As already said, John Gulley retired from the ring after his second fight with Bob Gregson, and Tom Cribb, having himself beaten Gregson a few months later—that is, on October 25th, 1808, was declared Champion of England. And once again Jem Belcher’s unreasoning ambition (or insensate jealousy—whichever way you like to put it) caused him to challenge Tom for the title. This time, though Jem found backing, as an old favourite somehow always will, his friends frankly dreaded the issue. In the two years or so that had gone by since their last encounter, Jem had taken no greater care of himself than previously. His all too easy, self-indulgent life in conjunction with a naturally delicate body, had made a poor creature of him. Before his second fight with Cribb he entered the ring, as you might say, a beaten man.

The place chosen on this occasion was the racecourse at Epsom, the day was the first of February, 1809. The betting was 7-4 and 2-1 on Cribb, who had been trained by Captain Barclay, himself a good amateur boxer, though chiefly known in those days as the man who, for a wager, had walked a thousand miles in as many hours.

And yet the first round was Jem’s. Tom Cribb, though in much better condition than formerly, had not yet reached his highest form and was still ponderous and slow, relying upon his strength, playing a waiting game. Jem dashed in with all his old eagerness and gusto, and spanked away at the champion merrily. Tom retreated, and Jem’s wonderful speed confused and hustled him, so that he could not guard himself effectually, and Jem would send home sharp, stinging lefts followed by heavier rights, half a dozen to Cribb’s one. But though he might be momentarily bothered and confused, the champion was quite content. He could stand all the punishment that Jem could give him—that he knew already. He had only to wait. It was worth a few knocks. Jem would beat himself.

The second round was rather different. Jem still did all the leading and Tom fought on the retreat, but this time he kept his head and stopped most of the quick blows that Jem aimed at him. His guard had greatly improved, he used both his head and his feet with coolness and sound judgment. It is true that he was somewhat staggered by one very hard hit that Jem drove home over his guard, but that led the weaker man to an act of foolishness such as had helped towards his downfall in their previous fight. Jem dashed in and instead of raining blows to complete his man’s discomfiture, he closed and wrestled with him and finally threw him, which, as we have seen, did more to exhaust the temporary victor than his opponent. Not even the betting by unintelligent spectators was affected. Indeed Captain Barclay promptly tried to lay 4-1 on Cribb, but found no takers even at that price.

And yet for many rounds Belcher boxed with great skill, though quite early in the fight it was noticed that his wind was poor, and in any sharp rally he had to fight for his breath. Time after time Cribb found himself able to get close and throw him. But it was Cribb once more who showed the severer signs of punishment: his face was already swollen and he bled profusely from several cuts made by Jem’s sharp knuckles. Again and again Cribb was out-boxed, but what was science against a man whose mighty strength could ignore blows? Belcher was indeed and once again beating himself. His wind was gone, his breath came in feverish gasps, he grew slower and more feeble. In the eighth round he tried to get away from his man to the side of the ring in order to get his breath, but Cribb followed him quickly to the ropes, and Jem had to fight again. True, he hit Cribb several times, but the sting was gone from him, and presently the champion closed and they both fell.

And now Cribb refused to retreat any more. He stood up and walked into Jem, planting terrible blows, chiefly upon his body, guarding the counters, closing and hurling the lighter man upon the ground. He was confident and happy now. By the eleventh round he knew that he could not lose. And yet Belcher fought on with that amazing persistence, that flickering hope against hope, that glorious courage which in like case to-day, as then, you will often hear called folly. Jem Belcher was beaten then, but he went on till the thirty-first round with a gallantry that endures as an example to this day. Once again his knuckles were driven up and the skin upon them was all torn away. There is no possible doubt but that if Jem had been his old self Cribb could not have beaten him. But that is an unprofitable line of argument.

Belcher never entered the ring again. This battle, though it had lasted only forty minutes, still further reduced his strength. And immediately afterwards he was sentenced to a month in jail for this “breach of the peace.” There he caught a severe chill from which he never recovered. His lungs had always been delicate, and he died eighteen months later at the age of thirty, one of the greatest athletic heroes this country has ever known.