The Jews in this country have taken very kindly to boxing, both as spectators and as principals, throughout the annals of the Ring, both in the days of bare knuckles and in later times down to the present day, there has generally been a sprinkling of good fighting Israelites. And the first Jew of any note as a boxer became Champion of England.

The battles for which Daniel Mendoza was most famous were the succession, four in number, in which he engaged Richard Humphries. The first of these was negligible, being but a “turn-up” or pot-house quarrel at the Cock, Epping. This took place in September of 1787, but it led to a pitched fight between these men for a purse of 150 guineas at Odiham, in Hampshire, in the following January.

Like many prominent fighters, Mendoza was finely developed from the waist upwards, with a big chest and a show of muscle in the arms, but his legs were weaker. He was five-foot seven in height. Humphries was an inch taller and rather better built. He was known as the “Gentleman Boxer” because of his pleasant manners and sporting behaviour generally. Both were men of proved courage. As may be imagined from the Epping incident, there was no love lost between them.

They fought on a twenty-four foot stage erected in a field, but, since the day was wet, the boarded ring from the first proved to be a hindrance to good boxing.

At first the men were both very cautious. Mendoza, always a little inclined to attitudinise and to pose for effect, swaggered about the ring until he saw an opening when, lunging forward with a mighty blow he slipped and fell. On coming up again Mendoza got a little nearer to his man and hit him twice, the second blow knocking Humphries down. In the next round they closed and Humphries was heavily thrown. Already it seemed certain that Mendoza was the better boxer, though Humphries was very strong and full of pluck. And for a quarter of an hour of hard fighting his pluck was fully needed. Mendoza throughout that time attacked him with the utmost violence, knocking him down or throwing him with consummate skill, so that the betting was strongly in the Jew’s favour. Then happened one of those curious and unsatisfactory incidents for which Broughton’s Rules, at all events, had no remedy. Mendoza had driven his antagonist, blow following blow, right after left, across the ring to the side, which appears on this occasion to have been railed and not roped. A smashing right had all but lifted Humphries off the stage, and for a moment he hung over the rail quite helpless and at Mendoza’s mercy. Instantly taking advantage of his position, the Jew sent in a terrific right-hander at Humphries’s ribs which, had it landed, would almost certainly have knocked him out of time and so finished the fight. But Tom Johnson, who was acting as Humphries’s second, leapt forward and caught Mendoza’s fist in his own hand.

The Jew’s followers immediately sent up a shout of “Foul!” which was reasonable enough. Indeed, by modern rules there would be no question at all. Humphries would have been immediately disqualified for his second’s interference. But the old rules were elastic and the umpires on this occasion decided that Johnson was justified, as his man should be considered “down.” Whether they had any ulterior motive, such as the desire to see the fight run its natural length, one cannot say. But we do know that human nature has altered remarkably little in a hundred and fifty years, and to-day a referee, not of the first rank, will often stretch a debatable point in order “not to spoil sport,” or because it would be a pity if the public failed to get their money’s worth out of the moving pictures taken of the fight.

Hitherto, owing to the wet and slippery boards, Humphries had been severely handicapped. He now took off his shoes and fought in his silk stockings. But with these, too, he found it difficult to keep his footing and after a round or two his seconds provided him with a pair of thick worsted stockings to put over them. In these he could stand firm, and shortly afterwards his great courage began to be rewarded, for Mendoza flagged a little, and Humphries picked him clean off his feet and threw him with terrible force to the ground. The Jew came down on his face, cutting his forehead severely and bruising his nose. Coming up for the next round, Mendoza was plainly hurt and shaken, and thenceforward his antagonist showed himself the better man. Mendoza went down before a terrific body-blow, while in the next round he fell from a left-hander on the neck which nearly knocked the senses out of him. Then, coming up again, he dashed at Humphries and hit him with all his flagging power in the face, but he slipped and toppled over from the impetus of his own rush and fell down on the boards with his leg awkwardly twisted under him. In doing this he sprained a tendon, and knowing that further effort was quite useless, he gave in. A moment later he fainted in the ring and was carried away. So Humphries’s victory on this occasion was due, finally, to an accident. The whole battle was finished in half an hour, and “never was more skill and science displayed in any boxing match in this kingdom,” wrote the chronicler, Pierce Egan, with his customary exaggeration.

