BOXING.
GREATEST FIGHT FOR SMALL PURSE. MEMORABLE SULLIVAN-KILRAIN BATTLE. The proposed fight between Jeffries and Johnson for a purse of 100,000 dollars or more recalls the days of other battles and the emoluments the participants received for pounding each olhe? into insensibility or a state approaching unconsciousness with bare knuckles or with hands encased in small gloves. The stake for which John L. Sullivan and Jake Kilrain fought at Richburg, Miss., twenty years ago was not more than one-fifth of the amount which will be hung up for Jeffries and his dusky opponent. The approaching contest calls for forty-five rounds with gloves. Quite a different test from that called for at Richburg when Sullivan and Kilrain fought with bare knuckles for three hours under the blistering summer sun. It was the last fight held in America under the rules of the London prize ring, and it was the bloodiest and most theatric that veterans can recall. Sullivan, then in his prime was the ideal fighting man. He had returned from England after his unsatisfactory battle with Charlie Mitchell, and when his friends, Jimmy Wakely and Charles Johnson, proposed backing him to meet Kilrain, a strong, stalwart ex-oarsman, of Baltimore, the Boston boy was only too eager for the fray. Money melted like snow under April rains, and though he made it fast Sullivan was well nigh crippled financially when the articles of agreement were signed. His temper, ugly in those days, was not improved when he learned that Mitchell was coming from England to prepare Kilrain for the battle, and Liney Tracey and the others engaged to spar with the “big fellow” in his preparation were hammered right and left by the mighty Bostonian. Like Salvini and other great actors he became so realistic and earnest in his work that his companions were on more than one occasion forced to flee to save their skins. MAKE HANDS TOUGH. For many weeks before the battle the hands of both Sullivan and Kilrain were treated with a pickle to make tnem tough and hard until they were most formidable weapons of offence and defense. For the sake of those who have never seen a battle under London rules it may be stated that the code calls for bare knuckles and the contestants are naked save for a breech clout or short trunks. The feet are of course, shod with tightly laced shoes of leather. With spikes in the soles to prevent slipping, and short socks extending just above the shoetops are considered necessary. Thus equipped the men battled on the turf in a ring 20 feet square. In contests under these rules it was permissable to wrestle, and it was also considered no violation of the ethics to punch in clinches—in fact, it was at this style of fighting that Sullivan was a past master. A round ended when either man was knocked down or thrown, and the seconds of the fallen man were permitted to carry him to his corner. The rests between rounds were one minute in duration. OPPOSED TO THE FIGHT. The authorities of Louisiana were determined that the fight should not be held within its borders and the neighbouring states of Texas and Mississippi were equally alert. The air was surcharged with excitement and word was quietly passed one Sunday to be prepared to leave that evening for the battle ground. Tickets, including admission to the arena, were sold at the headquarters of the promoters of the battle for 20 dollars and all were instructed to be at a certain point at a given hour without fail.
The cars, more than two score of them, had been standing in the yards all day long gathering heat until they fairly pulsated, and after a wait of three hours the trains pulled out over the Northeastern railroad. The trains were in charge of a band of Texas rangers expressly imported to preserve order and the platform of every car had a slouch hatted individual who Hooked as though he understood how
to handle the short rifle he carried in the hollow of his left arm. None out tne promoters of the battle and those in their confidence knew the scene of the fight, and there was much speculation among the crowd as to whether it would be pulled off in Louisiana or Mississippi. Texas they knew was out of the question as they were travelling away from that state. FREEBOOTERS ON CARS. The heavily laden trains moved slowly and when day dawned the border line of Mississippi had only been reached. Looking from the windows of the cars a strange sight was brought in view. Scores of the more daring freebooters who had beep dislodged from the car tops the previous night were clinging to the hog chains or iron braces which run the length of the cars. Their coat tails were floating in the breeze and they were braving death to see two men pound each other with bare knuckles until one of them could respond no more to the call of “time.” It was almost 8 o’clock when the battleground was reached on the Mississippi line not far from the village of Richburg in the pine woods of Charles Rich, after whom the town was called. Rich’s sawmill, closed