Carpentier served in the French Flying Corps during the war, but though four years or more were taken from the best of his boxing life, he did not forget how to box. During the “gap” he engaged in no recorded contests, but no doubt did a certain amount of sparring. He had gained weight and lost no ground when the war ended. During 1919 and 1920, he fought five times, knocking out five men, including Dick Smith, Joe Beckett, and Battling Levinsky. Meanwhile, in July, 1919, Jack Dempsey had knocked out Jess Willard in three rounds for the World’s Championship, and Carpentier challenged him.

“Jack Dempsey” is a nom de guerre, presumably taken (since there is as yet no copyright in names) from that older Jack Dempsey who began boxing in the early eighties, and lost the World’s Middle-weight title to Bob Fitzsimmons, who knocked him out in fifteen rounds in 1891.

The new Jack Dempsey was born in 1895, and his record shows that until the end of 1920 he had fought upwards of sixty contests, fifty-eight of which he won, mainly by knocking his opponents out in the first or second rounds. He weighs 13½ stone, and stands just a shade under 6 feet. That is to say, he was a stone and a half heavier than Carpentier; much longer in reach. Dempsey is a very miracle of strength and hardness.

It seemed an absurd match. If an animal analogy may be allowed, it was like a young leopard against a gorilla. There are, of course, innumerable accidents in boxing, chance blows and slight injuries which turn the tide of battle, an “off” day, a fault in training; but it may be laid down as a general rule that when character and strength are equal the man with the more skill wins, when skill and strength are equal, character wins, when character and skill are equal, strength wins. So it was now. Both Carpentier and Dempsey were natural fighters, both were scientific boxers, though Carpentier was more skilled than his opponent, both wanted to win, but Dempsey was immensely stronger than the Frenchman.

The contest took place at New Jersey, U.S.A., on July 2, 1921. A very small ring was used, no more than eighteen feet square. The number of rounds was limited to twelve, but it was recognised beyond the possibility of doubt that so many as twelve would not be required to settle the matter.

The moving pictures of the event show Carpentier sitting in his corner, nodding and smiling while his gloves are being put on. His grin is wide. Then with the suddenness of the camera’s own shutter, it ceases. For an instant the whole face is still, the mouth closes in thin-lipped anxiety, the eyes are set, and when you see the smile break out again you know that it is deliberate, not spontaneous. In fact Georges Carpentier was acutely nervous. Who, of his size and in his shoes, would not have been? You have but to glance at the man in the opposite corner, and you shake at the very thought of being in Carpentier’s shoes at that moment. Thirteen and a half stone may mean very little; it may mean a hulking fellow who can’t hit, let alone take punishment: it may mean a hulking fellow who can hit hard, but who can do nothing else. But the thirteen and a half stone of Dempsey meant a man in perfect condition, who could hit as few men can, who was extraordinarily hard and strong and almost impossible to hurt. Thirteen and a half stone of bone and muscle, not bone and muscle and fat. No fat at all. All hard stuff; not easy rippling muscle like Carpentier’s, but very solid and tough and extremely serviceable.

Dempsey had left himself unshaven for several days, so that the skin of his face should not be tender, thereby gaining, besides, a horribly malign appearance. And he scowled, and when the two of them stood up he made Carpentier look a little man. Dempsey was not popular in America owing to his avoidance of military service during the war. Seeing him in the ring, unless the photographic films have lied, he looked the very incarnation of sullen rage and brute force. In private life he is an amiable man, fresh-faced and modest. He had much more than brute force: he was a skilled and terrific basher. Strength for strength, Dempsey could, as you might say, “eat” Carpentier.

And they gave rather the appearance of the child and the ogre in the ring. Carpentier seemed unable to defend himself against the shattering onslaught of the American, and there was much clinching in the first round. The smaller man greatly surprised the spectators by going in and fighting at once, instead of trying to keep away and let Dempsey tire himself, which seemed to be the obvious course to pursue. He had not the strength to stop the majority of Dempsey’s blows, especially the upper-cuts which came crashing through his guard. He tried the trick of boxing with his chin on the big man’s chest, but even so his body suffered the more. It was, as a matter of irrelevant fact, Carpentier who scored the first hits, a left on the face and an upper-cut with the right, neither of which had any effect at all. During a clinch the champion gave his opponent a dig in the stomach which reduced his strength immediately. This he followed by a hard, very short blow on the back of the head, given whilst Carpentier was holding close. From the position in which two men stand in a clinch, such a blow cannot be given with the whole weight of the body. The glove can travel only five or six inches, and the body’s weight cannot in that attitude be swung behind the arm. I have seen in clumsy boxing a man knocked clean out by a blow on the back of the head or neck by an ordinary full swing, aimed for the jaw, which the victim has protected by bringing his head forward, but not far enough forward. But a man of Dempsey’s strength can make the short blow a very serious one when frequently repeated: and he repeated it many times on Carpentier.

