the last three years of the nineteenth century were rich in great encounters, or so, at any rate, it seems to us now. the transition period, when bare-knuckle fighting had degenerated into the most sordid and secret ruffianism, had passed; and a virtually new sport had taken its place. and of all the giant names associated with boxing as we understand the word, those of corbett and sullivan are immortal.
a boxer’s life, as a boxer, is a very short one, so that though both of these men have long since passed into the mythology of the ring, both of them, were both alive, would be, at the time of writing, but of middle age.
james j. corbett was a highly skilled heavy-weight whose title to fame as a scientific boxer has been much obscured by the fact that he began life by being a bank clerk. this genteel avocation had not formerly been mentioned in conjunction with the ring, and much was made of the coincidence both in america and england. corbett was not behindhand in fostering the impression of social superiority. and his nicknames of “pompadour” and “gentleman jem” given him for the arrangement of his hair and his charm of manner, tended rather to overshadow his real merits. this is generally the case with boxers who assume or have assumed for them (by their business managers) airs which have nothing to do with the matter in hand. it is very amusing, when you think of it, how the lovers of boxing have always made implicit apologies for the sport by drawing attention to the extrinsic merits of its exponents. it is perfectly true that far more professional boxers have been blacksmiths or porters or dockers—“working-men,” in fact—than bank clerks 128 or actors, but at this time of day such comparisons are surely irrelevant.
what matters most to us now is that corbett was a first-rate boxer. he was a californian, born in san francisco in 1866. during the period of clerkdom he won various amateur competitions, and at the age of eighteen, turned professional. in 1889 he beat joe choynski—a very powerful slogger—thrice. the first of these battles lasted for twenty-eight rounds and was a particularly fierce one. corbett was now generally recognised as a supremely scientific boxer. for so big a man his speed was prodigious, and the skill with which he used his feet amazing. he had the build of an all-round athlete, stood six feet one inch, and weighed thirteen stone in hard condition. he belonged to the new generation of boxers, of men who had never fought with bare knuckles. he had the distinction of being what is called a “scientific pugilist” and not a “prize-fighter.” and, as already explained, he was a person of some consequence, not a mere hewer of wood or shifter of barrels, but a bank-clerk. no end of a fellow, in fact ... but he was a good boxer.
his encounter with sullivan took place at new orleans on september 7th, 1892. it was supposed to be for the championship of the world (as well as some ￡9000), but the title should be qualified by the word “white.” john laurence sullivan had not earned the full title of champion, because he had, one imagines for his own convenience, refused to fight peter jackson. he “drew the colour-line,” as the saying is.
sullivan was a mighty slogger, who had fought a great deal with his naked fists, and was a man of tried courage and endurance, but he was not a man of exceptional scientific skill. he was 5 feet 10? inches in height, and weighed a good deal over 14 stone. he was thirty-four years of age.
john heenan and tom sayers.
in 1889 he had fought jake kilrain, a man with a great reputation, of about the same age, weight, and height. this had been a bare-knuckle affair and had lasted for seventy-five rounds, which occupied two hours and a quarter. on that occasion sullivan 129 was in magnificent fettle, and very often disdained to rest between the rounds, standing against the ropes in his corner and chatting with his seconds. this fight also took place at or near new orleans, and as the month was july, it was insufferably hot. indeed it is a wonder that both men were not touched by the sun. the actual place for the encounter was kept secret, as the police were out to stop it. indeed they chased the combatants all over the country afterwards. now kilrain prided himself on his wrestling and ended the first round by throwing sullivan with great force to the boards. but to his great astonishment thereafter sullivan turned the tables on him at that game, and threw him, at various periods of the fight, no less than eleven times. but it was as a smashing hitter that sullivan had made his name, and it was by terrific hits that he wore kilrain down. in the third round sullivan’s seconds claimed a foul because they believed his man had hit him below the belt, but this was not allowed by the referee. a few rounds later kilrain drew first blood by a splitting blow upon the ear, which resulted in making sullivan coldly furious, and in the next round, the seventh, he knocked kilrain down with a blow on the jaw which would certainly have ended a glove-fight. after that kilrain fell at every possible opportunity, sometimes from a light hit, sometimes without being hit at all. he fought very foully, stamping on sullivan’s foot with his spiked shoes. indeed, the insteps of both of them were severely scored by spikes at the end. it was not an exhilarating encounter. during a great deal of it there was next to no fighting at all. kilrain kept away and dropped to avoid punishment. his blows, such as they were, became feeble. he was badly beaten. in the forty-fourth round sullivan was sick, and kilrain immediately asked him if he would give in. “i don’t want to hit you in that condition,” he added. to which audacious observation sullivan replied: “you’re crazy. i’ve got you licked.” the “temporary indisposition” did sullivan a lot of good as a matter of fact, and he fought all the better afterwards. in the seventieth round kilrain seized sullivan by the legs and tried to throw him. it was a palpable foul, but then the whole battle was foul so far as he was concerned; and 130 the referee was grossly to blame for allowing such a display to proceed. in the end charley mitchell, kilrain’s chief second, went over to sullivan’s corner and asked him if he’d give kilrain a present if he gave in. “of course i will,” said sullivan: and he was declared the winner. he was very little marked, but kilrain was both disfigured and exhausted.