Prone as human nature ever is, now as then, to judge by net results, Mendoza’s reputation nevertheless suffered little from this defeat. On the contrary, he had boxed so well and had shown so much courage that he had, if anything, enhanced it. It was seen that he was a much quicker man than Humphries and that he was far better at close quarters. On the other hand, Mendoza was not a really hard hitter.

After this battle the winner wrote a note to his backer and patron, Mr. Bradyl, which delightfully summed up the situation:—

“Sir,—I have done the Jew, and am in good health.

“Richard Humphries.”

But a number of sportsmen were by no means satisfied that Humphries had “done” the Jew on his own merits. They fully realised that accident had materially helped in that “doing,” and accordingly were ready to back the Jew again. The two men being quite willing, a match was arranged and was eventually fought in Mr. Thornton’s park, near Stilton, in Huntingdonshire, on May 6th, 1789. For this encounter, popular excitement being very great, a sort of amphitheatre was built with seats piled tier on tier around the ring. It held nearly 3000 people. This, too, was an unsatisfactory fight, but has to be chronicled because it illustrates very vividly some of the causes which nearly a hundred years later finally brought the Prize-Ring to ignominy, and because, also, it shows how mixed are human motives and emotions during severe physical strain.

The men squared up to each other, and Humphries made the first attack, but Mendoza stopped the blow neatly and sent in a hard counter which knocked his antagonist down. The second and third rounds ended in exactly the same way. The Jew’s confidence was complete, his speed remarkable. He had learned to hit no harder, but he certainly hit more often than Humphries. For about forty minutes Mendoza had much the best of it, taking his adversary’s blows on his forearm, instantly replying with his quick, straight left, or closing and throwing Humphries.

The feeling of impotency, of long effort continuously baffled, finds the breaking point of a boxer’s pluck much sooner than severe punishment relieved by a successful counter from time to time. Humphries was tired, but not seriously hurt. In the twenty-second round Mendoza struck at him, but he avoided the blow and dropped. He did not slip. As the Jew’s fist came towards him he made the almost automatic movement which should ensure its harmlessness, but at the same moment he deliberately made up his mind to take the half minute’s rest then and there. Or perhaps that was instinctive too. The human mind flits quickly through the processes or stages of intention and comes to a certain conclusion. Humphries wanted to gain time and fell without a blow. Now the articles of agreement expressly stated that if either man fell without a blow he should lose the fight. And the cries of “Foul!” from the crowd and especially from Mendoza’s corner were natural enough. But Humphries and his backers claimed the fall a fair one because Mendoza had struck a blow, though it had not, as a matter of fact, landed. The partisans on either side wrangled and argued, and finally a general fight seemed almost inevitable. Above the yelling and cursing of the crowd and in the general confusion, the umpires could scarcely be heard. Sir Thomas Apreece, Mendoza’s umpire, naturally shouted that it was a foul and that Humphries was beaten. Mr. Combe, the other umpire, held his tongue, refusing to give an opinion. That should have been sufficient. But Mendoza’s second lost his temper and shouted across the ring to Tom Johnson, who was once again seconding Humphries, that he was a liar and a scoundrel. This observation may not have been strictly to the point, but the point (save that of the jaw) is the last consideration when feeling runs high on notable public occasions. Johnson said nothing and began to cross the ring in his slow, heavy way, looking very dangerous. But a diversion interrupted a promising bye-battle, for Humphries stood up and called on Mendoza to continue fighting, carrying the war, as it were, into the enemy’s country by taunting him with cowardice. Mendoza was willing enough, but his backers held him back. Humphries then threw up his hat and challenged the Jew to a fresh battle, and at last they fell to again. And yet again Mendoza showed himself the better man, knocking Humphries down twice in succession. For half an hour the second act of this drama continued indecisive, though Mendoza was evidently the better and more skilful man. He now punished Humphries severely, closing one of his eyes, severely cutting his forehead and lip. He had little in return, though Humphries had put in some heavy body-blows at close quarters which had made the Jew wince. But throughout the second half of the fight Humphries fought with perfect courage and even confidence. Then at last he again fell without a blow, and Mendoza was declared the winner.

What was to be thought of such a man?

Even now, neither Humphries nor his friends were fully satisfied. His tremendous hitting power, especially when directed against Mendoza’s body, was reckoned as not having yet been fully tested. Once let him send home but one smashing right on the Jew’s lower ribs, and he would certainly win.