for the day, was in plain view from the arena, a rough board four-sided affair, with seats rising sharply from the roped-in square of ground where the men were to fight. Both the contestants and their seconds were on the ground early, and after a few minutes’ wrangling the various officials were chosen, and the sun was giving a sample of its powers when the men stepped into the ring. Sullivan, low browed, and determined looking, was savage as he sat in his corner and looked from beneath his black brows furtively at Kilrain and his whispering adviser Mitchell, while his attendants were rubbing his arms and legs. Kilrain was serious, as betokened the occasion, for it would make the stoutest hearted man that ever trod the squared circle have a few tremours to face such an adversary as Sullivan was that day. JOHN’S FORMIDABLE FIGURE. Sullivan’s coal black hair was cropped closely with the exception of that portion above the brow, which was probably half an inch long. His face was that of the typical gladiator*. There wasn’t a vestige of flesh upon it that didn’t belong there. The skin upon his body was milk white. His huge hands were dyed a dark brown by the stain upon them to toughen them. Kilrain, who was a trifle taller and not quite so sturdily built as his dread rival, was trained to the minute. Mitchell who had fought Sullivan twice and who was one of the greatest masters in the art of condition, had been sure of that. Now while waiting the call of time, he poured out a volume of injunctions on how to lay the champion low. Like Sullivan, Kilrain was clean shaven and his hair was closely cut. The scene when John Fitzpatrick, the Mayor of New Orleans, who acted as referee, called the men to the centre of the ring will never be forgotten by those who were present. The contestants and their seconds formed a Maltese cross, clasping each other’s hands for a brief moment, and at the call of “time” the seconds ran to their respective quarters and the gladiators faced each other with hands in position. There never lived a man who could stand toe to toe with Sullivan and exchange blow for blow and Kilrain knew this. Mitchell knew it too, and he had schooled his protege to be wary of the sledge-hammer tactics used by Sullivan. An expert at wrestling, he was urged to try for a fall whenever the occasion offered itself, and it was therefore no surprise after one or two trifling exchanges to see Kilrain duck under Sullivan’s guard, seize him about the waist and come crashing to the earth with his elbow full in Sullivan’s stomach. KILRAIN CAMP CHEERS. The fall brought a storm of cheers from the Kilrain camp. Sullivan was nauseated by the impact of the fall, but in a moment he was after Kilrain like a lion and for the balance of the battle, which for severity has had few parallels, he was constantly on the offensive. His tremendous blows to the body, whether delivered at long range or in the clinches when pummeled, sounded like the assaults of a cooper on a barrel. Kilrain fought valiantly, but nothing could withstand Sullivan’s bull-like rushes,
and time after time he was hurled to the earth. Mitchell never for a moment was riled. He taunted Sullivan, calling to Kilrain, “Go at him, Jake! He cawn’t fight! You’ve got him, lad!” Sullivan was infuriated, and he hurled defiance at Mitchell, saying that when he finished Kilrain he would lick him (Mitchell) in the same ring. Sullivan, always the idol of the sporting element, won the admiration of all at the ringside by his fair tactics in this battle. Kilrain spiked the big fellow severely in one of the clinches. The big champion let it pass, but when the thing occurred a second time and the blood welled through the holes in his shoes as he stepped forward to deliver a blow his only remark in remonstrance was: “ Don’t do that. Fight like a man, Jake.” The crowd cheered itself hoarse, and there was no more spiking or anything that savoured of unfairness. The bodies of both men, burnt by the sun, were torn where the knuckles ploughed, furrows in glancing blows, and the suffering of the contestants must have been extreme. JAKE BADLY BEATEN. Kilrain was a pitiable spectacle at the fifty-sixth round, and time after time he dropped to the earth to save punishment. Under a strict interpretation of London prize ring rules this would have lost him the battle, but the referee, who had the confidence of everybody, was not thoroughly posted on this point, and the men fought on. Mitchell was a madman, and it was only after the repeated urgings of his friends, who did not want to see a game man cut into ribbons that the Englishman consented to throw up the sponge, and it was almost noon when Kilrain was carried to his corner for the last time. Sullivan standing in the centre of the ring, his face bruised and swollen shouted to Mitchell to “come on and get what’s coming to you,” but the Englishman was already on his way to the train with the crowd which broke and ran thoroughly sated with blood for the nonce.
