There have been a good many glove fights, and some fights without gloves, lately, but for good square fightin’ some of the contests of the good old times take the palm. I once heard Tom Hyer tell the story of a prize fight and which his father was one of the principals, and which was connected with another “mill” in which Bill Harrington figured. These fights were not fought for money, but to decide which was the best man, a question which was all-important in those days, though now it is a secondary consideration, the money bein’ the principal object in every fight nowadays, just as much as it is in a game of cards. But years ago men would fight simply and solely to decide the point of physical superiority, and intense interest would be taken in the issue, altogether independent of any money, stakes or bets, if any.
In two of the most stubbornly fought mills ever contested, in proportion to the duration of the fights, to which I have just alluded, there was no money wagered at all, the principals askin’ their friends to refrain from riskin’ their money on either of ‘em, as they were ‘emselves uncertain as to who was the best man, and so fought to decide it. Yet, although there was not a dollar bet on the fight, it was watched with more interest than almost any other mill ever milled.
In the early days there stood on the east side of the Bowery, between Broome and Grand streets, an old-fashioned tavern called the Buck’s Horn. It has passed away long ago, its site has been twice rebuilt on, but it was a great place in its time–a truly popular resort. It was small but cozy, a two-storied brick house with the old style attics; very homelike. In front of the house were suspended two big buck’s horns, as a sign, and in the rear was a hand racket alley or tennis court, a game which was very popular then. In the upper rooms John Norris, a noted sport, ran a game for sportin’ men and made money.
The Buck’s Horn Tavern set a good table and plentiful. A regular dinner there would make three or four so-called “regular” dinners now, and the racket court back and the games upstairs were well patronized by the leading sports of the period, men like Jake Hyer, the father of the noted Tom Hyer, who was as big a sport as his son after him; William Mook and John Perrin, the well-known butchers; John Vogel; the two Kellingers; Cornelius Vanderberg; Tom Foot; Thomas Baisley; Joe Levines, and others of that kidney, gay and good boys all.
One day in summer, a mighty hot summer day, too, there was a match game of racket played, and a large number of sports gathered at the Buck’s Horn, spite of the heat, to witness it. The game was well played and would under other circumstances have excited universal notice, but several rows which occurred among the spectators and the sports at the Buck’s Horn attracted much more attention than the game of racket.
There had recently been a lot of fight talk, and the best man mania had taken hold of a great many. Four sports had it just then particularly bad–Jake Hyer, Bill Harrington, John Vogel and Tom Baisley. These four were so touchy about which of ‘em was the best that there was the devil to pay, and things between ‘em were at their worst, for they wouldn’t speak to each other, bein’ so touchy, or if they spoke, only spoke to sneer at each other, or to brag of ‘emselves. And their friends raised the deuce about ‘em, and altogether they were a cantankerous, unpleasant set, gettin’ to be confounded nuisances, whereas, in reality, outside of this best man business, they were really clever fellows.
On this particular summer day, durin’ this game of rackets, these four rivals, who were all present at the Old Buck’s Horn Tavern, couldn’t contain ‘emselves, and several dissensions broke out between ‘em, which came to blows and would have resulted in somethin’ serious had not the landlord, old Alexander Fink, and some of his friends interfered, and preserved order.
As it was, Harrington and Vogel got into a fisticuff, and, in the excitement that followed the stoppin’ of this, Jake Hyer and Tom Baisley also got into a personal encounter which was with difficulty terminated.
This fuss, or series of fusses, soon put an end to any racket excitement, and nothin’ was talked of at the old Buck’s Horn but the best man business and the merits and demerits of these four men.
Finally it was decided that the big four should settle the momentous question between ‘em the very next day, in the only way in which it could be settled–by a regular fight according to the rules of the ring.
It was arranged that Bill Harrington and John Vogel should fight first, Jake Hyer secondin’ William Harrington and Tom Baisley secondin’ John Vogel. Then after Vogel and Harrington had had their whack at each other, Baisley and Hyer were to take their places and pound each other, and then each of the victors in the two fights were to pound each other, if they could. At any rate, the man of the two who was left in the best condition was to be regarded as final victor and boss. This was about as fair as they could make it, and promised plenty of lively times.
The place chosen for the three-part fight, or six-man mill, was a piece of ground between First and Second avenues, on Mr. Peter Stuyvesant’s property, near what was then called “the creek” and where Sixteenth street extends to-day.
Imagine havin’ a ring fight at Sixteenth street and Second avenue now, and goin’ there as to a retired, quiet spot, where the fight would not likely to be disturbed. And yet just such a thing transpired within the memory of men still livin’.
