After this battle with Deaf Burke, Bendigo was given a champion’s belt by Jem Ward, and for a year he remained undisputed Champion of England. In March of 1840, however, whilst skylarking and turning somersaults at some military steeplechases at Nottingham, he slipped his knee-cap and was told by his doctor that he would never be able to run or fight again. For two years he had to remain in retirement. During this time Burke tried to assert himself as champion, but was beaten by Nick Ward, and shortly afterwards died of consumption. Ward won on a foul from Ben Caunt, who, however, came back on him and thrashed him in forty-seven minutes. Then Bendigo, who had taken the utmost care of his injured knee, considered himself strong enough to win the championship back.

But first of all he came from Nottingham to London and practised with the gloves for a time. He then challenged Tass Parker for £200 a side. A match was arranged, but on the eve of it Bendigo was arrested and clapped into jail, and the forfeit money was paid to Parker. The evidence with regard to this arrest is somewhat conflicting. There is no doubt at all but that it was made at the instance of Bendigo’s elder brother, John Thompson: the reason generally given being that he was afraid lest Bendigo should injure his knee again. “Thormanby,” however, assures us that John’s motive was his abhorrence of the Ring. The Thompsons were a family of quite marked respectability: one of their uncles had been a dissenting minister.... Brother John was a well-to-do manufacturer, of the most unctuous rectitude, and there were two great troubles in his comfortable life. One was his prize-fighting and disreputable brother William and the second, sad to tell, was his mother. Mrs. Thompson was not at all the sort of person that you would anticipate in such a family. How she came to be the mother of John (and of other respectable children) passes comprehension. And Bendigo loved her dearly, and she was intensely proud of him. But she was so “coarse,” so violent—a big, jolly, generous creature. On the days when he was fighting Ben Caunt she would sit in her kitchen and listen to the clock ticking, and she would declare that it always ticked “Ben-dy Ben-dy.” “By Gosh,” she said, “if it’d ticked ‘Ben Caunt,’ I’d have oop and smashed its blasted face for it.” And we can see her, sitting there, comfortable, with her hair loose and untidy, her face red, big-mouthed, gap-toothed, with dark, small eyes, immoderately buxom—a jewel of a woman.

After some negotiation (which in the ‘forties of last century were almost as long drawn out and as exasperating as the corresponding negotiations of to-day) a third battle between Bendigo and Ben Caunt was finally arranged for £200 a side and the belt. This encounter was fought out, after principals and expectant onlookers had been hounded by the police from two different places, at Sutfield Green in Oxfordshire.

Now this battle with Ben Caunt has been branded as the most disgraceful affair in all the annals of the Ring, but it is representative of its period, and as such must be described.

Bendigo had been trained at Crosby, near Liverpool; Caunt at Hatfield, to which place Tom Spring used constantly to come from London to see how the big fellow was getting on. Caunt was now thirty-three, and before he began training he weighed 18 stone. During that very arduous process he reduced himself to 14 stone, without actually injuring himself. Bendigo was three years older and only 12 stone 1 lb. Both men entered the ring in fine condition. There were about 10,000 spectators with a remarkably strong leaven of roughs from Nottingham. These gentry came armed with bludgeons and yelled for Bendigo. The betting immediately before the fight was chiefly in the proportion of 6-4 on Ben Caunt.