now to return to the later fight, corbett was much younger, longer in the reach, quicker, in better condition, and much more scientific than sullivan. on the other hand, the old stager could hit a good deal harder, had far more experience, and was two stone heavier. his only chance lay in an early knock-out. and it was evidently corbett’s best plan to keep away from him and wear out his strength. sullivan was one of the glaring and stamping kind of boxers who beat timid men before a blow has been struck. to hard-headed and insensitive people it is a matter of perpetual astonishment that sheer bounce and bombast should cow an opponent in the ring; but, as an odd and unhappy fact, it frequently does so. but it took hard blows to beat jem corbett. he knew what to expect from sullivan. he knew that he would try to rush in and beat down his guard and half kill him before the fight had fairly started. and sullivan did try this. but corbett was a good boxer and he had character, and he ducked and stepped aside, or stepped back, not attempting to hit, only making sure that he was not hit.
there were people who called sullivan a coward. he showed no cowardice that day. even in the fourth round his legs began to grow tired, but he stood up like a man. in the fifth round he caught corbett a terrible blow on the throat, and he tried to follow it up with a mighty right swing; but though hurt corbett avoided the second punch and sent in two hard smashes on his antagonist’s face. these he instantly doubled with blows on the ribs and nose. sullivan was dazed, and only the call of time saved him. he was bleeding a good deal when he came up again, but seemed refreshed and wisely kept away out of reach. the seventh round showed that his condition was poor. he was breathing hard, and he misjudged his distance. corbett 131 could hit him almost as he liked; but sullivan’s capacity for taking punishment was almost infinite.
corbett saw now that he had the fight in hand if he were only careful. sullivan was weakening before his eyes, but he dare take no risks. once he sent in a right which closed the older man’s left eye, and after that he drove in some good body blows, but he held his hand a little. he must not go “all out” until there was no possibility left of a “lucky” punch from sullivan.
and yet the beginning of each round found the veteran fairly fresh and always game. the minute’s rest and the attentions of thoroughly competent seconds revived him wonderfully, so that corbett began to feel just a little uncertain. what punishment the man could take! ah, but “youth would be served,” and corbett’s nimbleness of foot kept him out of danger. the eleventh round started by sullivan brilliantly attacking with the left on the head followed by a hard right on the body. for a moment the onlookers believed that sullivan had turned the tide in his own favour. corbett was hurt: if only the old chap could keep it up.... but the young one fell into a clinch—a thing he never seemed reluctant to do in order to avoid punishment, and as they broke away he sent a right to his opponent’s chin which drove his head back. the next three rounds were slow. corbett felt confident again, finally confident. he was perfectly sure of his man by this time. sullivan was trying to ease the pace a little, for he was clearly done, and corbett would take things comfortably for a while to reserve his own strength, keeping the big man well exercised, though, so that he should not recover his wind. in the sixteenth round corbett sent a left hook to the body which visibly shook sullivan, who was unable to land one blow that mattered. true that in this round sullivan pulled himself together and aimed a blow which would certainly have stretched corbett senseless if it had landed on his jaw; but then corbett entirely avoided it, and sent home three spanking blows on the face without a return. and yet, after being virtually a beaten man for several rounds, john sullivan was the better man in the 132 seventeenth. he began by knocking corbett down, not severely it is true, for he caught him when he was for once standing in a bad position with his feet almost level. and corbett found that he could hit hard still. indeed he was a giant of strength, and if his legs had been as strong as the rest of him he should have won. he rushed corbett to the ropes and forced him back against them and hit him left and right. corbett was profoundly thankful for the call of time. he was very cautious when they came up again. he remembered all his boxing, which is exactly what a weary man is often incapable of. he knew that sullivan felt that he might have a chance yet by rushing him off his feet; and when the rush came he was ready. instead of stepping aside this time he timed his adversary nicely, and sent out a right which took sullivan on the jaw. it was a damaging blow, but the veteran went on fighting. in the next round he put his own right on corbett’s jaw and spun him round, but failed to fluster him or seriously shake him. for the rest of that round corbett kept a respectful distance and sparred. then at the beginning of the twentieth corbett realised that his turn had come. he began at once by rushing in his turn, got sullivan up against the ropes, clinched to hold him there, broke and banged his right on the body and shot a half-arm blow to the side of the head. sullivan was in a bad way. he reeled, and corbett came after him, but the call of time intervened. sullivan was now hopelessly beaten. he came pluckily up for the twenty-first round, but could hardly put up his hands. corbett smashed in a right swing to his jaw and the veteran fell. the yells of the watching crowd, and particularly those of his seconds in the corner, helped to steel his resolution, and he dragged himself up at the sixth second. corbett immediately hit him again, thrice, and it was all over.
youth had been served, and the boxer had beaten the slogger, which, other things being equal, he invariably does.