Next he landed on the Frenchman’s body with both hands. Emerging from a clinch Carpentier was seen to be bleeding from the nose. Then he swung hard at Dempsey’s jaw and missed it. He had done no damage at all yet.

The second round was the most interesting in a very short fight. Carpentier crouched and jumped in with a left and right which landed on the head, but did not hurt the American. Carpentier hit again and missed. They clinched, and Dempsey sent in some more body-blows, pulling his man about the ring as he pleased, so long as he held. Then Carpentier backed away, and for an instant Dempsey’s guard was down. The Frenchman halted in his retreat and shot a left hook in at the jaw. It was beautifully timed, a fine seizing of a small opportunity, a test of courage. And for Carpentier it was a great moment, a triumph of presence of mind: thought and action were wellnigh simultaneous. The blow seemed to shake Dempsey, and the huge crowd yelled with delight for the Frenchman, who immediately followed up his advantage. He had been hurt: he was weak, but he had taken his opportunity. That left was a hard blow, almost as hard as any he had ever struck. It was a wonderful chance: he had never thought he would be able to get in a blow like that, not after that first round. And now he would hit again, and he swung his right hand to Dempsey’s jaw with all his might. But there was just a shade of flurry about that blow, and Carpentier did a thing he had not done for years: he swung his hand in its natural position, instead of twisting it over a little in its passage so that the finger knuckles struck the jaw: and the natural position made the impact fall upon the thumb. It was a beginner’s mistake, but a frequent one when hot haste makes a man a little wild. Carpentier felt a sharp and agonising pain, but he struck again with his right, and this time he missed. Dempsey came forward and this time it was he who clinched, before attacking the French man’s body again with his half-arm blows. And so the round ended.

What had happened was this: the full weight of Carpentier’s blow falling on his thumb broke it and sprained his wrist. Dempsey shook his head and retired a step or two, and declared afterwards that he could not remember the blow. This is unlikely. He added that he might possibly have been caught when he was off his balance and so appeared to stagger. We may say for certain that the two blows, left and right combined, would have knocked any other man out. Certainly their effect upon the champion was trivial; though it is said that some one in his corner stretched out his hand for the smelling-salts, so as to be ready in case Dempsey came to his corner dazed.

The third round began, and Carpentier retreated as his opponent advanced on him. He knew too much now to attempt to “mix it,” he would keep away. His only chance lay in Dempsey’s tiring himself. He said afterwards that those two blows in the second were the best he could strike, and when he saw that they had failed he lost heart. “Dempsey gave me a blow, just afterwards, on the neck which seemed to daze me,” he said.

Well, there are various degrees of losing heart. Carpentier may have realised that his task was hopeless, but he meant to go on. He landed a right at very long range with no power behind it to speak of, and Dempsey clinched, before sending home several of his rib-shattering half-arm blows. Carpentier’s strength was going. These body-blows had hurt him severely, and their effect was sickening and lasting. Then Dempsey hit him a little higher, just under the heart, and the Frenchman’s knees gave. He was nearly down, but managed to keep on his legs until the end of the round. But he was looking ill as he went to his corner.

Directly the fourth round began the sullen giant crouched and attacked Carpentier with all his strength, driving him fast before him round the ring until he had him in a corner. Dempsey swung his right and Carpentier ducked inside it. They were close together, and he had to submit to a bout of in-fighting, trying to force his way out of the corner. But Dempsey got him close up against the ropes and sent in a very hot right to the jaw. Carpentier collapsed upon hands and knees. The ring, his antagonist, the faces peering at him from the level of the stage, were misty and vague. There was only one idea in his mind, only one thing that he could hear. He must get up somehow before the referee counted ten.... Four—five—(he was not done yet)—six—seven—(he must stay down as long as possible)—eight—nine. And at that Carpentier jumped up quickly and flung up his arms to guard against the inevitable rush. It was no good. He did not know his own weakness. Dempsey just pushed his arms aside, feinted with his left, and sent his right crashing to the heart. Again Carpentier fell, and this time he was counted out.