The men came with their seconds to the scratch and, following the old custom, all four crossed hands in the middle of the ring, the seconds presently retiring to their corners, leaving the antagonists facing one another. Caunt had won the toss for corners, and had his back to the sun. There was a good deal of difficulty about the choice of a referee, and at last much against his own personal inclination, Mr. Osbaldiston—“The Old Squire,” as he was everywhere called—consented to act. Bendigo walked a little lame, but his activity in the ring was not much impaired. Right foot foremost, he crouched with his left shoulder held high in an exceedingly awkward and ungainly position: but his jaw was thus well protected from Caunt’s mighty right. The giant, on the other hand, stood nearly square with both arms well out in the manner of Bill Neate. Bendigo, as befitted the smaller man, circled round, looking for an opening and biding his time. Caunt pivoted about slowly in order to face him. Each time he went round Bendigo got nearer and nearer to his man by imperceptible stages. Then at last Caunt let go, and Bendigo, who had deliberately drawn the blow, ducked it and sent in a heavy counter to his opponent’s eye. For an instant the big man’s face expressed rage and ferocity, and then he grinned. There was always something about Bendigo which made folk laugh. He was ever a merry-andrew, always playing the goat; you couldn’t help but grin even when he hurt you. And then in the next minute he had hit again, this time with a tremendous left which reopened an old scar, and Caunt bled profusely. He lumbered in, trying to land a blow on the smaller man: but Bendigo ducked and dodged and sidestepped and avoided them all.

In the third round Caunt managed to catch hold of his opponent and threw him. But although his training had not exactly hurt him, his strength was not at its greatest, and Bendigo’s speed quite overwhelmed him. He hit him as he liked, smashed his face with left and right, and would get away without a reply: then lest the reply turned out to be belated but sure, Bendigo would slip down.

Once Caunt caught him up against the ropes and leaned on him there, and would most likely have hurt him seriously, but that he overbalanced himself and fell down. Bendigo’s hitting was really terrific. Caunt was much cut about the face from the earliest rounds, but in the thirteenth round Bendigo sent in a left which is famous in the history of boxing. It struck Caunt on the right cheek with such force as to knock him clean off his legs, actually lifting his fourteen stone in the air. For a few seconds he was quite stunned. A little later Bendigo split his man’s upper lip clean through, and the blood poured from it. Caunt was tremendously game, and though utterly beaten, hit for hit, stood up and fought. Bendigo was never a cur whenever he did suffer punishment, but his artful dodge of avoiding it by continually going down was detestable and ought to have been stopped at once. And towards the end of this fight, which lasted for ninety-three rounds and over two hours, Caunt was getting the better of it. Bendigo continued to drop directly he saw danger. Caunt’s supporters again and again appealed to the referee, but in the yelling and confusion about the ring they were either unheard or unheeded. Moreover, the proper way to appeal—according to the rules—was first to the two umpires, who in their turn referred to the higher authority. Backers and seconds frequently forgot this, and referees occasionally took advantage of the fact.

The roughs who had come to support Bendigo were known as the “Nottingham lambs,” and they were indeed a pretty crew. Time and again they tried to cut the ropes when Caunt had forced Bendigo against them, and one blackguard aimed a blow with his bludgeon at Caunt’s head, missed, and caught Tom Spring, who was by the ropes at the moment, on the shoulder. To the last the big man hoped by getting in one frightful smasher to end the fight, but towards the last they were both using foul methods, Bendigo hitting below the belt, Caunt trying to use his knee. In the ninety-third round Caunt knocked Bendigo down—so Bell’s Life tell us—and turned away, naturally supposing that the round was over. Bendigo leapt to his feet, however, and dashed after his man, hoping to be able to hit him at a disadvantage before he could turn. As his arm was poised to deliver the blow Caunt abruptly sat down. An appeal was at once made by Bendigo’s seconds, Ward and Hannan, together with others, direct to the referee, who decided that Caunt had deliberately gone down without a blow, and that Bendigo was the winner. It must be remembered that when Bendigo went down as he did, over and over again, it was in a less obvious manner; that is to say, at the end of a sharp rally when he was close to his man. His position in this way would be more equivocal than Caunt’s.

Jack Randall

born Nov. 25 1794 5 feet 6 Inches high weighs 10^st, 6^lb; has beaten Jack the Butcher in 20 minutes, Walton in 10 minutes Geo Dodd in 25 minutes, Ugly Borrock the Jew in 12 minutes, West Country Dick in 33 minutes, Holt in 25 minutes & only 8 rounds. Belasco in 51 minutes & only 7 rounds, Parish in 53 minutes & only 11 rounds, Turner in 2 Hours & 16 Minutes, Martin in 53 Minutes & many others of late note, in sport he has never been beaten.