Black Ajax

by George MacDonald Fraser

  Molineaux skipped and danced and beat his arms to keep from shivering in the icy blasts, but presently saluted the crowd to applause, bowing and grinning and blowing kisses before shying his hat into the ring and retiring to peel.

  “I say, Buck,” cries one of the swells to our host, “this weather won't suit your darkie one bit.”

  “He ain't my darkie,” was the rejoinder.

  “Ye don't say? I had not heard. Well, if Cribb don't finish him, the ague will. Why, he'll be chilled white.”

  “No, he won't,” whispers Jerry. “For you know, Bob, that for all he's black, Molineaux is reckoned a regular green 'un, and his pal Richmond, we're told, is a knight of the rainbow, so if Cribb should do his opponent up brown and tap his claret so that he yell-ers, why, I shouldn't wonder if he doesn't end up quite blue-devilled.”

  I would have pitched him out for this sally, if it had been my curricle, but just then there was a roar to split the heavens and drive the rain back on high – for here came Cribb the Champion, doffing his hat to the crowd before dropping it quietly over the rope and going off in turn. “Cheer, boys, cheer!” cries Jerry. “We must hollo ourselves dry in honour of the Bristol Achilles, the famed Black Diamond, ere he does battle with the dusky Roscius for the honour of Old England – and afterwards we'll wet our whistles in celebration!” But nothing exceeded the acclaim which was to follow, the band striking up “Yankee Doodle” and “Heart of Oak” as the two heroes stood forth, stripped for the fray, and approached the scales together, Cribb a half-head taller than his opponent, stalwart and erect, his body white as snow, Molineaux glistening black in the rain, the drops hanging on his woolly head like dew on a hedge – oh, never was there anything so fine, and I thought to myself, let Vicesimus Knox* flog me to death for this lark, or expel me to the moon, I don't care, for I'd not be elsewhere now for all the treasures of Arabia, and never, never shall I forget what these old eyes, that were once a wondering schoolboy's, saw that day, with twenty thousand voices ringing in my ears as the white man and the black stood up together before the finest, noblest, bravest mill of them all …

  PADDINGTON JONES, resumed

  My one fear that day, sir, was the weather. It was starvation bitter and the rain lashing, which could not ha' been fouler for Tom. I chafed and rubbed him and clapped on the oil, and muffled him in a greatcoat when they went out to the scales, but even so he was shivering and hissed between his teeth. “Ah's 'bout froze, Pad,” says he, and I set him to skip and slap while they put Cribb on the scale.

  “Fourteen stone, three pounds!” cries Jackson, and as he stood up they put the rule on him. “Five feet ten and one half inches!”

  “Too heavy by a stone,” mutters Bill Richmond. “And in the wrong place, thank God! Look at his waist, Pad!” And sure enough there was a lip of flesh where he ought to been trim, sure sign that he'd shirked in training. He looked well for all that, easy on his feet and his skin like silk; I never see Cribb stripped but my heart came into my mouth.

  Tom took the scale at fourteen stone two, and there was laughter when they measured his height, for there was two inches of black curls on his nob, which made him seem taller than his five foot eight and a quarter. “God, if we could only ha' taken another eight pounds off o' him!” groans Bill, but I didn't mind that, for being shorter he was more compacted than Cribb, and when I gave him a last chafing my heart settled again, for it were like rubbing black marble, and I could feel him quivering to be off.

  “Take your corners!” says Jackson. “Four to one Cribb!” yells a leg, “Five to two the Champion within the quarter!” roars another, “God bless ye, Tom!” says Richmond, the mob set up a great blast of noise, and I slipped inside the ropes and knelt to make a knee. Tom sat upon it, staring across the ring, where Joe Ward was doing the like for the Champion. Cribb looked back and gave Tom a little nod, and I felt him start ever so slightly on my knee, but when I touched his pulse 'twas steady.

  Jackson had read over the rules to them under shelter, so now he beckoned 'em up to the mark, and the shouting swelled to a great roar as Cribb stepped forward.

  “Tom,” says I, “this is what ye came from America for. Go and take it, lad.” I'd thought hard what to say, sir, what advice would be best at the very last, and them was the words that came out. He came off my knee and stepped to the mark, and Jackson brought 'em face to face. Cribb still looked calm enough, but Tom's face was like a mask. They shook hands, and my innards gave a leap as I saw what no one had given a thought to – that Tom's reach was a good two inches shorter than the Champion's.

