London Magazine, Wrestling at the Eagle Tavern: Cann vs Warren (1826)

THE LONDON MAGAZINE, 1826. WRESTLING.

THE amateurs of athletic performances were gratified towards the end of last month, with an exhibition of the old national feat of wrestling. Several matches were played between Devonshire and Cornwall men, on the 19th, 20th, and 21st, at the Eagle Tavern green, in the City Road.

The variety of movement and attitude far exceeded that exhibited in the pugilistic combat. If we might hazard a rash observation, we should say, that there is a degree of sublimity in this game, exceeding that attached to more dangerous exertions of bodily vigour. We know, indeed, that it is but play, from which no great injury can ensue, and therefore that the great tragic emotion, fear, which exalts human effort, is absent; but then, so far as it goes, the struggle is no less animated than one of life and death—every muscle is in play, the mind is concentrated upon one object, upon which eye and limb are equally intent.

The difference in the style of wrestling of these two neighbouring shires, is as remarkable as that of the lineaments of their inhabitants. The florid chubby-faced Devon-man is all life and activity in the ring, holding himself erect, and offering every advantage to his opponent. The sallow sharp-featured Cornwall-man is all caution and resistance, bending himself in such a way, that his legs are inaccessible to his opponent, and waiting for the critical instant, when he can spring in upon his impatient adversary.

The contest between Abraham Cann and Warren not only displayed this difference of style, but was attended with a degree of suspense between skill and strength, that rendered it extremely interesting. The former, who is the son of a Devonshire farmer, has been backed against any man in England for 500l. His figure is of the finest athletic proportions, and his arm realizes the muscularity of ancient specimens: his force in it is surprising; his hold is like that of a vice, and with ease he can pinion the arms of the strongest adversary, if he once grips them. He stands with his legs apart, his body quite upright, looking down good-humouredly on his crouching opponent. In this instance, his opponent Warren, a miner, was a man of superior size, and of amazing strength; his visage was harsh beyond measure, and he did not disdain to use a little craft with eye and hand, in order to distract his adversary’s attention. But he had to deal with a man, as collected as ever entered the ring.

Cann put in his hand as quietly as if he were going to seize a shy horse, and at length caught a slight hold between finger and thumb of Warren’s sleeve. At this, Warren flung away with the impetuosity of a surprised horse. But it was in vain; there was no escape from Cann’s pinch. In a trice Cann tripped his opponent with the toe in a most scientific but ineffectual manner, throwing him clean to the ground, but not on his back, as required.

Warren stooped more in the second heat, so as to keep his legs out of Cann’s reach, who punished him for it by several kicks below the knee. They seemed to be quite secure from each other’s efforts, as long as they held by the arm and breast-collar. Cann liberated one arm of his adversary to seize him by the cape behind: at that instant Warren, profiting by his inclined posture, and his long arms, threw himself round the body of the Devon champion, and fairly lifted him a foot from the ground, clutching him in his arms with the grasp of a second Antaeus. The Cornish men shouted aloud, “Well done, Warren!” to their hero. Indeed it was a moment of heart-quaking suspense. But Cann was not daunted; his countenance expressed anxiety, but not discomfiture.

Without straining to disengage himself, Cann with unimaginable dexterity glued his back firmly to his opponent’s chest, lacing his feet round the other’s knee-joints, and throwing one arm backward over Warren’s shoulder, so as to keep his own enormous shoulders pressed upon the breast of his uplifter. In this position they stood at least twenty seconds, each labouring in one continuous strain, to bend the other, one backwards, the other forwards. Such a struggle could not last. Warren, with the weight of the other upon his stomach and chest, felt his balance almost gone. His feet too were motionless by the coil of his adversary’s legs round his; so to save himself from falling backwards, he stiffened his whole body from the ankles upwards, and inclined forwards from them, so as to project both bodies, and prostrate them in one column to the ground together. It was like the slow and poising fall of an undermined tower.

But Cann ceased bearing upon the spine as soon as he found his supporter going in an adverse direction. With a presence of mind unrateable, he relaxed his strain upon one of his adversary’s stretched legs, forcing the other outwards with all the might of his foot, and pressing his elbow upon the opposite shoulder. This was sufficient to whisk his man undermost the instant he unstiffened his knee. At the end of the fall, Warren was seen sprawling on his back, and Cann, whom he had liberated to save himself, had been thrown a few yards off on all-fours. Warren admitted the fall, starting up, and offering his hand to the victor.

Since then Polkinhorne of St. Columb has encountered Cann, and thrown him, and is, or was, the acknowledged champion of the West. He is the keeper of the principal inn at St. Columb, where I on one occasion stopped, having shortly before taken a halfpenny ticket from his dethroned rival, Cann of Dartmoor, at the foot-bridge, between Plymouth and Devonport, where he was stationed.