I came on the _post mortem_ examination.”

Mr. Justice Park, after hearing this statement, addressed the jury, and said, “Gentlemen, that makes an end of the case. The indictment charges that death was occasioned by blows and violence, whereas it appears the deceased died from other causes. The prisoners, therefore, must be acquitted.” The jury immediately returned a verdict of “Not guilty,” and Burke and Curtis were discharged from custody. Messengers were then despatched to inform Spring, Ward, and Gaynor of the result, and they then surrendered and were placed at the bar. No evidence, however, was offered against them, and a verdict of “Not guilty” relieved them from their anxiety.

On the Thursday following the trial, a congratulatory dinner took place at Tom Spring’s, at which a subscription was commenced towards defraying the expenses of the defence. At the suggestion of a gentleman who presided, a subscription was also opened, which, in a short period, amounted to the sum of 100 guineas, for the purpose of presenting a service of plate to the Editor of _Bell’s Life in London_, as a token of the respect in which he was held, not only by the men who had recently undergone their trial, and whose defence he had conducted, but also for the manner in which he invariably advocated the cause of fair play, and had always been foremost in the cause of the distressed, the fatherless, and the widow. The service of plate was presented to Mr. Dowling at a subsequent meeting at Tom Spring’s.

Soon after the termination of the proceedings against Burke, a challenge appeared in the Dublin and London papers from O’Rourke, “Champion of Ireland,” for a meeting on the Curragh of Kildare; but Burke’s friends properly objected at such a juncture to his fighting in Ireland, the match therefore dropped.

In July a renewed proposal from Young Dutch Sam to fight the Deaf’un for £500 a side was made over a sporting dinner at Spring’s, and £5 there and then posted; the battle to come off within a twelvemonth. This ended in talk and a forfeit, as the Deaf’un could not raise such a sum.

In the month of September, 1833, the air was filled with challenges, which fell “thick as the autumn leaves in Vallombrosa;” among them one from some “gentlemen,” who were ready to back an “Unknown, to be named at the last deposit, against any man in the world,” for £500 to £1,000 a side. Whereupon Jem Ward accepting the proposal for £500, and declaring his readiness to make the match, the challengers were silent, and the “Unknown” remained thenceforth unseen and unheard of.

In September, 1833, a paragraph appeared in London and provincial papers, to the effect that Deaf Burke would persist in his claim to the Championship, whereon Ward wrote as follows:――

“_To the Editor of_ ‘BELL’S LIFE IN LONDON.’

“SIR,――Should the patron of the ’unknown’ candidate for ‘the Championship’ agree to allow his man to fight for £500 a side, my friends are ready to back me for that sum. Failing a match being made with him, I am ready to give any other customer a chance, and for his accommodation will fight for any sum, from £300 to £500 a side. I am, Sir, your most obedient servant, “JAMES WARD. Champion of England. “Liverpool, Sept. 18, 1833.”

The Editor having submitted this epistle to “the Deaf’un,” observes, “that individual desires us to say, that ‘he’s ready to stands nps for the title for a hundreds, but as for tousands, and that sorts o’ rediklus tings, he can’t say nuttins about ’em.’” Another challenge elicited the subjoined from Ward:――

“_To the Editor of_ ‘BELL’S LIFE IN LONDON.’

“SIR,――I have long contemplated leaving the Ring altogether, and would not offer myself again to your notice, had you not inserted a challenge for the Championship, accompanied by a tempting stake; to which challenge I gave a suitable reply, stating at the time my readiness to fight the Unknown for £500, or a smaller sum――say £300 or £400 a side. I am not only willing to fight for the above sums, but to allow the Unknown three months to deliberate upon it.

“I perceive that Deaf Burke calls himself ‘Champion of England,’ and offers to make a match with me for £100 a side. Considering that I am in business, such a sum is not worth contending for, especially as a considerable portion of it must be expended in training and other incidental expenses. If Deaf Burke means fighting me, I will accommodate him for £200 a side, and no less. Should this not meet his views in a reasonable time, my intentions are to retire from the Ring _in toto_; to that the Unknown and Deaf Burke will know what to do.

JAMES WARD, Champion of England.” “Liverpool, October 2, 1833.

The Deaf’un seemed now doomed to the sickness of “hope deferred.” He was too good for any of the 12-stone men except the Champion, whose price, even lowered to £200, was still too high for him. Numerous letters passed and repassed between O’Rourke and Burke; and on one occasion O’Rourke dragging in the name of Ward, Jem offered to stake £300 to O’Rourke’s £200 and fight him in Ireland. To this O’Rourke made no response, and soon after sailed for America. Ward then offered to meet Burke £300 to £200; but even at these odds the Deaf’un could not find backers, at which we need not be surprised when the comparative merits of the men were weighed in the balance.

Burke, who had certainly, in addition to his great powers as a boxer, a fund of native and quaint comicality, now utilised his talent as a public exhibitor of models of statues from the antique, for which his athletic development well fitted him, alternating them with displays of the Art of Self-defence. In these tours, wherein his attendant or agent in advance was the well-known Tommy Roundhead, the trainer (whom the Deaf’un dubbed his “Secretary”), Burke visited Wales, Bristol, and the West, and subsequently the Midlands and the North. An incidental notice in a newspaper published in “the Potteries” gives us a peep at the Deaf’un on his travels.

“A VOICE FROM THE PITCHER COUNTRY. DISAPPOINTMENT OF THE POTTERY FANCY.――On Saturday last Tommy Roundhead, the _avant courier_ of Deaf Burke, arrived in Hanley, and cast anchor at Mr. Hawes’s, Angel Inn, in the Market Place. On making his business known, the worthy host offered him the use of the large room in which Tom Spring and Big Brown exhibited previous to Brown’s fight with Phil Sampson, at Bishop’s Wood. Roundhead immediately got his handbills printed, and the walls covered with well-displayed posters, announcing that on Monday and Tuesday evenings, ‘Deaf Burke, Champion of England, and Harry Preston, Champion of Birmingham, would take a benefit and exhibit the manly art of self-defence; the whole to conclude with a grand set-to, previous to Preston’s return to Birmingham to fight Davis for one hundred guineas.’

“Tommy gave out that Burke and Preston would arrive at Hanley at noon on Monday. During the day, but especially in the evening, the ‘Angel’ was crowded. Several indications of impatience were exhibited at the non-appearance of the men; but in the evening, when the last coach arrived from Birmingham, and there was no tidings of the ‘Deaf’un,’ an universal burst of disgust went through the rooms. They all turned upon Roundhead. Tommy got on his pins, and attempted to explain that he left Burke on the Thursday at Atherstone, and that he had come to Hanley, by Burke’s express desire, to engage a room for him and Preston to spar in. He had written to Burke, at Arthur Matthewson’s, and could only account for their non-appearance on the score that his letter had not reached them. The grumblers vehemently vociferated, ‘Stow your patter, it’s a hoax――it’s no go, Tommy.’ A regular ‘flare-up’ had very near taken place, but, by good words and persuasion, silence was restored, and the company dispersed peaceably.”

From what follows, it will be seen that that very shifty gentleman――Harry Preston――was the real cause of the apparent breach of promise.

“The cause of this disappointment is explained by a letter we have received from Birmingham; from which it appears that Preston and the Deaf’un had a fall out at Arthur Matthewson’s, which, after lots of chaff and a deposit of a sovereign a side, was to be decided by a fight the next morning, but on the Deaf’un going to the scratch Preston ‘would not have it.’ Some further chatter followed, in which Preston offered to fight Burke if he would reduce himself to 12 stone. This the Deaf’un declined, but offered to fight him £120 to £100, or £60 to £50. This would not suit Harry’s book, and thus the matter ended. The Deaf’un’s next trip is to Liverpool, and from thence to Scotland, where he is to join Bob Avery in Glasgow. Poor Tommy Roundhead has been undeservedly censured in this matter.”

That the Deaf’un had considerable pantomimic powers may be gathered from the fact that he was engaged by the experienced manager of the Manchester Theatre, to play _Orson_ in the Christmas piece of “Valentine and Orson” at the Sheffield Theatre.

Thus wore away the year 1834. At Tom Spring’s Anniversary Dinner, January 14th, 1835, which was numerously attended, Burke announced that he was about to take a farewell benefit on the ensuing Wednesday evening, at the “Coach and Horses,” St. Martin’s Lane, previous to his starting for America, to fight the Irish Champion, O’Rourke, or any other man in the United States or Canada who might fancy him. He had come to this determination, he said, because, although ready and willing to fight Ward for £200, Ward, after proposing to fight for that sum, raised his price to £300, and then, finding even that large stake was likely to be obtained, valued himself at the still higher sum of £500, which was utterly beyond the reach of his (Burke’s) friends. For his own part, all he wanted was the glory of the title for which he was the candidate, and, to show that he was not afraid of any man breathing, he would fight even for £5; his friends were still ready to back him for £200 against the Champion, Ward. This speech, given in Burke’s sincere but blunt style, excited warm applause, and a pledge was given that his benefit should be well attended.

