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CHAPTER XXVI
The flower of the grass … Days of pugilism … The rendezvous … Jews
… Bruisers of England … Winter； spring … Well…earned bays … The
fight … Huge black cloud … Frame of adamant … The storm …
Dukkeripens … The barouche … The rain…gushes。
HOW for everything there is a time and a season； and then how does
the glory of a thing pass from it； even like the flower of the
grass。 This is a truism； but it is one of those which are
continually forcing themselves upon the mind。 Many years have not
passed over my head； yet； during those which I can recall to
remembrance； how many things have I seen flourish； pass away； and
become forgotten； except by myself； who； in spite of all my
endeavours； never can forget anything。 I have known the time when
a pugilistic encounter between two noted champions was almost
considered in the light of a national affair； when tens of
thousands of individuals； high and low； meditated and brooded upon
it； the first thing in the morning and the last at night； until the
great event was decided。 But the time is past； and many people
will say； thank God that it is； all I have to say is； that the
French still live on the other side of the water； and are still
casting their eyes hitherward … and that in the days of pugilism it
was no vain blast to say that one Englishman was a match for two of
t'other race； at present it would be a vain boast to say so； for
these are not the days of pugilism。
But those to which the course of my narrative has carried me were
the days of pugilism； it was then at its height； and consequently
near its decline； for corruption had crept into the ring； and how
many things； states and sects among the rest； owe their decline to
this cause！ But what a bold and vigorous aspect pugilism wore at
that time！ and the great battle was just then coming off： the day
had been decided upon； and the spot … a convenient distance from
the old town； and to the old town were now flocking the bruisers of
England； men of tremendous renown。 Let no one sneer at the
bruisers of England … what were the gladiators of Rome； or the
bull…fighters of Spain； in its palmiest days； compared to England's
bruisers？ Pity that ever corruption should have crept in amongst
them … but of that I wish not to talk； let us still hope that a
spark of the old religion； of which they were the priests； still
lingers in the breasts of Englishmen。 There they come； the
bruisers； from far London； or from wherever else they might chance
to be at the time； to the great rendezvous in the old city； some
came one way； some another： some of tip…top reputation came with
peers in their chariots； for glory and fame are such fair things
that even peers are proud to have those invested therewith by their
sides； others came in their own gigs； driving their own bits of
blood； and I heard one say： 'I have driven through at a heat the
whole hundred and eleven miles； and only stopped to bait twice。'
Oh； the blood…horses of old England！ but they； too； have had their
day … for everything beneath the sun there is a season and a time。
But the greater number come just as they can contrive； on the tops
of coaches； for example； and amongst these there are fellows with
dark sallow faces and sharp shining eyes； and it is these that have
planted rottenness in the core of pugilism； for they are Jews； and；
true to their kind； have only base lucre in view。
It was fierce old Cobbett； I think； who first said that the Jews
first introduced bad faith amongst pugilists。 He did not always
speak the truth； but at any rate he spoke it when he made that
observation。 Strange people the Jews … endowed with every gift but
one； and that the highest； genius divine … genius which can alone
make of men demigods； and elevate them above earth and what is
earthy and grovelling； without which a clever nation … and； who
more clever than the Jews？ … may have Rambams in plenty； but never
a Fielding nor a Shakespeare。 A Rothschild and a Mendoza； yes …
but never a Kean nor a Belcher。
So the bruisers of England are come to be present at the grand
fight speedily coming off； there they are met in the precincts of
the old town； near the field of the chapel； planted with tender
saplings at the restoration of sporting Charles； which are now
become venerable elms； as high as many a steeple； there they are
met at a fitting rendezvous； where a retired coachman； with one
leg； keeps an hotel and a bowling…green。 I think I now see them
upon the bowling…green； the men of renown； amidst hundreds of
people with no renown at all； who gaze upon them with timid wonder。
Fame； after all； is a glorious thing； though it lasts only for a
day。 There's Cribb； the champion of England； and perhaps the best
man in England； there he is； with his huge massive figure； and face
wonderfully like that of a lion。 There is Belcher； the younger；
not the mighty one； who is gone to his place； but the Teucer
Belcher； the most scientific pugilist that ever entered a ring；
only wanting strength to be； I won't say what。 He appears to walk
before me now； as he did that evening； with his white hat； white
greatcoat； thin genteel figure； springy step； and keen； determined
eye。 Crosses him； what a contrast！ grim； savage Shelton； who has a
civil word for nobody； and a hard blow for anybody … hard！ one
blow； given with the proper play of his athletic arm； will unsense
a giant。 Yonder individual； who strolls about with his hands
behind him； supporting his brown coat lappets； under…sized； and who
looks anything but what he is； is the king of the light weights； so
called … Randall！ the terrible Randall； who has Irish blood in his
veins； not the better for that； nor the worse； and not far from him
is his last antagonist； Ned Turner； who； though beaten by him；
still thinks himself as good a man； in which he is； perhaps； right；
for it was a near thing； and 'a better shentleman；' in which he is
quite right； for he is a Welshman。 But how shall I name them all？
they were there by dozens； and all tremendous in their way。 There
was Bulldog Hudson； and fearless Scroggins； who beat the conqueror
of Sam the Jew。 There was Black Richmond … no； he was not there；
but I knew him well； he was the most dangerous of blacks； even with
a broken thigh。 There was Purcell； who could never conquer till
all seemed over with him。 There was … what！ shall I name thee
last？ ay； why not？ I believe that thou art the last of all that
strong family still above the sod； where mayst thou long continue …
true piece of English stuff； Tom of Bedford … sharp as Winter； kind
as Spring。
Hail to thee； Tom of Bedford； or by whatever name it may please
thee to be called； Spring or Winter。 Hail to thee； six…foot
Englishman of the brown eye； worthy to have carried a six…foot bow
at Flodden； where England's yeomen triumphed over Scotland's king；
his clans and chivalry。 Hail to thee； last of England's bruisers；
after all the many victories which thou hast achieved … true
English victories； unbought by yellow gold； need I recount them？
nay； nay！ they are already well known to fame … sufficient to say
that Bristol's Bull and Ireland's Champion were vanquished by thee；
and one mightier still； gold itself； thou didst overcome； for gold
itself strove in vain to deaden the power of thy arm； and thus thou
didst proceed till men left off challenging thee； the
unvanquishable； the incorruptible。 'Tis a treat to see thee； Tom
of Bedford； in thy 'public' in Holborn way； whither thou hast
retired with thy well…earned bays。 'Tis Friday night； and nine by
Holborn clock。 There sits the yeoman at the end of his long room；
surrounded by his friends； glasses are filled； and a song is the
cry； and a song is sung well suited to the place； it finds an echo
in every heart … fists are clenched； arms are waved； and the
portraits of the mighty fighting men of yore； Broughton； and Slack；
and Ben； which adorn the walls； appear to smile grim approbation；
whilst many a manly voice joins in the bold chorus：
Here's a health to old honest John Bull；
When he's gone we shan't find such another；
And with hearts and with glasses brim full；
We will drink to old England； his mother。
But the fight！ with respect to the fight； what shall I say？ Little
can be said about it … it was soon over； some said that the brave
from town； who was reputed the best man of the two； and whose form
was a perfect model of athletic beauty； allowed himself； for lucre
vile； to be vanquished by the massive champion with the flattened
nose。 One thing is certain； that the former was suddenly seen to
sink to the earth before a blow of by no means extraordinary power。
Time； time！ was called； but there he lay upon the ground apparently