Well, the next afternoon there were several hundred of “the boys” and the sports of the time, all to be found on Peter Stuyvesant’s property, near the creek. And they were all to be found havin’ hold of each other’s hands in a tight grip, not because they were particularly friendly, but because they thus formed a “ring” which served the purposes of stakes and ropes, and answered all the purposes for a place to fight within.
Havin’ thus formed a simple but sufficient ring, the principals were notified that all was ready for the mill, and so Harrington and Vogel stepped in within the hand-made enclosure briskly; both bowed to the ring, and Vogel proceeded to strip, but at first Bill Harrington wouldn’t. “If I can’t lick Vogel with my shirt on,” said Bill, “I can’t lick him with my shirt off.” But he was finally persuaded to strip, and both men, although, of course, there had been no trainin’, looked in good condition and a rattlin’ mill was expected–and realized. Probably no more vigorous fightin’ was ever seen in the annals of fistiana. It didn’t last very long, but was tremendous game and gay while it lasted. Both sides were in evident earnest to win and each man played himself for all he was worth. There was no interference, no cheatin’, no child’s play, no monkey business, no chaffin’, no dodgin’, no technicalities, no takin’ advantage of laws and customs, but it was a good, solid, square, stand-up, man-to-man fight, in which there was only one desire on part alike of principals, seconds and spectators, to find out who really was the best man and to see that best man win. It was one of the most interestin’ contests ever witnessed of its kind, and terminated at last by Bill Harrington bein’ declared the winner. At this Bill’s friends cheered but Vogel’s friends took no offense, especially as Bill’s friends wound up by a cheer for John Vogel’s pluck.
And then Baisley and Hyer, the two seconds, became the two principals and stripped, shook hands and commenced their fight without more ado. William Mook and William Kellinger acted as their seconds, but there was little need for their services, as the two principals made things very lively.
The same general remarks apply to this second mill as applied to the first. It was simply a square struggle to find out which was the best man, but it was much longer and bitterly contested than the first. There were ten rounds in all, and each round was a whole prize fight in itself. As an old friend of mine who witnessed it says, “it was splendid.” There was nothin’ brutal about it, nothin’ demoralizin’, it was simply a strikin’ (very strikin’) illustration of the virtues of courage, activity and endurance. Viewed in this light it was as good as a sermon, as old Melville puts it.
After the tenth round, old Jake Hyer was utterly played out, in body at least. He wanted to keep on fightin’. His mind was vigorous; he wasn’t fully satisfied that Baisley was the best man yet, but his friends wouldn’t let him go on with the fight; his second pronounced him unfit for further millin’ and so the fight was over and Baisley was declared the winner.
Now accordin’ to the original arrangements, the two best men of the two fights, Harrington and Baisley were to have a third mill together, to settle which of the two “bests” was the “very best;” but to tell the truth, neither Harrington nor Baisley were fit to fight any more that day, or for some time after.
They had both won, but won very narrowly, just won and no more, and were banged up and exhausted. So that part of the programme didn’t come off; was postponed for the future time and never took place at all.
But the two fights that did take place that day were never forgotten by those who witnessed ‘em, and will never be till all who beheld ‘em have handed in their checks.
As samples of good square fightin’ just for the sake of the best man winnin’, these two mills have been as Artemis Ward would say, “equaled by few and excelled by none.”
[Editor’s notes: Boss Harrington, a Washington Market butcher, also led a gang of roughs. His venture into prizefighting did not go well, as described in William E. Harding’s The American Prize Ring:
“Philadelphia had turned out a champion in the person of Andy McLane, while New York hail also turned out a prize-ring wonder in a Washington Market butcher, known as Boss Harrington. These two giants of the P. R. were matched to fight for $1,000. The fight took place at Baltimore, Md., on May 7, 1833. New York sent a large delegation, armed with knives and revolvers, to look after Bill Harrington’s interests; while Baltimore, Washington and Philadelphia also sent delegations of roughs just as determined to look after McLane’s interest. Both pugilists were men of giant proportions, and noted as rough-and-tumble fighters. Large sums were wagered on the fight, and Harrington was backed heavily.
“After a few rounds had been fought, when it was seen that that Harrington was the better man, McLane’s friends made a great demonstration. Pistols, clubs and knives were used with great violence, and what promised to be one of the greatest fought battles in the infancy of the prize-ring ended unsatisfactorily.
“It was such disgraceful rows that caused the decay of the prize-ring in this country; for these wrangles have ended many a battle before it was lost or won, and were only gotten up with the idea of robbing the victor out of the spoils of a victory.”