It was then suggested that the title of Champion of England ought not to depend on the capricious will of the person by whom it had been obtained, putting the sum at which he would risk its loss so high as to prevent the possibility of fair competition. Ward had gradually risen in his own estimation from £200 to £500, and he might, with as good a grace, if it depended on himself, say he would not fight for less than £1,000 or £10,000, and thus retain an honour to which other men might be entitled. This opinion seemed to meet the almost unanimous concurrence of the persons present, among whom were Spring, Jem Burn, Ned Neale, Young Dutch Sam, Dick Curtis, Owen Swift, Smith, Young Spring (Harry Wood, of Liverpool), and others, and a great number of amateurs and liberal supporters of the Ring. After some discussion, the following resolution was moved and seconded:――

“Resolved――That, in future, the _maximum_ stake at which the Champion of England shall be considered bound to accept a challenge shall be £200; and that if he refuse to fight for this sum, he shall be considered as no longer holding the title of Champion.”

A gentleman proposed as an amendment that the sum should be £250, but this was negatived by a large majority, and the original resolution was carried with acclamation.

It was then moved and seconded――“That if Jem Ward refuses to fight Deaf Burke for £200, he shall no longer be considered Champion of England, but that Burke shall assume the title, until bound to yield to a man of greater merit.” This resolution was also carried unanimously.

These resolutions are certainly in the spirit of common sense, and if Ward’s situation in life placed him above the necessity of considering himself any longer a member of the Ring, it was no more than fair――as in the case of the veteran Tom Cribb and his successor Tom Spring――that he should retire; a step which certainly could not have stripped him of any of the honours to which he had previously entitled himself.

The disappointed Deaf’un now repaired to Liverpool, and departing thence, like another Childe Harold, “he sung, or might, or could, or should, or would have sung”:――

“Adieu! Adieu! My native shore Fades o’er the waters blue; The night-wind sighs, the breakers roar, Load shrieks the wild sea-mew. Yon sun, that’s setting o’er the sea, We’ll follow in its flight; Farewell awhile to it and thee―― My native land――Good night!

“With thee, my bark, I’ll swiftly go, Athwart the foaming brine, Nor care what land thou bear’st me to, So not again to mine. And if in Western land I find A worthy foe in fight, My conquering brow with bays I’ll bind―― So, native land――Good night!”

And so “Childe Burke” did, after a pleasant tour, in which he always spoke as receiving warm welcome and hospitality from the Americans; although, as we shall presently see, upon the unanswerable testimony of their own papers, the _perfervidum ingenium_ of certain emigrant Hibernian rowdies proved the prudence of Burke’s friends when they declined a contest on the Curragh of Kildare.

After a brief stay in New York, where he was well received, Burke did not find any regular “professional” inclined to test his pugilistic capabilities, and, after duly acknowledging the good spirit in which he had been received, he announced, that, in compliance with “a vaunting challenge in a New Orleans paper, in which O’Rourke was stated to be resident in that city, and ready to meet any man in the world,” he, the Deaf’un, had determined on a southward trip, and to drop down on Mr. O’Rourke on the scene of his glory. As the Deaf’un always meant what he said, and, himself unconscious of foul play, did not suspect it in others, he sailed for the city of swamps and slavery.

He had reckoned, in his simplicity, that a stranger would have fair play, as with Englishmen, but soon found out his egregious mistake. As we desire the character of an impartial historian, we shall merely extract the account of this affair from the _Charleston Courier_ of May 13th, 1837 which gives the account under date of New Orleans, May 6th:――

“FIGHTING RIOTS, &c.――For some two or three days past, large numbers of our population have been thrown into considerable excitement by handbills posted up in bar-rooms and at the corners of the streets, that a pugilistic combat was to take place yesterday between two celebrated prize-fighters, Deaf Burke, an Englishman, and O’Rourke, an Irishman. The fight between the rival champions, as they style themselves, took place at about one o’clock, at the forks of the Bayou Road. Some two or three rounds were fought, which resulted particularly to the advantage of neither of the belligerents. The second of O’Rourke, happening to come within hitting distance of Burke, received a severe blow from the Deaf-man himself. Whether this was right or wrong, not being at the fight, we know not. At any rate it was the signal for a general scrimmage, in which the Irishmen joined the O’Rourke party, and handled Burke and his friends with fists and sticks made of anything but dough and molasses. O’Rourke’s second was settled down by a settler from Burke’s own fist, when the Deaf-man, thinking his heels better preservatives of his face and feelings than his fists, took the leg-itimate course adopted by all men and animals when assaulted by a superior force.

“Matters were now coming to a fine pass. Burke was followed by crowds of Irishmen with shillelaghs, dray-pins, whips, and what not. A friend, on seeing him pass, handed him a bowie-knife, and another gave him a horse, with which he made good his escape.

“Of the different riots which took place at the scene of action we were not witnesses. Some say there was foul play on the part of O’Rourke’s friends, and especially by his second, and that it was intended long before the fight took place that Burke should get a thrashing by foul or fair means. The man who handed Burke the knife was cruelly beaten by the infuriated friends of O’Rourke: it is reported, and we fear with much truth, that he was killed.

“O’Rourke’s friends bore him about our streets in triumph yesterday afternoon in a coach drawn by themselves.

“On the arrival of the different parties in town, inflamed with liquor and ready for any disturbance, many affrays occurred. During the whole afternoon, large numbers of malcontents, principally Irishmen, were congregated in the vicinity of the Union House, and Armstrong’s, opposite the American Theatre. Several serious and disgraceful fights took place, in some of which the rascally mob beat and otherwise maltreated a number of innocent and unoffending individuals. A large number of arrests were made.

“The reports in town of the loss of lives, and of the results of the wild spirit of anarchy and confusion which existed in the afternoon, are so various, so contradictory, that we cannot comment upon them. The whole affair was disgraceful in the extreme.

“The Washington Guards were ordered out at eight o’clock last evening by the Mayor to quell any disturbance which might arise. As late as two o’clock this morning everything was comparatively quiet.”

Thus it would seem that the affair ended in a complete Irish row, in which the lawless habits of “the Knights of the Shillelagh” put all fair play at defiance. We hope we are not open to a charge of national prejudice, but would fairly put the question, “Would such ruffianism――and ruffianism is always cruel and cowardly――be possible among a people imbued with the fair-play practices and the principles inculcated by regulated pugilism?”

Some anxiety was caused in London by a rumour in a New York paper, that the Deaf’un had received his “quietus” not with “a bare bodkin” but an “Arkansas tooth-pick;” much relief therefore, was felt by them on finding from the Charleston papers that he was still in the land of the living, and had returned to New York; not finding his life safe among a set of men who considered a challenge to their “Champion” as an individual, a national insult, to be wiped out by assassination.

That he had returned in safety was shown by scattered notices in the New York papers, from which we gather that one O’Connell, who, like his namesake on this side the Atlantic, was “an out-and-out big potato,” had challenged the Deaf’un for 500 dollars and “the honour of ould Ireland,” to a fistic tourney. This Burke had accepted, and Elizabeth Town Point was named as the field of battle. A sheriff’s notice, in anticipation of another Irish riot, compelled a change of ground to Hart’s Island, which was reached by a steam excursion, and here the affair came off without interruption. What follows is from the _New York Herald_:――

“The ‘Prize Ring,’ as it is emphatically called, is not without its merits, and although we regret and detest these exhibitions――when as exhibitions merely――our duty as chroniclers of passing events compels us to make public what otherwise we should bury in oblivion. Among the ancients these spectacles were frequent, and cherished by the government of the people indulging in them; and it is yet doubtful whether they do not in some degree tend to benefit the community at large. There is a feeling of courage――of proud, manly self-dependence――accompanying the champions of the Ring, that otherwise would not be elicited. The manly stand-up fight is surely far preferable to the insidious knife――the ruffianly gang system――or the cowardly and brutal practice of biting, kicking, or gouging, now so prevalent. The ancient Romans conquered and civilised half the world, and it is to them we owe the gladiatorial spectacle of the Prize Ring――modified by modern civilisation, but yet retaining sufficient of its origin to portray the manners and habits of the people among whom it has taken root. The British people are particularly fond of this exhibition, and there are some good consequences attending it. The street broil or hasty quarrel is deprived of half its ferocity. Three or four or more do not fall upon and beat a single individual. None but gangs of ruffians can commit such deeds. The single man when struck down by his opponent is permitted to rise and put himself, as it were, in something like equilibrium with his opponent. Stamping upon a man when down――biting, kicking, and other such ‘courageous’ displays are entirely exploded; and when the party combating cries ‘hold, enough,’ no bowie-knife enters his vitals, or proves the superior courage of his opponent by depriving him of existence. With all its disadvantages, therefore, and demoralising tendency, as contended, and perhaps truly so, it may be doubted whether the spirit emanating from it may not be productive of benefit among the lower classes. The knock-down blow is surely preferable to private assassination, or even to the open taking of human life by means of deadly weapons. Quitting these reflections, let us give our account of the fight itself.

“At nine o’clock the steamboat left the ferry (Catharine Street), with about three hundred passengers, and those of a very select kind, owing principally, perhaps, to the high price demanded for tickets――three dollars, which speedily rose to four and five dollars, and even at that price could not be procured. The destination was Hart’s Island, where the passengers were landed and the preliminary measures to the ‘set-to’ adopted. A twenty-four feet ring, according to the articles of agreement, was formed, and an outside one to prevent any interruption to the pugilistic efforts of the combatants. The ring being completed, and the seconds proclaiming ‘all ready,’ the two champions made their appearance――O’Connell, as the challenger, threw his hat first in the ring, which was quickly answered by Burke; the men then peeled for the battle.