  “Are you ready, Sir Thomas?” calls Jackson, and Apreece looked at his repeater and cried: “Time!”

  * The Rev. Vicesimus Knox (1752–1821) was headmaster of Tonbridge School from 1778 to 1812.

  HENRY DOWNES MILES,

  editor of Pugilistica and

  PIERCE EGAN, author of Boxiana

  ROUND 1. The combatants put themselves in attitude, eyeing each other with the most penetrating looks. For a moment a solemn pause ensued. A little sparring, and Molineaux put in a right-handed body blow. Cribb smartly returned right and left on the head, and one for luck on the body. Molineaux closed and Cribb threw him.

  ROUND 2. A furious rally, heavy blows exchanged. Cribb's did most execution, being thrown straight forward, while Molineaux struck with astonishing power, but little judgment. Cribb planted a tremendous blow over his adversary's right eyebrow, but which did not knock him down, he only staggered a few paces. Cribb shewed the most science, although he received a dreadful blow on the mouth, and exhibited the first signs of claret. 4 to 1 Cribb.

  ROUND 3. Sparring. Molineaux attempted a blow on Cribb's nob, but the Champion parried it, and returned a right-handed hit under the Moor's lower ribs that laid him on the earth. Still 4 to 1.

  ROUND 4. Molineaux rallied, when the Champion delivered a severe hit on the face that levelled him, the ground being wet and slippery.

  ROUND 5. An excellent round, both rallied in great style. Molineaux's blows were short, Cribb returned with spirit, but the Moor knocked them off. A rally at half-arm followed. Desperate milling for half a minute. They closed, and Molineaux fibbed very dexterously in Dutch Sam's style, but at length fell. The Knowing Ones were lost for the moment, and no bets were offered.

  ROUND 6. The Moor planted a blow upon the nob of the Champion, who fell from the bad state of the ground.

  ROUND 7. Molineaux rushed in, and Cribb put in a violent blow to the forehead by which he picked up a handsome “rainbow” and went down.

  ROUND 8. Both had been taught discrimination and discovered each other's powers. Cribb found that his notion of beating Molineaux off hand was truly fallacious; he was mistaken in his ideas of the Black's capabilities who rallied in prime twig, notwithstanding the severe left-handed hits which were planted on his nob. Cribb began to adopt his famous retreating system. The men rallied desperately. Molineaux fell, but Cribb appeared weaker than his opponent.

  ROUND 9. Gallantly contested. The battle had arrived at that doubtful state that the betters were puzzled. Molineaux gave such proofs of gluttony that 4 to 1 now made many tremble that had sported it. Both appeared dreadfully punished; Cribb's head was terribly swelled on the left side. Molineaux's nob was also much worse. On Cribb's displaying weakness, the flash-side were full of palpitations. Molineaux rallied, bored in, and by a strong blow through the Champion's guard brought him down, evidently much exhausted. The Knowing Ones looked queer; Cribb had been fighting too fast. Spectators, panic-struck, began hastily to hedge-off while others better informed still placed their confidence in Cribb.

  ROUND 10. The conceit by this time was tolerably taken out of both combatants; their faces were hideously disfigured. Molineaux bored his opponent to various parts of the ring. Cribb kept knocking the Moor about the head, but he seemed to disregard it. For full two minutes hits were exchanged, greatly to the disadvantage of Cribb. They both went down.

  ROUND 11. Courageousl
y contested. Molineaux brought Cribb down.

  ROUND 12. Cribb put in a severe hit on the body. Molineaux returned on the head and fell.

  ROUND 13. Molineaux received a severe facer from Cribb, but went down from the force of his own blow. 6 to 4 Molineaux.

  ROUND 14. The Moor went furiously in. The Champion was levelled.

  ROUND 15. Cribb planted a blow over the guard of the Moor, which occasioned a most determined rally, no shifting, but giving and taking till Molineaux was knocked down from a hit on the throat.

  ROUND 16. Rallying, but Molineaux went down from fatigue. Evens.

  ROUND 17. Cribb still continued his shy plan. Molineaux evidently had the advantage and not only gave Cribb a desperate fall, but fell upon him. Betting very shy, anybody's battle.

  ROUND 18. The Champion planted a severe blow on the body. Molineaux returned a hit on the Champion's head, who hit the Moor off his legs but fell from his own blow. Both exhausted.