Accordingly, yet another match was arranged in September of the following year at Doncaster, during (as Pierce Egan phonetically spells it) the Sellinger Cup week. The place chosen was confined on three sides by houses, whilst the fourth was closed by high railings behind which flowed the river Don. Public excitement was very high. Upwards of five hundred tickets of admission to the ground were sold at half a guinea each, whilst a ferryman made a small fortune by taking many hundreds of people over the river to the back of the railings at sixpence a head. These presently smashed down the railings and so gained an unauthorised entry. Having gained their point, however, the crowd behaved well, and settled down to watch the renewed trial of the two fighters in silent expectation.

Again a twenty-four-foot stage had been built at a height of four feet so that all the spectators could get a clear view. At half-past ten in the morning the men appeared, Mendoza immediately following Humphries. Both of them seemed cheerful, confident, and well. Johnson, who had hitherto been Humphries’s second, had deserted and gone over to the opposite camp, his place being taken by John Jackson, who, a few years later, himself became Champion of England. Colonel Hamilton and Sir Thomas Apreece were the umpires, and they mutually agreed upon Mr. Harvey Aston as referee. Odds of 5 to 4 were laid on Mendoza.

Humphries led off with perfect confidence and all his strength, but was met by stout resistance. In a moment they were in each other’s arms, struggling for a fall, and presently they both went over together. Their eagerness was quite undiminished when they came up again, Humphries doing most of the leading and landing from time to time, without, however, giving Mendoza serious trouble. After a time they grew more cautious, blows were fewer but harder, and Mendoza knocked his man down. In the fifth round Humphries made a desperate effort to get in one of his rib-bending body-blows, but failed, and in the rally that followed over-reached himself and fell. And then it was seen that, round by round, Mendoza was improving, scoring more heavily, boxing much better. The odds rose to 10-1 in his favour. Round after round ended by Humphries going down, sometimes from a blow, but more often “from a policy often used in boxing, which perhaps may be considered fair; several times he sank without a blow, which conduct, though contrary to the articles of agreement, was passed unnoticed.”

Judging that conduct on its open merits, we should say that Humphries was a simple coward. But we often too easily and too quickly call people cowards, and even in this instance we have, so to speak, to look again.

The spectators, even in that age of quickly cut and dried opinions, still had a certain degree of confidence in this strange man, for whilst he was actually fighting, though round by round he got the worst of it, there was the same old vigour in his movements, the same readiness to seize an opportunity. The man of poor spirit in the ring is not so much one who cannot stand punishment as one who fails in aggression. Almost he hopes to be knocked out; he can stand up and defend himself, but on his very life he cannot force himself to take chances and attack his opponent.

Again he must have experienced the impotency of inaction. He tried to hit Mendoza, but seldom succeeded. Again, one eye was completely closed so that he could not see from it. His friends, seeing that he had no chance of winning now, begged him to give in. But he refused. And yet he kept falling without a blow. One moment he would make up his mind to be brave, to endure whatever punishment was coming to him, and the next he would fail, and seek respite on the ground. Then again he would stand up and try to fight. For a little while after his friends’ solicitations, he was spurred on to his best endeavours, but it was useless. Mendoza won every round, and at last, dreadfully cut about the head and face, with a mutilated ear and a severe cut over the ribs, Humphries had to give in.

Much battered, he was carried through the crowd on the shoulders of his friends.

It was not until five years later that Mendoza’s championship was wrested from him by John Jackson, a man whose title to fame arose rather from his general behaviour than from his performances as a professional athlete.

Jackson was born in 1768, and was the son of a builder. His forebears had come of a good yeoman race. He was a man of great solidity of character, astute commercial instincts and a sonorous pomposity of manner which passed very well for dignity. He was five-feet eleven in height, and he weighed fourteen stone. He was massively built, and he “took care of himself,” as the saying goes: in other words, he lived a reasonable life—the last sort of life usually lived by the pugilists of that day.

Jackson and Mendoza met at Hornchurch, in Essex, on April 15th, 1795, for 200 guineas aside. The twenty-four-foot stage was built at the bottom of a hollow which formed a natural amphitheatre and accommodated about 3000 people.

Jackson had fought only twice before, having beaten Fewterel of Birmingham, a good man with twenty victories to his credit, and having lost, through falling and dislocating an ankle, to George Ingleston. His fine appearance and his portentous respectability no doubt brought more public interest to his fight with Mendoza than his record: but the Jew was a fully tried man of a great and deserved reputation, and the betting was 5-4 on him.