“On stripping, the great disparity between the two men was apparent. Burke presented an iron frame, in which all surperfluous flesh seemed excluded. His broad and extended chest, his outward turned knees, that take off from beauty to add so much to muscular power, his muscular and well-knit lower limbs left no doubt on the minds of the spectators that no common skill or bodily strength would be sufficient to overpower or vanquish the possessor. O’Connell stripped to greater advantage than was expected. His upper frame is large and muscular, but it wants compactness and tension. His sinews hang loose, and his frame is far from being well banded together. In his lower conformation this defect is still more striking; this is his weak point, and must ever incapacitate him from becoming a redoubtable competitor in the Prize Ring. ‘All ready’ being proclaimed by the respective seconds (Abm. Vanderzee and Alexander Hamilton officiating for O’Connell, and Hatfield and Summerdyke for Deaf Burke), the opponents previously shaking hands, put themselves in attitude for the onset.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――The men came up, each equally confident. Some sparring took place which only tended to show in a more striking point the disparity of the pugilists. The quick eye of Burke immediately discovered that he had the game in his hands, and he accordingly forebore any active exertion, threw his body open, which O’Connell immediately caught at, and implanted two heavy blows――one immediately beneath the ribs, and the second on the loins of his adversary. Burke received this infliction without the slightest variation of muscle or feature――and in return put forth a feeler (left hand) which dropped O’Connell at his full length. Some of Burke’s friends cheered――this was instantly stopped by the umpires, who requested that, let the fight terminate how it might, no ebullition of the feelings of either party should be suffered to take place. All, upon this appeal, were immediately silent.

2.――Both men were equally confident. O’Connell smiled, as much as to say “I stoop to conquer.” Burke made play; O’Connell struck a well-meant left-handed compliment to Burke’s knowledge-box, which was prettily stopped. Burke returned with right, in part husbanding his strength; the blow told slightly on O’Connell’s bread-basket――a wrestle――O’Connell down. First blood was here claimed by each party. The umpires decided that both sported the claret simultaneously――thus deciding all wagers on this matter.

3.――Burke appeared brooding mischief. O’Connell struck a random blow and lost his guard, when Burke immediately put in his tremendous right-handed blow, which taking effect under the ear of O’Connell, floored him as if struck by lightning.

4.――Time being called, O’Connell courageously rose to the scratch, but had scarcely left his second’s knee, when he fell as if through weakness. The fight was here claimed by the friends of Burke; the umpires, however, decided “not lost,” and the fifth round commenced.

5.――O’Connell tried a new mode, and went boldly into his man. He succeeded in planting a pretty severe body-blow on Burke, closed for the wrestle, but was thrown――he fell slightly, however.

6.――Burke piped a trifle. O’Connell made a rush――got well in for the close, but the superior strength of Burke shook him off. O’Connell seemed spent, was entirely off his guard, and Burke could easily have concluded the fight by any blow he chose to have put in; but, seeing the disabled state of O’Connell, Burke unclosed his fist, and with the back of his open hand struck O’Connell in the breast, which dropped him as a man might be supposed to push down a child. A low exclamation of approbation, impossible to repress, ran through the spectators at the manliness of this conduct.

7.――O’Connell seemed to be gaining strength, and fought this round most manfully. It was evident, nevertheless, that his faulty method of delivering his blows could never win him the day. Three severe blows were delivered by Burke in succession, on the head, chest, and loins of O’Connell, who made a sort of headlong rush, closed with Burke, bore him towards the ropes, and was thrown heavily in the wrestle.

8.――Hatfield, the second of Burke, here said, “He’s finished, polish him off.” O’Connell came up staggering――Burke made a feint, and prepared to strike a finisher. From humanity, however, he did not deliver his blow――O’Connell closed――a short rally took place, and O’Connell was thrown.

9.――O’Connell showed some game, but it was evidently of an expiring effort. He faced his man, made a blow, which fell short, and was met by Burke with a terrible facer, which set the claret flowing in a rapid stream from O’Connell’s nostrils. All was over.

10.――Time was repeatedly called. O’Connell rose but could not stir a step towards his man. Burke said, “I wish to fight honourable――I will not strike him――does your man wish to fight any more?” O’Connell’s second immediately gave in the battle, and Burke was declared the conqueror.

A word or two respecting the rival combatants: O’Connell never was or can be capable of figuring with credit as a fighter. He wants bottom, activity, and science――three things which are indispensable in the formation of a boxer. From the third round he had not the slightest chance of winning――it was a doubloon to a shin-plaster, and no takers. The day was peculiarly propitious, and the company of a very respectable description. Those who conducted this affair deserve all praise. Not the slightest disturbance of any kind took place. It was what the Prize Ring ever ought to be――an exhibition of manly and courageous contest.”

We need add nothing to this “round, unvarnished tale,” written by a literary gentleman who had never before witnessed a prize-fight. In Burke, his Irish opponent found, notwithstanding his foul treatment at New Orleans, a brave and humane antagonist; and that, despite the contaminating effects of bad example, the Deaf’un preserved in the New World the high and generous qualities he exhibited in his own country. Cant, cruelty, and cowardice have crushed out the courageous confidence in the unarmed fist as the weapon in hand-to-hand encounters, and the American populace trust for victory to the bowie-knife and the revolver, when man opposes man to settle their personal differences “in a higher phase of civilisation.” (?)

As the patrons of the Ring are, such will its professors be, holds good as an axiom in pugilism as in every other science. A few unprejudiced and enlightened Americans, seeing the horrors and savagery of Irish-American rowdyism, entertained the milling missionary, and strove to propagate his principles, but were in a minute and powerless minority among a multitude of howling saints and savages――for extremes meet in this as in all other things. To these friends and sympathisers Burke bade an affectionate farewell, after a handsome benefit, and arrived at Liverpool on the 25th of June, 1838.

During the Deaf’un’s absence some pretentious “big ones” had been coming into prominent notice. Bendigo, Ben Caunt, and Brassey had become famous, and not a few of their several partisans thought either one or the other more than a match for the Deaf’un. It was whispered, too, and too truly, that his rupture had been aggravated by an accident, and that his habits in America had not been such as would improve his constitution or stamina. Indeed, some of those deepest in Ring mysteries declared his reappearance in the Ring more than questionable. The gallant fellow himself had no such misgivings, and lost no time in so telling his countrymen.

“THE CHAMPIONSHIP OF ENGLAND.

“_To the Editor of_ ‘BELL’S LIFE IN LONDON.’

“SIR,――When I was in Yankeeshire I heard a great deal about ‘would-be champions’ challenging any man in England. ‘While the cat’s away the mice will play;’ and thus the little fry took advantage of my absence to bounce and crow like cocks in a gutter. I hastened back to take the shine out of those braggadocios; and to put their pretensions to the test, I beg to state that I am now ready to fight any man in England for from One Hundred to Five Hundred Pounds; and as my old friend Jem Ward has retired from the Ring, if he will add his Champion’s belt to the prize, and let the best man wear it, he will give new energies to the Ring, and, I trust, afford an opportunity for deciding the long-contested question, ‘Who is Champion of England?’ I bar neither country nor colour――age nor dimensions; and whether it be the Goliath Caunt, or his hardy antagonist Bendigo, or any other man who ever wore a head, I am his customer, and ‘no mistake.’ My money is ready at Jem Burn’s, the ‘Queen’s Head,’ Queen’s Head Court, Windmill Street, Haymarket, at a moment’s notice; but I will not consent to a less deposit that £25 at starting. If I find the race of old English boxers of the right kidney is extinct, I shall go back to America, where an honest man need never want ‘a friend or a bottle.’

“DEAF BURKE. “Windmill Street, Haymarket, July 29, 1838.”

As we have already recorded in our memoir of Bendigo, the Nottingham hero lost no time in accepting this challenge, and stated he had placed £100 in the hands of Peter Crawley to make the match. Unfortunately for the Deaf’un’s reputation, he had, through his intimacy with Young Dutch Sam, become entangled in a vicious companionship, as the humble “pot-companion” and gladiatorial buffoon of a clique of dissolute young noblemen and swells, the last expiring parodists of the school of which “Corinthian Tom” and “Jerry Hawthorn” were the models. By these and their companions he was carried off to France, on the pretext of training and seconding Owen Swift in his second fight with Jack Adams, and much obloquy was cast on him unjustly, under a supposition that he had run away from his engagements. A “Paris Correspondent” transmitted the following:――

“PARIS, June 14.――The Deaf’un arrived in this city on Sunday, under the _Mentorship_ of Sancho Panza, from Seven Dials, a ‘buck’ of the first water. He met Swift on the Boulevard des Italiens, and was so affected at the interview with this interesting _exile_, that the water came from his eyes like the _jet d’eau_ in the Temple Gardens. As the speediest mode of acquiring an acquaintance with the French language, he lives entirely on _fricandeau de dictionnaire_. He has already won the affections of a grisette by his very natural imitation of the statue of Cupid. He afterwards tried the _Venus de Medici_, but that was a decided failure. He has been favourably received by the patrons of British Sports in the French capital, but it is feared he cannot be presented at the Court of Louis Philippe, in consequence of his having neglected to present himself at the Drawing-room of our lovely young Queen. In a visit to the _Jardin des Plantes_, he thought he recognised a young brother, but on closer inspection he discovered it was only the chimpanzee. He appears to be regarded with as much curiosity in Paris as Soult was in London, and expected the old Marshal would have given him ‘a Wellington reception,’ but hitherto the gallant veteran has not recognised him as ‘a companion in arms.’ His presence has already had an influence on the fashions, and ‘_pantalons à la Burke_’ have made their appearance in the Palais Royal, while ‘_gantelets à la Deaf’un_’ are noted as a novelty in _Le Courrier des Salons_.”

