We come now to another of the outstanding figures of the Prize-Ring, the famous Tom Spring. This man’s real name was Winter—“sharp as Winter, kind as Spring”—as Borrow has it. He was born in the county of Hereford in 1795. His height was 5 feet, 11¾ inches, and in perfect condition he weighed 13 stone 6 lb. During his career he fought a dozen main battles, being beaten once by Ned Painter, whom he had previously defeated. They refused to fight out the rubber because they had become fast friends, and Spring, who was perfectly confident of winning the third time, did not wish to risk that friendship.

It was Tom Cribb, visiting the West of England on a sparring tour, who inflamed the young man’s imagination. As a lad Winter drove a butcher’s cart, but he had a spirit above this humdrum avocation. And, contriving to win the old Champion’s confidence, he came to London and immediately made a name for himself. On Cribb’s retirement he became Champion, and remained so until he himself retired in favour of Jem Ward.

In the year following Neate’s victory over the Gasman, a match was arranged between him and Tom Spring for £200 a side, which, after being once postponed, finally took place at Hinkley Downs, near Andover, on May 20th, 1823. This was the first real fight for the championship since the defeat of Molineux by Cribb in 1811. The betting was in favour of Spring, though Neate did not lack support. He was seconded by Tom Belcher and Harry Harmer, while the old champion and Ned Painter, his late antagonist and warmest friend, looked after Spring.

It was a very short battle and was virtually won in the first round, and before a serious blow had been struck. The men faced each other, and it was a long time before any effective move was made. Spring’s attitude was very much the same as the typical “English” attitude of to-day: that is, left foot some eighteen inches in front of the right, left knee slightly bent, left arm out ready to lead, right thrown across the mark to guard. Neate’s position has already been described. It was very stiff and awkward and effective only against a slow boxer. The men exchanged and stopped blows without one landing for some minutes. Once, when Neate sent in a specially hard smack and Spring stopped it coolly with his elbow, he grinned good-naturedly. Then he lowered his hands to tempt Bill Neate to come for him, raising them again the instant the other moved. After a few blows on either side which did at last get home, Spring landed twice on the face, so that Neate turned. The next instant he whipped round, just as though panic had seized him and he had then thought better of it, and rushed the champion to his corner. Tom Belcher cried out to him to go in. “Now’s the time!” But Spring kept perfectly cool, and with deliberation guarded each furious blow that his opponent sent in. Neate tried several times to break through that guard, still keeping Spring at bay in his corner. If he had gone on trying, he might have succeeded. But Spring’s coolness and skill daunted him. He hesitated, and in a measure lost heart. He experienced, at any rate, a momentary feeling of helplessness; and as he hesitated Spring dashed in and fought his way out of the corner. The greater will was Spring’s. Neate closed now to save being hit, and lifted his man nearly off his feet, but Spring was cleverer than he at wrestling and in a moment had twisted him round and thrown him, falling heavily upon him.

When they set to for the second round both were very cautious once more. At last Neate shot out his left with all his thirteen stone odd behind it, but Spring threw back his head to avoid it, and countered instantly with a tremendous smash between the eyes, which drew blood immediately. Neate sprang in for his revenge, but once again his opponent made the blow short by moving and sent in another hard one on the head which swung Bill round. For a moment it looked as though he would fall, but he staggered, and got his feet firmly planted again, and went for Spring. The champion, however, caught him by the neck, gave him two or three hard half-arm blows and hurled him to the ground.

Spring tried a very hard left at the opening of the third round, which Neate stopped. There were several exchanges, and Neate was laughing happily, or tried to give that appearance. He struck once with his right—his best blow—but it landed on the point of Spring’s elbow, which he had thrown across his face. The impact was tremendous, and the small bone of Neate’s fore-arm was broken. He closed and went down under his man.

The champion’s defence seemed to be impregnable, and Neate again experienced the feeling of helplessness, of inferiority which spells defeat. He tried again and again for the head without success, then changed suddenly and attacked the body, only to be stopped once more. Spring countered twice on the nose and threw Neate, whose friends were calling to him to remember his famous right. In the fifth round Spring punished him severely, sending him down at last with a blow on the right ear, and hitting him again as he was falling. To some of Spring’s supporters it appeared as though neither blow had landed and that Neate had gone down without being hit at all. However, Jackson, who was acting as umpire, when appealed to, ruled otherwise.

The next round found Bill Neate “with bellows to mend,” whilst his opponent was fresh and confident. Spring hit him twice on the face and knocked him down.

The champion refused to run any risks though it was clearly evident by now that he had his man beaten. He stepped away from his blows, and refused to run risks by dashing heedlessly in. Presently, however, he drew Neate’s guard with a feint, and let fly left and right on the face, knocking his antagonist down.

The last round, the eighth, made Neate “look like a novice,” as they say to-day. Spring went for his man and hit him as he pleased. Bill tried to use his left, but each blow was ill-timed and ill-judged and went nowhere near the champion. Spring then sent in a right-hander on the face which knocked his man clean off his legs. On the call of time Neate held out his hand to the champion, complaining that he could fight no more with his broken arm. The whole mill was over in thirty-seven minutes.

Neate was plucky to fight so long as he did with a broken arm, but we cannot make too much fuss about it, for several men have fought for longer with similar injuries. He was, too, beaten at the outset, as we have shown, simply by force of character. In his heart of hearts he gave in then, though he took plenty of punishment afterwards bravely enough. But it is braver to go on wanting to win than to endure hurt with resignation.