When the men had shaken hands a whole minute went by as they manoeuvred about each other before a blow was struck. Then in the slow manner of that day, Jackson gathered himself together and sent in a tremendously hard left-hander which struck Mendoza full in the face and sent him down.

In the second round the Jew was more careful, and when Jackson went for him he stopped or avoided blow after blow, using his feet with neatness and dexterity, and returning, if not blow for blow, at least a fair proportion of them. A little later there was a fierce rally in which Mendoza was knocked down, but the betting nevertheless rose to 2-1 on him.

They fought at an ever increasing speed as time went on. In the fourth round, Jackson paid no heed at all to his opponent’s blows, but battered his way in, taking much punishment to give the greater. Finally he sent home a terrible left on the right eye which completely slit open the brow and bled profusely besides causing Mendoza to fall. Jackson was evidently doing the better as the betting changed in his favour.

It was in the next, the fifth round, that our model of gentlemanly conduct sought his own advantage by means of one of the foulest tricks that have been handed down to us. There was a fierce exchange of blows during which the Jew’s head was lowered as he lunged forward with his right to the body. Jackson stepped aside to avoid the blow and caught Mendoza by his somewhat long hair, twisting his fingers in it, whilst with his free hand he upper-cut him again and again.

Mendoza’s friends instantly appealed to the umpires, but, Egan tells us, “they deemed it perfectly consistent with the rules of fighting.” Mendoza fell and 2-1 was betted on Jackson.

During the next three rounds the old champion was evidently growing weak, and fought only on the defensive. But Jackson beat down his guard and hit him severely. The ninth round was the last. Jackson walked in and planted several hard blows in quick succession on face and body. Mendoza struggled on for a little while and at last fell utterly exhausted. He knew that he stood no chance now. It was folly to go on. He gave in.

It was one of the shortest main battles ever fought, lasting in all but ten minutes and a half; and for its time quite the hardest ever fought at all. Mendoza was badly cut up; the new champion was hardly hurt.

This was not by any means the Jew’s last appearance in the Prize-Ring, for he fought Harry Lee for seventy minutes and beat him in fifty-three rounds eleven years later: and he actually fought Tom Owen in 1820, when he was fifty-seven years old. “Youth will be served,” we know, and Owen, who was at the time only just over fifty, beat him. Mendoza lived to a good old age, and in comfortable circumstances, dying in 1836.

Seven years after the encounter recorded above a letter appeared in the Daily Oracle and Advertiser which purported to be a challenge from Mendoza to Jackson for a return match. As a fact, the letter was a practical joke; but a part of Jackson’s reply is worth quoting, as it is so characteristic of all we hear of the man.

“... for some years,” he wrote, “I have entirely withdrawn from a public life, and am more and more convinced of the propriety of my conduct by the happiness which I enjoy in private among many friends of great respectability, with whom it is my pride to be received on terms of familiarity and friendship....”

Jackson never fought again, and one of the greatest reputations in the annals of the championship that have come to us is based upon a pugilist who only entered the ring thrice! One other champion was in precisely the same case, and that was John Gulley, whom we shall come to in due course.

No doubt Jackson attracted to himself a good deal of attention apart from the eccentricity of his good behaviour. He was a man of prodigious strength and is said to have written his name whilst an 84 lb. weight was suspended from his little finger.

After his retirement he took rooms at 13 Old Bond Street, a regular and fashionable house of call for the young bloods of the day. It became the correct thing to take a course of boxing lessons from John Jackson. Byron, who was a keen boxer despite his infirmity, used to go there to keep down the fat of which he ever lived in terror. In his diary for March 17th, 1814, he says: “I have been sparring with Jackson for exercise this morning, and mean to continue and renew my acquaintance with my mufflers. My chest, and arms, and wind are in very good plight, and I am not in flesh. I used to be a hard hitter and my arms are very long for my height.”—which was 5 ft 8¼ inches—“At any rate, exercise is good, and this the severest of all; fencing and broadsword never fatigued me half so much.”

Byron regarded John Jackson as a friend whom he greatly admired. He wrote letters to him on several occasions.

Jackson had innumerable pupils and was about the first real instructor of boxing for amateurs. He went to his grave in Brompton Cemetery old and honoured in 1845.