ANOTHER WRESTLING CHALLENGE.
(To the Editor.) Sir, —Seeing that Joe Gardiner is meeting all comers, I would like a return match with him, if it could be arranged. When I wrestled him in Auckland, last August, I do not think I did myself justice. I will bet him anything from £lO to £2O, that he cannot repeat hfs performance, on any date within a month. Hoping this will lead to business.—l am, etc, HERB. MAY, Goldfields Lightweight Champion Wrestler. [The above challenge is dated February 9, and its late insertion is due to the fact that it has been overlooked. However, as Gardiner has been busy with matches in the South, and is expected in Auckland very shortly, there seems every probability of a contest being arranged between the pair, who should have no difficulty in coming to terms. —Ed. S.R.]
THE GARDINER-ROBERTSON WRESTLING MATCH.
To the Editor. Sir, —I noticed in your columns some little time back a letter from Mr. Robertson, in which he states that 1 have to meet and defeat him to become lightweight champion of New Zealand. However, that point I leave to the New Zealand sporting public to decide. Every open-minded sportsman knows that the light-weight limit is lOst in all parts of the world, therefore Mr. Robertson cannot wrestle for the title unless he weighs in at lOst. Mr. Robertson, I think I am correct in saying, has never wrestled a match in New Zealand at lOst yet. When he wrestled Will Colledge, of Auckland, for what is supposed to have been the so-called light-weight championship, Mr. Robertson’s weight was 10.7. I have never heard of a 10.7 man being allowed or able to wrestle for the light-weight championship. Mr. Colledge, in a conversation with me a week or so after the match, said that the match could not have been for the light-weight championship, since Mr. Robertson was over the light-weight limit. I have not defeated one man for the title, but.. more than twenty since my arrival in New Zealand. I have journeyed down South where the wrestlers are more easily to be found, and have defended that title against
allcomers, and have defeated every wrestler of note. Of course, I shall still be pleased to defend the title against those who wish to wrestle for it, particularly Mr. Robertson, but he must weigh in at lOst, the match to carry the light-weight championship with it. Should Mr. Robertson weigh over lOst the match shall be for the middle-weight championship. My weight at present is 9st 61b. By the way, Mr. Robertson remarks in his letter that he will give me the house if I win and half the house if I lose. Does he think I have nothing else to do than go to Stratford and lose my engagement on the chance of getting a few pounds out of it ? Suppose the house is £lO and I win. There wouldn’t be enough left for me to return to Auckland with after deducting theatre and other expenses. Such conditions do not suit me in the least. If Mr. Robertson and his party are so interested in the match and so anxious to see it come off, let them give me a suitable guarantee, with expenses, the money to be posted ten days before the match takes place. In this case I will be ready to meet him in Stratford, or anywhere else in New Zealand, on weight and conditions, as mentioned above. —I am, etc., JOE GARDINER. Victoria Theatre, Westport. [The proposed match between Joe Gardiner and Louis Robertson has been widely discussed in sporting circles during the past month or so, and it is sincerely to be hoped that it will not all end in smoke. Much has been done to bring the pair together, but the question of weight seems to be the principal bar to the contest. The only remedy appears to be to make the match for the middle-weight championship and for Robertson’s party to give Gardiner a guarantee as regards expenses, in the event of him visiting Stratford. It is hard to see where any financial loss is to be anticipated, as a well-filled house would certainly assemble to witness two well-known athletes as Gardiner and Robertson measure strength and skill. Now that interest has been aroused in the match, it is to the advantage of both men to come to a definite understanding as soon as possible.—Ed. S.R.]
Permanent link to this item
https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/periodicals/NZISDR19100310.2.13
Bibliographic details
New Zealand Illustrated Sporting & Dramatic Review, Volume XVIII, Issue 1044, 10 March 1910, Page 10
Word Count
2,521BOXING. New Zealand Illustrated Sporting & Dramatic Review, Volume XVIII, Issue 1044, 10 March 1910, Page 10
Using This Item
See our copyright guide for information on how you may use this title.
Acknowledgements
This material was digitised in partnership with Auckland Libraries.