We have already noticed in our memoir of Bendigo that the Deaf’un did not return from his continental trip until, after training Owen Swift, and seconding him on the 5th of September, 1838, he again sought the shores of England, lest he should receive the “polite attentions” of the French authorities for his share in that “scandal,” as the Paris correspondent of “My Grandmother” styled it. The staunchness of poor Burke’s “summer friends” was now tested. They had withdrawn the £100 placed in Jem Burn’s hands, but, after some negotiation, the match was made, Burke posting £100 to Bendigo’s £80, and on the 29th of February, 1839, the rivals met. The full details of the Deaf’un’s defeat may be read in pp. 16-22.

The reflection is here unavoidably thrust upon us, that the so-called “friends” of an athlete, if they by their own loose habits seduce him into similar irregularities, are his worst enemies. What is sport to them is ruin to him. Temperance, regularity of living, open air exercise, and severe attention to the wellbeing of every bodily function that goes to build up health――the _mens sana in corpore sano_――can never be neglected without ruinous consequences; and thus fell the brave and imprudent Deaf’un, the victim of the follies of those the world miscalled “his betters.” A few quatrains on his downfall shall find a place here.

THE LAMENT OF DEAF BURKE.

Well, ’tis strange, precious strange, arter what I have done, That in my late battle I shouldn’t have won; I vow and protest, on the word of a bruiser, I scarce can persuade myself yet I’m the loser.

I have always so well in the Ring gone to work, That my backers proclaimed me “inwincible Burke;” And then for a lad of my courage and game To be floored by a novice――by Jove! ’tis a shame.

I hang down my head, quite dismay’d and perplex’d. And when folks ax me questions, of course, I am wex’d, For, instead of consoling me under my loss, They insiniwate plainly the thing was a cross.

They swear, for a man who has stood so much fight, To be whopp’d in ten rounds was impossible quite: That I couldn’t be he, it was plain to discern, Wot floor’d Carter and Crawley, O’Connell and Byrne.

They vow of their bets upon me they’ve been robb’d, That I show’d no good point, but stood still to be jobb’d, That no punishment sharp was produced by my blows, And Bendy did with me whatever he chose.

Hard words for the Deaf’un, and cruel the sting, To one who ne’er acted amiss in the Ring―― To him who was always alive to a mill, And in thirteen prize-battles was conqueror still.

I boldly appeal to my slanderers whether I was ever the covey to show the white feather? And Bendigo’s conduct I cannot think right, When he stripp’d me of something that lost me the fight.

That he acted unfairly I do not advance―― He was perfectly right not to part with a chance; Still I say, but for this, whosoever may scoff, He would not have easily polished me off.

And may I again never put on a glove, If once more I don’t fight him for money or love; And my stick I will cut in the Prize Ring, by Jove! Ere the belt shall be worn by a Nottingham cove.

And shall poor Deaf Burke be consign’d to the shade? No, tho’ I’m defeated I am not dismay’d, And in a fresh contest I’ll do what I can, To take the conceit from this bounceable man.

When victory smiles on a pugilist’s front, He has lots of supporters and plenty of blunt; But if luck turns against him, my eyes! how they rave, And stamp him a cross cove――a thundering knave!

Into me some choice worthies keep pitching it home, For sporting the _statutes_ of Greece and of Rome; Is it fair, I would ax, to inflict this here slap, Because I’m a sort of a classical chap?

And some swear ’tis time I was laid on the shelf, For I grows _’ristocratic_――too sweet on myself; Now I wenture most humbly to make an appeal, If I’m to be blam’d for behaving genteel?

In France and New York I have sported my tanners, And no wonder a polish I have got on my manners; Now, I begs to inquire whether winner or loser, Must a man be a blackguard because he’s a bruiser?

No, to tip the purlite I will still do my best, For everything wulgar I scorn and detest; My pipe I’ve discarded like most other stars, And now I smoke nowt but Hawanna cigars.

And I dare say some folks may consider it strange, That I’m courting the Muses by way of a change, And thus in _Bell’s Life_ to my feelings give went, In a copy of werses I’ve called “The Lament.”

Be this as it may, here I’m ready and willing This Bendy again to encounter at milling, And perhaps if I once get him into a line, Tho’ the first chance was his’n, the next may be mine.

That “next chance,” as Edgar Poe’s raven said, “never, never, never more” came to the turn of the Deaf’un, so far as regarded a meeting with Bendy, although he issued sundry invitations and offers. In March, 1840, occurred the accident to Bendigo, narrated at page 25, which struck the Nottingham hero from the list of “wranglers” for the Championship, and hereupon Burke again came to the front with a challenge. This was quickly responded to by Nick Ward, the younger brother of the renowned Jem. The match was made for the modest sum of £50 a side, and the day fixed for Tuesday, the 22nd September, 1840. The battle, which took place at Lillingstone Level, Oxfordshire, will be found in detail in the Life of Nick Ward, Chapter V. of the present volume.

Poor Burke’s day was gone by; unconquered in heart, his impaired physical powers failed him, and he fell before youth, activity, skill, and length. As we have mentioned in our memoir of Nick Ward that the stakeholder received notice of action for the stakes, it is but just to give the following vindication of the Deaf’un’s conduct as reported in a contemporary journal:――

“THE DEAF’UN HIMSELF AGAIN!――The Deaf’un took a benefit at the Bloomsbury Assembly Rooms on Tuesday evening, and, notwithstanding his late defeat, found a goodly number of friends, and ‘a strong turn’ in the financial department. The sets-to, although many of them between commoners, were amusing and effective, and conducted with great spirit and vigour. Among the most popular was that between Owen Swift and Maley, in which the quickness and scientific deliveries of the former were happily illustrated. At the conclusion the Deaf’un mounted the stage to ‘wind-up,’ but unfortunately, Caunt having forfeited his promise to appear, he was only opposed to a new beginner called ‘The Cumberland Youth,’ whose inexperience left the star of the night nothing to do but flap him at pleasure. The Deaf’un, after smoothing down his bristles with his dexter digits, and clearing his throat by sundry ‘hems,’ delivered himself of the following oration, which we took down as nearly as could be verbatim. ’Gemmen――I have dis here to say. I’m werry sory as Caunt has not come to sets-to wid me according to his promises, for he gave me his words of honours as he would attend; but dats de way wid dese here mens――when dey gets to the top of de trees, dey do nothing to help a poor fellow as is down; but dey had better minds what dey are abouts, or they’ll be as bad as Jack Scroggins, and look for a _tanners_ when they can’t find it. Gemmen――I mean to say as I do not thinks as I was fairly beat by Bendigo, and I am prouds to say as I am not widout friends what tink de same, and as are ready to back me for a cool hundreds against him, or Nick Wards, or Jem Bailey. Bendigo is wery bounceable now, as he says he has licked me; but I says he took an unfair advantage in regard of my belt; but dats neither one ting nor toder; and if he has friends, if he’s a man, he’ll give me anoder chance, and till he does, I shall always thinks as he has won de belts widout any right to it. I went to Sheffields and Nottinghams to make a match wid him, and now let him show equal pluck and come to London to make a match wid me――my pewters is always ready (applause). Dat’s all I’ve got to say. Gemmen, I thank my friends and patrons for coming here to-night (coughing); but I’ve got something here (pointing to his throat, and the poor fellow appeared overflowing with gratitude) which won’t let me say no mores.’――It is not very creditable to the _élite_ of the Fancy to have abstained from setting-to for the unfortunate fellow; for, although his ignorance may have led him to assume too much, the motto of all professed pugilists should be ‘forget and forgive;’ and ‘if a man’s in distress, like a man to relieve him.’”

In the years 1841-2, the magistracy and police, stimulated into abnormal activity by a sort of clerical crusade against the Ring “and all its works,” set the powers of the law in motion against pugilists and their patrons, and “all persons aiding and abetting in riotous and tumultuous assemblages calculated to produce a breach of the peace,” by issuing warrants, holding them to bail, and indicting them at the quarter sessions of the county wherein the same took place. Among the zealots of this Puritanical campaign against the amusements and relaxations of the people, the Rev. Joshua Cautley, curate of Broughton, in Bedfordshire, distinguished himself with the fervour of Ralpho, the squire of Sir Hudibras; though he, fortunately, escaped the cudgellings, rotten eggs, and stocks, which in rougher times befell his prototype. In an evil hour the Deaf’un came in contact with this clerical suppressor of “anti-knife” congregations, under the serio-comic circumstances we are about to narrate.

