The First International Prizefight: Bob Whitaker vs. the Venetian Gondolier

For over a century The British Isles reigned at the capital of prizefighting. From the beginning of James Figg’s tenure as the recognized champion in 1719 until Tom Sayers retired following his draw with the American Patrick Heenan in 1860, every legitimate champion of bare-knuckle boxing was from either England or Ireland.

But within the sport’s first generation, challenges to English dominance were already being mounted. In 1733, a giant known only to posterity as “The Venetian Gondolier” appeared suddenly on the scene in London, backed by wealthy countrymen who were anxious to match him with the best England had to offer.

The Gondolier’s reputation preceded him. Stories circulated about how he had broken the jaw of every opponent he had faced. Figg still reigned as the champion of the sport, as well as the leading teacher and the primary promoter of public exhibitions. Rather than accept the Gondolier’s challenge directly, he chose one of his pupils, Bob Whitaker, to defend the national honor.

Captain John Godfrey, a patron of Figg’s academy and probably the first important chronicler of the sport was an eye witness to the bout being made and the fight itself. In his Treatise Upon the Useful Science of Defense, he quotes Figg as boasting “he may break one of his own Countrymen’s jaw-bone with a fist; but I will bring a man, and he will not break his jaw-bone with a sledgehammer in his hand.”

Whitaker was not even Figg’s star pupil. He was an athletic but clumsy boxer who relied on throwing opponents as his chief weapon, specializing in bring his own body down hard on his opponent as they crashed to the floor. But he was a powerful fighter, and as Godfrey notes, a “hardy fellow” who could “bear a deal of beating.”

The fight took place at Figg’s famous amphitheatre, which was filled to capacity for the occasion. The front row along the foot of the stage was packed with many of the leading lights of English nobility. Although Whitaker was a stout, rugged individual, the Gondolier dwarfed him. The length and thickness of the foreigner’s arms were particularly noted. Godfrey confessed to “despairing for a moment for his countryman” when the Gondolier stripped down to fight.

Within the opening moments of the fight, the Gondolier connected with a long, sweeping hook to the side of Whitaker’s head, sending him crashing from the stage and all the way to the floor below. The fall was made worse than usual for Whitaker due to the fact that the floor, which was usually filled with an overflow of spectators, had been cleared of the rabble out of deference to the gentry seated in the front row.

Despite falling several feet and falling hard to the floor, Whitaker recovered almost at once, quickly climbing back onto the stage to continue the battle, as the Venetian giant’s backers quickly offered heavy odds to entice a new round of betting.

Whitaker closed with the Gondolier and delivered a punishing shot to the body, dropping him to the seat of his pants. Godfrey practically crows in his description, noting that the blow “carried too much of the English rudeness for him to bear.” Like that, the fight was over.

Figg, though illiterate, was a savvy promoter, and quickly recognized an opportunity. As the defeated visitor exited the stage, Figg climbed upon it and announced to the crowd that tough as Whitaker was, he would produce another, even better fighter, who would beat him easily a week later.

The following week, the amphitheatre was packed again, as another Figg student, Nathaniel Peartree, took the stage to battle Whitaker. Peartree was a clever boxer and avoided Whitaker’s attempts to clinch and set up his throws, instead maintaining distance and targeting the strongman’s eyes. Within ten minutes, both of Whitaker’s eyes were swollen shut and he was forced to concede victory to Peartree.