  ROUND 19. To distinguish the combatants by their features would have been impossible. It was astonishing, the determined manner in which these heroes met – Cribb, acting on the defensive, was got by Molineaux against the ropes with both his hands, and held Cribb so that he could neither make a hit nor fall. While the seconds were discussing the propriety of separating them, which the umpires thought could not be done till one of the men were down, about two hundred persons rushed from the outer ring, and it is asserted if one of the Moor's fingers was not broken, it was much injured by some of them attempting to remove his hand from the ropes.

  All this time Molineaux was gaining his wind by laying his head on Cribb's breast, and refusing to release his victim; when the Champion by a desperate effort to extricate himself was run down to a corner, and Molineaux having got his head under his arm, fibbed away most unmercifully, but his strength not being able, it otherwise must have proved fatal to Cribb, who fell from exhaustion and the severe punishment. The bets were now decided that Molineaux would not fight half an hour, that time having expired.

  ROUND 20. Molineaux brought down Cribb by boring and hitting.

  ROUND 21. Cribb planted two blows on the head, which Molineaux returned and the Champion was thrown. The well-known bottom of Cribb induced his friends to back him 6 to 4.

  ROUND 22. Of no importance.

  ROUND 23. The wind of both appearing somewhat damaged, they sparred. Cribb put in a blow to the left eye, the Moor gave Cribb a severe hit to the body and threw him heavily.

  ROUND 24. Molineaux began with considerable spirit. Some hits were exchanged and Cribb was thrown. Betting tolerably even.

  ROUND 25. The Champion endeavoured to put in a hit on the left eye, but the Moor warded it off and knocked down Cribb.

  ROUND 26. Both trying to recruit wind and strength. The Champion endeavoured to hit the right eye of Molineaux, the left having been darkened, but the Moor warded off the blows with agility and neatness, although he went down from a trifling hit. ROUND 27. Weakness on both sides, pulling and hauling, both fell. ROUND 28. Cribb received a leveller, his distance being incorrect. ROUND 29. Molineaux endeavoured to get Cribb's head under his arm, but failed. Cribb planted a hit on his right eye, knocking him down, his peeper materially damaged.

  ROUND 30. The skill and bottom of Cribb was never more manifested. Molineaux, with a courage and ferocity unequalled, rising superior to exhaustion, rallied with as much resolution as at the commencement of the fight, his nob defying all the milling it had received, and contending nobly with Cribb right and left, knocking him away, and gallantly concluded the round by throwing the Champion.

  ROUND 31. Molineaux threw Cribb, but fell over him and pitched upon his head, which so affected him that he could hardly stand. Richmond prompted him to go on, in hopes of Cribb being exhausted …

  WILLIAM CROCKFORD,

  fishmonger and gambler,

  founder of Crockford's gaming club

  Lord above, the same old question still – what befell in the thirty-first round, or whichever it was? Why do folk harp on that, as though 'twere in doubt? The facts ain't in dispute. Thousands saw what happened, your humble obedient among 'em – why, the whole world saw, bar Cribb and Molineaux themselves, who couldn't see at all, or hear, or tell what county they were in, even, beat senseless as they were, the Black on his feet and Cribb on his knees. As for Jackson, he was at the eye o' the storm, so to speak, which ain't always the best point of observation. I reckon it was too quick for him to follow. Oh, he was straight, and did what he thought right at the time – but he was wrong. Wrong as could be.

  Here's what I saw, and know. The mill had gone both ways the best part of an hour, and how those two were still upon their pins, God alone could tell you. I never saw two men so dead and yet alive, disfigured so bloody you could only tell 'em apart by their skins, and not a hair's breadth to choose between 'em. They were that well matched I could not see a winner, but supposed they might both collapse simultaneous, and neither come to scratch again. The odds had shifted like the wind, mostly favouring Cribb, but that was sentiment only, and by the time I speak of there was no money in sight.