On the 9th of February, 1841, at Holcut, in Bedfordshire, an orderly assemblage surrounded a well-arranged inner-and-outer ring, within the latter of which Ned Adams, of London, and Dick Cain, of Leicester, were contending. At a critical period of the battle, the curate of Broughton, the Rev. Joshua Cautley, who was not, as all the “rurals” surrounding the ring well knew, either a magistrate in the commission of the peace, or in any way legally authorised to interfere, appeared at the ring-side in an excess of peace-preserving furor, and not only attempted to take Adams into custody (without any warrant), but cut the ropes with a knife, and behaved otherwise in an outrageous manner. He was afterwards aided by a police constable (John M’Hugh), and by the arrival of the Rev. Edward Orlebar Smith, a Justice of the Peace for Bedfordshire, previous to whose appearance on the scene certain of the country people present had certainly ejected Parson Cautley from the ring. The Rev. Justice of the Peace, as it appears, then put his fellow clergyman and himself on the right side of the law by reading――at a distance, and amidst immense confusion and the continuance of the battle――the Riot Act. The result of all this was that the zealous Parson Cautley procured, upon affidavit sworn by himself, the constable, and the Rev. Mr. Smith, the indictment of thirteen persons (six of them being his own neighbours) at the ensuing Bedford Quarter Sessions. The pugilists indicted were James Burke, Owen Swift, Edward Adams, and Richard Cain, Thomas Brown (the respected landlord of the “Swan,” at Newport Pagnell, who was there in charge of his post-horses and four-in-hand), Messrs. Mark Cross, William Maley (a solicitor), Joseph Goodwin, George Durham, Edward Dawkes, James Morris the younger, Martin Hughes (who died during the proceedings), and Richard Walter Chetwynd, Viscount Chetwynd, Baron Rathdowne. The indictment charged, in its first count, “that they, the defendants aforesaid, on the 9th day of February, 1841, in the parish of Holcut, in the county of Bedford, did then and there, together with other evil-disposed persons, whose names are unknown to the jurors aforesaid, unlawfully, riotously, and tumultuously assault Edward Orlebar Smith, clerk, one of the Justices of the Peace for the said County, and John M’Hugh, one of the constables of the Peace for the said County, and, then and there, did, in contempt of our said Lady the Queen and her laws, to the great terror, alarm, and disturbance of all the liege subjects of our said Lady the Queen thereabouts inhabiting and residing and being, passing and repassing, to the great damage of the said Edward Orlebar Smith and John M’Hugh, and against the peace of our said Lady the Queen her crown and dignity.” The second count in this formidable document, repeating the names and verbiage, included the same charges against the defendants for riot and assault on the person of the Rev. Joshua Cautley. The third count varied by specifying James Burke as the assailant of the Rev. Edward Orlebar Smith (whom he never touched in any way). The 4th, 5th, 6th, and 7th counts merely varied in the names of the parties assaulted, by substituting “Smith” for “M’Hugh,” and “Cautley” for “Smith,” as the persons on whom “with force and arms,” the same defendants “did then and there beat, wound, and ill-treat, and do other wrong, to the great damage of the said E. O. Smith,” &c., &c., “and against the peace of our said Lady the Queen her crown and dignity.”

Any one not used to the formal wording of legal documents may well share the astonishment of the Deaf’un when this astounding rigmarole, being furnished to his legal advisers (Mr. Vincent Dowling and Mr. Serjeant Dowling), was read and explained to him. His truthful and indignant denials of all the serious delinquencies laid to his charge in this farrago of legal fictions were most amusing. Perhaps the way in which these were thrown into rhyme, by what old Jacob Tonson, the bookseller, used to call “a competent pen,” will convey some idea of the Deaf’un’s objections and denial of the charges:――

ADDRESS OF DEAF BURKE TO THE GRAND AND COMMON JURIES OF BEDFORD.

Pull’d up by _beaks_, before you here I shows, For what offence, I’m blistered if I knows; Fam’d thro’ the universe for feats of fists, Before you stands Deaf Burke, the pugilists. Yes, honest jurymen, with heart of steels, I make with confidence my proud appeals, My case upon its simple merits try―― Let me have justice, and no fears have I.

I ask of you as upright jurymen, In what have I offended――where and when? Why of the throng should Burke the scapegoat be Or Reverend Cautley’s wrath descend on me? As to the _mill_, I own that I was there―― All went on peaceably, and all was fair; Arm’d with high courage, strong in heart and limbs, The men were at the _scratch_ in gallant trims. And smiling confidence was on their brows, When Parson Cautley first kick’d up a rows, And by an effort, frivolous as weaks, Back’d by a rural _traps_, and Smith the _beaks_, Sought, and perhaps he deem’d that he was right, To rush into the ring and stop the fight.

What if the Riot Act was read――Alas! The Deaf’un couldn’t hear it if it was! And as far as I’m concern’d it is a facts, It might have been a sermon or “the Acts;” But as to swearing, or a hint to drop, Out of the ring I pitch’d him neck and crop, Tho’ towards a parson I feel reverence due, Josh Cautley states the thing that isn’t true. But let that pass――the issue I’ll not shirks―― Convinc’d your fiat will acquit Deaf Burkes; Proclaiming that from testimony strong, The pugilist was right, the parson wrong.

I’ve studied, sirs, since my career began, To prove myself through life an honest man―― Humble my origin, my lot obscure, I never came the artful dodge, tho’ poor. I ne’er gave way to lewdness, nor to lush, Nor did an act for which I’ve cause to blush. True, I ne’er figur’d as a man of letters, But yet I know’d my duty to my betters. And never deem’d, however mean my station, Swearing and swaggering pleasant conversation; Yet, I confess, I lov’d in boyhood prime, To hear of boxing in the olden time; Of feats perform’d by those heroic men―― Mendoza, Humphries, Johnson, and Big Ben, Jem Belcher, Gregson, tough Tom Cribb, and Gully, Whose hard-earn’d laurels time can never sully. Fir’d by their deeds, I cried, “Who knows but Burke May in the Prize Ring some day go to work, And proud of pluck that never warm’d a curs, Prove at the scratch an ugly customers?” Ripe for a chance I fearlessly defied The sturdiest bruisers by the waterside; And for the love of glory, not of tin. To many a hardy cove I’ve pitched it in. But on my fistic feats I will not dwell, What I have done let “Fistiana” tell.

* * * * *

These are my triumphs which I now record, Tho’ floor’d by Cousens, Bendigo, and Ward; And even with these I fearlessly declares, I did my best, and acted on the squares; And tho’ defeated on the field of fights, I died true game, and show’d no feather whites. Now, gentlemen, as I stand here before ye’s, I’ve told a round and plain unvarnished storys―― I love fair English boxing as my life, But dread the _Arkansas_ blade and _bowie_-knife; Those weapons deadly, cowardly, and keen, Which in a Briton’s hand should ne’er be seen, But which if _beaks_ conspire the ring to crush Will make the blood of many a Briton gush, And driving manly fair play from our Isle, Stamp us a nation of assassins vile!

Now, gentlemen, no longer I’ll intrudes, But, as I’m bound in duty, will concludes; And, as you seem all honest mens and true, What you deem right I’m certains you will do.

On Monday, the 14th of March, the Deaf’un, who had been generously bailed by a couple of Bedford tradesmen, surrendered to his bail, as also did eleven others. The Rev. Mr. Cautley, Mr. Orlebar Smith, and “a cloud of witnesses,” policemen, and others. Tom Spring, in friendly consideration of the Deaf’un’s incapacity of hearing, stood by him as _amicus curiæ_, and kindly interpreted the proceedings. It should be stated that in his examination before Lord Charles F. Russell and the grand jurors, the Rev. Joshua had stated that “Burke had endeavoured to force him out of the ring, and had seized him by the leg to throw him over the ropes.” Of this the Deaf’un (who certainly was never in the ring at all) was nervously anxious to exculpate himself. What was his surprise then to learn that “no evidence would be offered on that point,” and that “the general charge implicated all present in the same guilt.” Eventually (Viscount Chetwynd having removed the trial of his indictment into the Court of Queen’s Bench, on the ground that he could not get an impartial trial in Bedfordshire) the trials were postponed, and the whole of the defendants were held to bail to appear at the summer assizes; to them a ruinous expense and miserable suspense, and the great satisfaction of their Christian prosecutors and the profit of sundry attorneys; and thus ended the first “field-day” of “the battle of Bedford.” Other separate indictments, however, were proceeded with, against Messrs. Brown, of the “Swan,” Newport Pagnell, George Durham, Edward Dawkes, and Mark Cross, for “refusing to assist the constable in the execution of his duty.” Mr. Brown, after evidence by M’Hugh, the Rev. Joshua Cautley, and Mr. Smith, that in reply to being so called upon, he replied (being seated on the box of his coach) “that he had to mind his horses,” was found guilty. The other defendants then, having pleaded “guilty,” were sentenced each to pay a fine of forty shillings, and costs, and to enter into recognisances themselves in £40, and two sureties in £20 each, “to be of good behaviour for one year.” The fines were paid, the sureties given, and the defendants liberated from that charge. In July the unlucky defendants again surrendered, when their trial was again postponed to await the result of the _certiorari_ by which the aristocratic defendants (Viscount Chetwynd and Mr. Maley, the solicitor) had removed their cases to the Court of Queen’s Bench. These having failed, in the ensuing November, Burke and his fellow victims of the law’s delay were placed at the bar. In the interim we find in the _Bedford Mercury_:――

“PRIZE FIGHT AND LORD CHETWYND.――Lord Charles Russell laid before the Court a statement showing the position of the prosecution against Burke and thirteen others, for a riot at a prize fight at Holcut, in this county, and did so to know whether the prosecution should be proceeded in. Already an expense of £50 had been incurred, and probably between £80 and £90, exclusive of witnesses, would be further required. By a writ of _certiorari_ Lord Chetwynd had traversed the case to the Court of Queen’s Bench, to obtain the privilege of not pleading on the trial in the usual way by holding up his hand. The other parties accused had not been aware of the object of the course taken by Lord Chetwynd, and were in the same position as they were before traversing to the superior court. The county was at a great expense, and the defendants must have been at double the expense. His lordship also laid before the Court a correspondence between Lord Chetwynd and that gentleman, expressing his regret at what had occurred. Mr. Smith was not satisfied with the correspondence, and the opinion of the Court was that the prosecution should be continued, having begun it.

“From this we infer that the Rev. Mr. Smith is not satisfied with the apology tendered by Lord Chetwynd, and that to satisfy his feelings, the county and the defendants are to be involved in a still heavier outlay. To those who were in no respect consenting to Lord Chetwynd’s determination, this seems a measure of cruelty for which we were not prepared; but it would seem that after having already entered into recognisances to appear and take their trials, and having strictly and respectfully complied with that undertaking, from whence they were relieved by no act of their own, they are again called on to put in fresh bail in the Court of Queen’s Bench at Westminster, some of them living in distant parts of the kingdom. This may be necessary in form of law; but surely, even the Rev. Mr. Smith can have no wish to add to the hardships of the defendants, who were, and are still ready to submit to take their trials at the proper season.”

This wretched persecution thus dragged its weary length into the following year, 1842, when negotiations for a compromise having been made between the Crown solicitors and those of the defendants, Mr. Gurney, on the part of “Burke, Adams, Cain, and others,” said he was instructed to withdraw their plea of “not guilty,” and to accept a verdict for the Crown against his clients.

Mr. Andrews thereon, on the part of the magistrates, thought the defendants had pursued a very proper course, and the prosecution was withdrawn; so that this expensive performance of “Much Ado about Nothing,” ended by Messrs. Cautley and Smith “taking nothing by their motion,” the defendants being put to a heavy expense, and an outlay of some hundreds of pounds (raised by benefits and public subscriptions of the admirers of British boxing, and the sympathisers with the unfortunate victims of Puritanical persecution) to the profit of lawyers. At the opening of these assizes Baron Gurney made the following significant remark, with which we will conclude these instructive legal proceedings for the suppression of pugilistic encounters: “His lordship, in discharging the grand jury, said, that although the number of cases in the calendar was not greater than was usual at the spring assizes, yet he regretted to see that the character of many of the offences was of a most aggravated description, and that there was no less than six charges of _maliciously cutting and wounding_ in the calendar. His lordship said that this offence of using deadly weapons in personal quarrels appeared to be very much on the increase, that it was a disgrace to the character of the country, and that it must be put down.”

In May, 1842, the Deaf’un was matched with the Tipton Slasher (William Perry), but at the fourth deposit, which was appointed to be made at Owen Swift’s on July 7th, when “Time” was called, and Burke’s “needful” ready, no one appeared on behalf of the Tipton, and Burke was thereon declared entitled to the forfeit of the £15 down. Johnny Broome, as the representative of Perry, afterwards made his appearance, but Burke’s friends declared the business closed, and refused to reopen the affair. And thus ended the Deaf’un’s last attempt to get paired with either of “the big ’uns,” who at this period preferred their questionable claims to the tarnished honours of the “Championship.”

“Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen. Fallen from his high estate,”

poor Jem now became the plaything, but never the parasite, of a knot of men about town, supplementing their questionable patronage by giving lessons in boxing, and conducting the room at his early patron’s (Joe Parish, the waterman and pugilist) who, for many years after his removal from Strand Lane, kept the “Lion,” at the corner of Newcastle Street, Strand. The Deaf’un――and we met him often――was always respectable in appearance and respectful in manner, and out of his small means supported an aged mother and a humble home.

In his nightly adventures in the vicinity of the Haymarket, Burke was frequently brought in contact with a big outsider, Bob Castles, well known at the “playhouses” (not the theatres), in the vicinity of Leicester Square, at “Goodred’s Saloon,” Jack Rowbottom’s “Finish,” in James Street, The Elysium, Mother Emerson’s “The Waterford Arms,” and the numerous nighthouses that then infested and infected the purlieus of Piccadilly, and disgraced and degraded the very name of a sporting house. Bob was a great boaster, and on the strength of having stripped twice in the P.R. (once in August 20, 1827, when he beat Bill Bailey at Portsmouth Races, and again on April 2, 1828, with Paddy Flynn, at Colney Heath, when he got “the value of a bating”), he was a sort of “professional” guide to roysterers out on the spree, and a bully for those who might hire his services. Bob was, moreover, a great talker, and, to use a Pierce-Eganism, “flash as the knocker of Newgate.” This worthy never missed an opportunity of making the naturally good-natured Deaf’un the butt of his chaff, and even of many rough practical jokes. On one of these occasions the Deaf’un taking umbrage at what he supposed to be an interference with some of his “’ticular frien’s,” quietly warned “Mister Bobs” that if he didn’t mend his manners “he’d jest punch Mister Bobs’ pimples.” One word begetting another, and the Deaf’un, considering himself better at an _argumentum ad hominem_ with the fist than a verbal disputation, dared Castles to the field; the latter ridiculed the idea, and several of those present agreeing that a good licking mutually administered might do good to both of them, a deposit was made to be increased to £50, and that the veterans should have the opportunity of displaying their courage and settling their difference of opinion, _secundem artem_, with Nature’s original weapons. To afford them an opportunity to prepare for their “trial by battle,” three weeks were allowed for training, and in the interim the wrathful heroes went under the necessary regimen and exercises, Burke at the “Five Bells,” Putney, Castles at the pleasant Hill of Richmond. Monday, June 13th, 1843, was the eventful day. Castles, as the deposits went on, found no difficulty in collecting his “coriander seed;” but the poor honest Deaf’un did not find his friends, however prompt to promise when under the influence of champagne, so ready when its effervescence had subsided to relieve the mortified feelings of their _protégé_ by substantial support. Indeed, he might have miscarried at the time, for, as he told us, he found no end of difficulty “in raising his winds; all the good ones as used to do the liberals being gones.” At this juncture Young Dutch Sam kindly stepped in and posted the “possibles,” but at the expense of several town visits by the Deaf’un, which consumed hours that would have been more advantageously devoted to improving his bodily condition. In truth, Burke had outlived his fistic fame; and, although the hero of some twenty battles, it was considered that the steel had been taken out of him, and that his renewed appearance in the milling arena would be a mere impotent exhibition of departed powers. Despite of the difficulties he had to encounter, and the low estimate of his capabilities entertained by many, he sustained the character for hardihood, steadiness, and cunning tact that served him so well in days gone by. As to Castles, his height (nearly six feet) and superior activity were considered strong points in his favour.

At the last deposit it was agreed between Young Dutch Sam and Mr. Edward Lacey, the host of the “Garrick’s Head” tap――to whom the fortunes of Bob Castles had been entrusted――that a trip down the river was the most prudent mode of bringing matters to a conclusion, and for this purpose the “Nymph,” Woolwich steamer, was duly chartered, and directed to be moored off Waterloo Bridge on the morning of battle at eight o’clock. The “skipper” was punctual to his appointment, and soon after that hour the men and their partisans were safely embarked. Of the latter the muster was limited, but among them were a few “Corinthians,” whose appearance belied the conclusion that they had “risen with the lark,” although we opine they had not placed themselves in a position to render rising necessary. At a quarter after eight the craft was under weigh for London Bridge, whence, after a passing call, she proceeded to Blackwall, and there having taken in a few of “the right sort,” pursued her downward course. The Deaf’un was a little crusty on his supposed exclusion from a due share of the profits of the boat, but in this he was overruled. There was one point, however, upon which he was inexorable, namely, that, “as he was outs on a parties of pleasures,” he would “go the whole hogs,” and not stop short of Gravesend, where he expected to find Young Dutch Sam and some friends. He had no objection, however, having seen them, to “try backs, and fight on the roads homes, instead of dropping downs to the Lower Hopes,” the vicissitudes attending on the last trip to which locality was still fresh in his as well as our recollection. Accordingly, to Gravesend the “Nymph” pursued her voyage. Here Sam was found, but his state of health was such as to render his embarkation indiscreet. Little time was lost in “putting about,” and finally dropping anchor at Rainham Ferry, on the Essex shore, nearly opposite Erith, the belligerents and their followers were quickly landed, and the coast being clear, the ring was formed on a fine piece of turf behind the bank, a snug public-house affording the men a convenient resting-place till all was ready. Of betting on the voyage down we heard but little, and this at “evens,” the Deaf’un sporting his “last solitary shilling” on himself.