  The Black was near blind, and Cribb little better, and if as some think Molineaux was the stronger, he had not strength enough to put his man to sleep, and nothing less would serve, for Cribb would continue while he had breath. They were mauling each other like sleep-walkers, floundering in the mud wi' the rain washing the blood and mire off o' them, and when they closed Molineaux shoved Cribb down and toppled over. The Black was first up, labouring like a drunkard, and Pad Jones had to steer him to his corner. Molineaux was all in, swaying like a tree, but Cribb lay near senseless, wi' one hand pawing at the ropes trying to rise, when Gully and Joe Ward dragged him up on Gully's knee. I was closest to Cribb's corner, and he was gaping like a fish on a slab, with one eye open, but looked not to rise again by my reckoning. Molineaux, I'm told, was weeping as he lay on Jones's knee, and I heard Richmond cry: “No, no, Tom, he's beat! He's beat altogether!” He was pouring the bottle over Molineaux's head with one hand and pointing to Cribb with t'other, while Jones was kneading the Black's calves and pattering in his ear, though I doubt if he heard him.

  This, then, was the order of events that followed, and you may take careful note of 'em:

  Sir Thomas Apreece called “Time!”, signifying the thirty seconds was by, and the men must come to the mark.

  Captain Buckley Flashman, whose curricle was one of those forming the outer ring, had stepped down, and I saw him pass close behind the Champion's corner and stoop to say a word in the ear of Joe Ward, who was Cribb's bottle-holder. What it was, I know not, but Joe started up, looking wild.

  Bill Richmond dragged the Black from Jones's knee and urged him, stumbling like a cripple, to the mark, crying: “He's beat! Oh, Tom, Tom, stand your ground!”

  Cribb heaved up from Gully's knee, and fell full length. He dragged up to his knees, crawling towards the mark, with Gully beseeching him to rise.

  Joe Ward tumbled through the ropes and ran to the umpires by the mark, where Molineaux stood. He was shouting (tho' I didn't distinguish the words just then) that Molineaux had bullets in his hands. In a moment all was babble, with Richmond calling Ward a liar, Pad Jones capering into the ring with his arms raised, laughing and crying like a mad thing that the Black had won, Jackson was standing a-gape at Ward, then turning to snatch the Black's hands open, which were empty, Apreece was crying: “Time! Time, Jackson!”, Jackson gave a shout of fury and thrust Ward away, with Richmond howling abuse – and when Jackson turned back to the mark, Cribb was there, on his feet. Jackson cried: “Set to!” – and so they did.

  Richmond was raging like a madman, screaming at the umpires, and at Gully, and at Ward, and two of the vinegars had to pull him from the ring. Jones was at Apreece's ear, shouting and swearing, with Sir Thomas shaking his head like a man helpless.

  There you are, then. Those are the facts of the matter, and I never met a witness but agreed with 'em. Here's the ma
rrow of it:

  Molineaux came to the mark on the call of “Time!” Cribb did not – until after Joe Ward had bought him precious seconds with his (or Buck Flashman's?) lying tale of slugs in the Black's fists. Jackson was distracted long enough, examining Molineaux's fambles (as he was bound to do) for Cribb to clamber up to scratch. Apreece was crying “Time!” over and over, but what was Jackson to do, with both men at the mark, but bid them set to again and box away?

  Nowadays, under the new rules, men have eight seconds to come to scratch after “Time!” is called. Molineaux was there with time in hand, but Cribb wasn't. 'Twas no fault of his, but the plain truth is that Molineaux won that mill in the thirty-first round.

  MILES and EGAN, resumed

  ROUND 32. Strength was fast leaving both the combatants – they staggered against each other like inebriated men, and fell without exchanging a blow.

  ROUND 33. To the astonishment of every spectator, Molineaux rallied with strength enough to bore his man down, but both their hits were of more shew than effect.

  ROUND 34. Molineaux had the worst of it. Cribb evidently appeared the best man, and at its conclusion the Moor for the first time complained that “he could fight no more”, but his seconds persuaded him to try another round, to which request he acquiesced, when he fell from weakness. Cribb was greatly elated, but was too weak to throw his usual somersault. The contest lasted fifty-five minutes.

  Remarks on the fight

  by H. D. MILES alone

  Molineaux in this contest proved himself as courageous a man as ever an adversary contended with, and Cribb's merits as a pugilist cannot but be enhanced by a victory over so tremendous an opponent. The Black astonished everyone, not only by his extraordinary power of hitting and his gigantic strength, but also by his acquaintance with the science. In the 28th [sic] round, after the men were carried to their corners, Cribb was so much exhausted that he could hardly rise from his second's knee at the call of time. Joe Ward, his second, by a little manoeuvering, occupied the attentions of the Black's seconds, and so managed to prolong this period sufficiently to enable the Champion to recover a little, and thus assisted him to pull through.*