The Commissary having discharged his functions, aided by Tom Callas, and provided seats for the limited assemblage of spectators, the combatants were summoned to the scratch, and forth they came, nothing loth; Burke attended by Cullen and Jerry Donovan, and Castles by Tom Reidie and Fuller. On stripping, Burke looked as full in flesh and as prominent in muscle as when personating Hercules in his celebrated representation of the Grecian Statues. He stated he weighed 12st. 4lb., and stood 5ft. 8in. Castles was not so heavy, barely weighing 12st.; but he had the advantage in height, being 5ft. 11in; his length taking from his width, he looked thin, but he was evidently in good health. There was a speck in one of his eyes, but he said it did not interfere with his vision, so that there was no fear of his antagonist getting on his “blind side.” “Richard’s himselfs agains,” said the great disciple of Shakspeare, and at twenty minutes to two both men advanced, having previously tied their colours to the stakes (blue bird’s eye for the Deaf’un, and white bird’s eye for Castles), and tendering the hand of good fellowship, commenced

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――Odds, 5 to 4 on the Deaf’un. A few leary dodges, each feeling for an opening, and the Deaf’un expanding his chest and stretching his _pounders_ from the shoulders, as if to give them freedom and elasticity. Castles tried his left, but was stopped; he then kept feeling for his man, the Deaf’un waiting, and cautious; nearer and nearer till at last they got within distance, when wild and slight counter-hits were exchanged with the left, then a rush to in fighting; a few scrambling hits, but no mischief done, and the Deaf’un dropped on his knees. On rising, Castles showed a slight discolouration on the right cheek-bone.

2.――Castles manfully to his work; the Deaf’un quiet and waiting; Castles short with his left, and the Deaf’un on the alert; heavy counter-hitting with the left, and Burke popped in his favourite right-handed hit on the nut. More counter-hitting with the left; and in the close the Deaf’un was down, and got up blowing.

3.――Bob, on coming up, showed symptoms of having received nobbers on the forehead left and right, and the Deaf’un’s eyes twinkled as if they had been asked a question. Castles prompt to the call of “time,” and Burke steadily but slowly to him. The Deaf’un tried at the mark with his left, but it was a mere tap; Bob advanced, the Deaf’un retreating till they reached the corner, when Bob let fly his left, catching it severely in return. A determined rally followed, and heavy hits were exchanged left and right; the Deaf’un catching Castles a severe right-handed hit on the jaw. In the end, the Deaf’un fell on his knees outside the ropes. On getting on his “second’s” knees he pointed to his right arm, as if it had been shaken in the last round.

4.――Castles advanced; but the Deaf’un was in no hurry, and waited for him; Castles delivered his left on the Deafun’s sneezer, and got back; an exchange of heavy hits with the left, and Burke again down on his knees; he was evidently playing the cautious game.

5.――Burke’s frontispiece slightly disfigured, and a mouse under his left eye; Castles getting within distance let go his left, but the Deaf’un hit with him, and heavy slogging hits, left and right, followed; a break away, and again to business; when, after an interchange of hits, the Deaf’un was down, obviously stung to some purpose, and Castles displayed claret from his nose, and showed marks of heavy nobbing.

6.――Castles hit short with his left, but getting nearer, heavy counter-hits were exchanged, when Castles closed with the view to throwing; Burke attempted to get down, but Castles held him up by the neck by main strength for some time with both arms till he dropped.

7.――Castles again a little out of distance; the Deaf’un waiting, when counter-hits were exchanged, and Castles closing, caught his man on the hip and gave him a heavy fall, to the dismay of the Deaf’un’s backers.

8.――The Deaf’un came up slow, and suspicions were afloat that “a screw was loose,” in fact it was whispered that his rupture was down, and almost any odds were offered against him, one gentleman crying 100 to 1, and no takers; Castles strong on his legs and full of vigour. He was too cautious, however, and did not go in with sufficient determination; he hit short left and right; counter-hits with the left, and a lively rally, which ended in Burke going down, apparently weak.

9.――Burke came up blowing like a grampus, and again looking at his right arm as if something was the matter; he tried a poke at the body with his left, but did not get home; heavy counter-hits with the left, and some spirited in-fighting; punishing blows were exchanged, and in the close, Burke pursued his getting-down system.

10.――Castles came up with a tremendous bump over his left eye, which his seconds ascribed to a butt, and claimed, but the impression was that as Burke always dropped his head when he hit with his left, his head had accidentally come in contact with Castles’s forehead, but without any intention to butt, and the claim was not allowed. No sooner at the scratch, than Castles led off heavily with the left; sharp counter-hitting followed, and in the close, Burke down, Castles on him.

11.――Castles missed his left, and some severe in-fighting followed; the hits were quick and heavy; Castles tried for the fall, but Burke hung on him, and pulled him down.

12.――Castles popped in a tremendous pop with the left on the Deaf’un’s mug, and repeated the dose; the Deaf’un, not to be deterred, returned the compliment, and rattling hits followed; in the close the Deaf’un went down. Castles showed a gash on the brow, and was otherwise seriously damaged in the frontispiece, and the spirits of the Deaf’un’s friends were reviving.

13.――A magnificent rally, in which the exchange of hits left and right were really rapid; in the close, Burke got down; both were seriously contused, and their phisogs anything but free from blemish.

14.――Burke came up slow at the call of time; Castles to him, and led off with his left, but was stopped; good exchanges left and right; the Deaf’un looked groggy, but stood well up, and exchanged hits till he fell; Castles also fell, and was evidently feeling the effects of his quick and heavy fighting; both were seriously punished.

15.――Heavy exchanges left and right; and in the close, Burke down weak.

16.――Again did the men go to work with determination, although Burke was slow to the scratch; Burke delivered a heavy right-handed fling on Castles’s left ear, which was much swollen and discoloured, but on Castles attempting to close, he went down.

17.――Bob planted heavily with his left, but the Deaf’un stood it like a wood pavement, and dashed to a rally, in which heavy jobbing hits were exchanged; Castles grappled for the fall, but the Deaf’un, too leary, got down.

18.――Castles missed his left, and the Deaf’un rushing in with his head down, Castles caught it under his arm, and giving him a Cornish hug, threw and fell heavily on him.

19.――The Deaf’un slow and weak, and five to one offered on Castles, who although seriously punished came up strong on his legs, with nothing like flinching in his demeanour. Castles missed his left, but the Deaf’un met him with his left on the nozzle, and drew his cork; a sharp rally, in which pretty taps were exchanged; in the end, Burke dropped on his knees, but in the act of going down, he received a whack on the left brow from Castles’s right, which opened a seam, and brought the claret in a stream.

20.――Good stopping, when the men got to a rally, and hit followed hit left and right, till Burke fell on his knees. Castles had the bark stripped from his snuffler, and both displayed such marks of punishment as would have satisfied any ordinary appetite, and certainly proved that neither was deficient in thorough game.

21.――Burke’s left eye, which had received a second visitation, continued to bleed; Castles no sooner on his legs than to business, and delivered his left well on the Deaf’un’s nose, drawing his cork; this he repeated, when the Deaf’un rushed to a close, but Castles slipped aside, and the Deaf’un fell over on his head.

22.――Heavy exchanges left and right, the Deaf’un down.

23.――The Deaf’un’s right eyebrow following suit with his left, both cut, and his nose assisting to form a trio; heavy counter-hitting with the left, and pretty exchanges with the right; Castles down, bleeding from the nose.

24.――A terrific rally, in which the punishment was pretty much on a par; they both slogged away, till Burke dropped.

25.――Another severe round; Burke was not to be denied, and the hitting proved that each was determined to leave his mark, of which friendly attentions there were abundant proofs, as both bled profusely, and displayed a succession of severe contusions, while Castles’ left eye was fast closing, and the knuckles of his left hand were considerably puffed.

26.――Castles came up dripping claret from sundry springs: Burke, slow, waited his approach; Castles led off with his left, but was stopped; tried it again, and got home, when Burke rushed in with dire intent, but missed his blow, and Castles as he passed gave him a back-handed slap with his left; Burke down on his knees.

27.――Castles hit short, when Burke rushed in under his arm, and Castles, trying to grapple, fell over and beyond him.

28.――Castles, after a little dodging, planted his left; Burke countered, and caught him another round hit on the ear with his right; although Burke’s arm was said to be injured this did not seem to come from a disabled member, for it shook poor Castles’s dredging box most woefully; in a scrambling attempt at a close, Burke got down.

29.――Castles, bleeding copiously, but still determined, led off with his left, but Burke returned left and right; Castles, in getting away, fell, and the cheers of Burke’s friends gave him new life.

30.――It was now clear that Castles’ left hand was fast going, and from its swollen state it was plain that it was incapable of much execution; and the Deaf’un, who seemed rather to gain than to lose his strength, was the favourite at 6 to 4. The Deaf’un, in no hurry, waited for his antagonist’s approach; Castles let go his left, and the Deaf’un poked him in return, and after some good hitting, the Deaf’un got down.

31.――The Deaf’un still on the waiting suit; Castles not so quick; he found that his heavy slogging hits made no impression on the Deaf’un’s iron head; still, after a pause, he led off with his left, and after a spirited rally, the Deaf’un was down.

32.――The Deaf’un evidently tired, took his time in coming to the scratch, and quietly waited for the attack. Castles at last went to work, and heavy hits were exchanged, when in the close both were down, on Castles being lifted up, although dreadfully punished, he said “he felt strong,” and showed no disposition to cry “enough;” while Burke was equally dogged in his determination.

33.――A little artful dodging; Castles let go his left, but Burke ducked, and got away; Burke in turn rushed in, but Castles retreated; he then rattled to the charge, but the Deaf’un slipped down on one knee; Castles pointed at him with his finger, instead of hitting him as he might have done, and exclaimed, “that’s Nick Ward’s game, stand up and fight like a man;” Burke grinned, shook his bump of combativeness, and was carried to his corner.

34.――The Deaf’un extremely deliberate in his movements, and slow to the scratch. Castles not so quick as heretofore; after looking at each other and dodging, Castles shot out with his damaged left, but was stopped; a rally and counter-hits exchanged, when Burke again got down on his knees; Castles pointed at him derisively, but the Deaf’un “took a sight” with both hands, and flourished his digits; Castle walked to his corner, mortified at Burke’s dropping, while Burke was carried to his.

35.――Castles’ left hand getting worse, and he did not seem inclined to lead off so quickly as heretofore; the Deaf’un ogled the damaged fin with great satisfaction, and, after a short pause, led off with his left, and planting his blow got down on his knees; Castles looked “unutterable things,” and, after regarding him for a moment, gave him a contemptuous slap on the cheek, at which the Deaf’un smiled, as much as to admit he was playing “the artful dodger.”

36.――The Deaf’un a decided favourite, and 2 to 1 offered on him. He was clearly the stronger man, while his left hand was still sound and in working order; on getting up he waited quietly for the attack, looking slyly down at Castles’ fist; Castles offered to commence, but the Deaf’un retreated; a considerable pause, when Castles led off: the Deaf’un countered heavily, and after a sharp rally, in which some severe exchanges took place, the Deaf’un again got down, still playing the old soldier.

37 and last.――The Deaf’un pursued his waiting game, and was clearly gaining strength; Castles also paused and was in no hurry to begin; the Deaf’un rubbed his chest, and then his thatch with both hands, and grinned, as much as to say, “I’m in no hurry.” Castles tried a feint with his left, but if would not do; the Deaf’un was wide awake, and showed that he was determined not to throw a chance away. Castles tried his left at the body, but the blow was not effectual, at last he let go at the Deaf’un’s head, and a brisk rally followed, when the Deaf’un finished the round by giving Castles, for the first time, a heavy fall. This was the closing act of the drama. Castles found his opponent the stronger man, and, from the state of his left hand, feeling that he had not a chance, he prudently determined to give in at once, declaring that fortune was on the side of his opponent, and he had not the power to turn the scale. The Deaf’un immediately approached, they shook hands, and all was over in _one hour and ten minutes_.

Both men were immediately conducted to the contiguous public-house, where every attention was paid to them, and where their wounds were dressed, and their contusions reduced as much as possible. Poor Castles was heavily punished, his left eye in total eclipse; his face exhibited not a square inch without a mark, and a deep incision over the right eye showed the severity of the Deaf’un’s hitting. His left hand, too, had become perfectly useless; in truth a more perfect specimen of a courageous and undaunted submission to hard hitting we have never witnessed――the best evidence that if by nature timid, by force of mind he resisted all approach to the charge of cowardice, a species of valour even more creditable than that which mere instinct and the gift of creation has planted in the carcases of many animals. Burke had also what he called his “shares;” but with a hardier and more robust frame than Castles, as well as a head that might vie in quality with the rind of a cocoa-nut, his sufferings were not so severe. Yet we doubt whether in any of his former encounters his receipts were of so severe a character; he confessed he got much more than he expected, and was disagreeably surprised at finding “Mister Bobs so dangerous a customers.”

Castles lost this battle principally from his eagerness in the latter part of the fight, and a want of judgment in not hitting and getting away. He was too fast, while the Deaf’un cunningly waited and popped him as he came in, thus giving a sort of double impetus to his deliveries. Had Castles rattled in with more determination when Burke was amiss, about the eighth round, the issue might have been different. Burke felt his position, and had recourse to all the strategems of an old soldier, husbanding his strength, getting down, and never attempting to wrestle or unnecessarily exhaust his powers; by this means he preserved his physical energies, and made the best use of them at the proper time. Castles, on the contrary, was always first to the call of “time,” and till the last few rounds “made all the running,” thereby realising the fable of the hare and the tortoise. In trying to throw the Deaf’un, too, he diminished his powers; still, with all this, we are inclined to think, had his left hand not given way, a result almost inevitable from the frequent repetition of heavy hits on the Deaf’un’s granite nut, he would have come off victorious; as it is, with all his faults, he proved himself superior in pluck and moral courage to most of the modern men of his weight, and deserved the generous consideration of those who prize such qualities. The Deaf’un showed unflinching game throughout, and fighting up-hill as he did, with his right arm seriously, though not fatally damaged, he proved that “all was not lost that was in danger;” and that in confiding in his tact his admirers were not trusting to “a broken reed.”

The battle money was given to Burke at Young Dutch Sam’s, the “Old Drury Tavern,” Brydges Street.

The re-embarkation followed in good order, and all reached Waterloo Bridge at seven o’clock――the combatants proceeding under the care of their friends to their respective quarters. As an appropriate _pendant_ to the prosaic version of this “crowning victory” we append

A TRIUMPHANT EPISTLE FROM DEAF BURKE TO BOB CASTLES.

My sarvice, friend Castles, once class’d with the nobs, We’ve finished our fights, and we’ve settled the jobs; I founds you a customers ugly and stout, And I’m blest if my works wasn’t neatly cut out.

We’ve both of us passed, and no doubts on’t, our prime, And good sarvice we’ve seen in the Rings in our time; Fortune’s smiles and her frowns we’ve been destin’d to weather, But ne’er, as I knows on, displayed the white feather.

Your friends chose to say I’d no relish for whopping, And censure as currish my systems of dropping, Declare by good men such a course was abhorr’d, And a leafs I had prigg’d from the books of Nick Ward.

Now I humbly begs leave at sich nonsense to grin―― One objects I had, and that there was to win; And who’er at my tictacs may fancy a fling, Such dodging’s all fair by the Rules of the Ring.

On strengths and on plucks do men place sole reliance? Is nothing allow’d for manoovers and science? The systems of getting away would you fetter? Why, Bobbys, my tulips, you knows a deal better?

Too fast with your rush you were constantly in, Till I gladly observed you had damaged your fin; Now, says I to my pals, you may alter your tones, For I see clear as muds that the games is my owns.

And yet I received of hard hitting a gluts, You pepper’d my pimples, and damag’d my nuts; I never suppos’d you could come it so rough, And well pleased was I when you sing’d out “enough!”

I’m sure you’ll allow, after triumphs achiev’d, I wasn’t so stale as some folks has conceived; Who swore that my powers pugilistics were spent, And I couldn’t inflict in fresh butter a dent.

That I’ve not the same powers I’m free to deplore, As when I floor’d Byrne and a great many more; All out-and-out fancy boys, fearless and free, Then the Deaf’un aspired to be top of the tree.

But lush and late hours, ’twould be folly to doubt, For a time wore my frame and my energies out; First Bendigo gave me a punishing dose, And I then by Nick Ward was consign’d to repose.

Yet tho’ peaceful the course which for some time I shap’d, I felt that my gas had not wholly escap’d; My luck once again I was anxious to try, And with a true trump to turn out for a shy.

The rest, Bobs, we knows, and I scorn all self praise, And I’d troubles sufficient the needful to raise; And, faith, I had almost despaired of a fight, When Young Dutch Sams came forward, and made it all right.

Then we’ll meet at his cribs, Bobs, and go the whole hogs, In despatching his malts, his Virginny, and grogs, And as the pure drinkables mount to our brain, In “luck to the Rings” the bright pewters we’ll drain.

And I’ll teach you to hact, both abroad and at home, The statutes of Greece and the statutes of Rome! I’ll teach you, Bob Castles, to understand traps, And make you a classical sorts of a chaps.

And whether clean’d out or well breech’d with the stump, In wars or in peaces you’ll find me a trump, And whoever agin you foul slanders may hazard, Shall have from this mauley a tap on the mazzard.

Then good-bye for the present――I wish you all _mércies_; You see I’m no bad one at tagging of werses, And ready at all times for going to vork, I’m yours, without any more gammon, DEAF BURKE.

This was the last “flare-up” of the Deaf’un’s pugnacious spirit. Late hours and long fasts, alternated with creaming sillery, lobster-salads, devilled biscuits, ditto kidneys, and a deluge of meaner liquors, soon reduced poor Burke to a shadow of his former self, and he died of consumption on the 8th of January, 1845, in Francis Street, Waterloo Road. His good qualities were his own, his vices the grafting of his so-called “betters” in society.

[14] In _Fistiana_ (edit. 1864), Burke’s fight with Fitzmaurice is set down as having taken place on June 9th, 1834; _i.e._ thirteen months after the Deaf’un’s fatal affair with Simon Byrne, and is so placed. It occurred five years earlier, in 1829, as above narrated.

[15] Omitted from the list of Lazarus’s fights in _Fistiana_, but inserted under Brown.

[16] Butting was not yet prohibited, and was frequently resorted to when a man wished to escape from the hug of a fibbing or wrestling adversary.――ED. PUGILISTICA.

[17] This is also prohibited by modern rules.――ED.

[18] This highly reprehensible system of carrying men up to the scratch was subsequently entirely done away with, as also the system of allowing minute time, another mischievous practice, which, by giving men more time, enabled them to recover sufficiently to stand and deliver blows long after their strength and stamina were exhausted. These alterations took place after the fatal fight between Owen Swift and Brighton Bill, and were attended with most beneficial results. Half-minute time only was allowed by the New Rules, and if a man did not _walk to the scratch_ in eight seconds after time was called, he lost the fight.