Untitled article | AdventAI

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · September 17, 1867

A SPECIMEN OF OUR TIMES.

The papers abound with accounts of prize fights in different parts of the country. Perhaps the reader is not fully aware of the brutal nature of these contests. We were not till we saw the following account of a terrible encounter that has just taken place near Cincinnati. It is well to understand what these scenes are; and then as we see the interest they excite, and the immense crowds they draw, we have a fair index of the character of the times in which we are living. We therefore, for the purpose of giving a single instance of the kind, lay the following account before the reader in all its brutal details. The gladiatorial contests of ancient Rome are referred to as an index of the degenerate and vitiated character of those times; and the bull-fights of Spain are pointed at as an evidence of the semi-barbarism of that nation. But what are they compared with the scene chronicled below? Dignified and respectable exhibitions! Certainly they were no worse than these scenes which multitudes in our own land delight to look upon to-day. This fight was between Michael McCoole and Aaron Jones, and is thus described by the reporter of the Chicago Tribune.

From St. Louis was hurled forth the bold defi of Michael McCoole, who arrogated to himself the title of pugilistic Champion of the United States on the occasion of gaining a belt which was included in the stakes won by him in a victory over Bill Davis, on the 19th of last September. He issued a challenge to fight any man in the country for any amount from $1,000 to $5,000 a side. Such a challenge, put forth by a Western man, and especially by one who had seemed to possess only the elements of brute strength and endurance, destitute of pugilistic science, appeared too audacious to be meant, and for a long time it was treated very lightly. When, however, it was bruited about in the East that McCoole had friends in the West who were willing to back him, to carry out the very letter of his challenge, in the principal Eastern cities a discussion speedily arose in sporting circles as to who should be selected to meet the Champion of the West in the roped arena. Several at once signified their willingness to fight the Western Giant, but when it was found that Coburn did not consider him worthy of his mettle, the choice soon settled upon Aaron Jones. Who could be chosen so worthy to chastise the “hope of St. Louis,” as he who had twice fought the then invincible Sayers, once to a standstill in the dark, who had been the trainer, and firm friend of Heenan, and who has ever been looked upon as one of the most formidable antagonists in the prize ring now living? So Jones came to take up the gauntlet thrown down by McCoole, and, on the 31st of May, these two men came to this city and signed the following

“ARTICLES OF AGREEMENT.

“We, Aaron Jones and Mike McCoole, do hereby enter into an agreement to meet, and fight (according to the new rules of the London Prize Ring—and to be strictly governed thereby) at a point within fifty miles of this, the city of Cincinnati, on Saturday, the 31st day of August, 1867, both parties to be informed of the hour and place of meeting three days before the time thereof. We do hereby confirm and endorse this agreement by placing in the hands of——our first deposit, of $500 each; the second deposit, of $250 each, to be placed in the hands of said——who is hereby declared the final stake-holder, on Saturday, June 29, 1867; and the third and last deposit of $250 each, to be placed as a final deposit in the hands of said——, stake-holder on Saturday, August 24, 1867.

“Said second deposit to be made on Saturday, June 29, 1867, as above agreed upon, at the saloon No. 61 West Third street.

“Said last deposit to be made at the Asteroid Saloon, No. 195 West Sixth street, on Saturday, August 24, 1867, as heretofore named, between the hours of 8 and 10 p. m.

“Choice of ground to be tossed for, by the parties making this agreement, at said Asteroid Saloon, No. 195 West Sixth street between the hours named for making the last deposit, as before mentioned (Saturday, August 24, 1867).

“Referee to be chosen on the ground; and, in case of any necessity for a postponement of the fight, to name the time and place for the next meeting.

“Both parties making this agreement to appear in the ring between the hours of 9 a. m. and 12 m., August 31, 1867. Either party failing to appear, shall forfeit all claim to the battle money.

“Signed and witnessed this 31st day of May, 1867. “MICHAEL McCOOLE, “AARON JONES. “Two witnesses.”

From that time up to this morning, the date of the fight, the attention of the sporting and bruising portion of the public became absorbed in the progress of the affair. It was early considered that the fight, made between antagonists who were giants in size and strength, would be the most terrific that ever occurred on this side of the ocean, and, consequently, the most interesting. The details of the progress of the arrangements, the intelligence of the deposit of the stakes, and how the men were preparing for the contest, were read with avidity by lovers of pugilism everywhere. In all of the large cities the fight was the prevailing, almost the only topic of discussion, and was recurred to and dwelt upon with constantly increasing interest.

WHERE THEY TRAINED.

About three months ago, Jones, who had been living in Washington up to the time when he decided to fight McCoole, came to Cincinnati, and immediately after signing the above articles of agreement, went into active training. The place selected was Shady Grove, about five miles north of this city. He chose as his trainer James Cusick, former trainer of Heenan, a gymnast of great experience. Under his care Jones kept constantly at work, reducing his immense weight and making himself as perfect, physically, as possible. During the latter portion of the training labor, which became more severe and steady as it approached the day of trial, Cusick was assisted by Jerry Donovan, well known in pugilistic circles in Chicago.

McCoole began training about the same time with Jones, at the Abbey, three and a half miles from St. Louis. He did his own training principally, though during a great portion of the time his preparation was superintended by Mike Trainor and Jim Haley.

THE TRAINING

of both men has been very similar, being characterized from the start by systematic effort and hard work. In his training, however, McCoole did not ply himself with the effort and skill that has marked Jones’ training. Each of the men rose at 4 o’clock in the morning and took a long walk, averaging from five to six miles an hour, and about thirty miles a day. They each underwent a great deal of running and lifting, besides performing with heavy weights, and hitting the sand bag several hours a day. Their diet was mutton chop, chicken and steak, bread and butter, prepared for their own use. They both abstained from the use of condiments and hot drinks of every kind, drinking no liquor whatever. They retired about 8½ p. m.

THE DAY BEFORE THE FIGHT

all was hurry and bustle and activity. The trains of the former day had brought large numbers of sporting men from every direction, but yesterday they flocked into the city in swarms. Every train brought in large accessions, and delegates from sporting circles in New York, Washington, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Cleveland, Chicago, St. Louis, Louisville, Nashville, Memphis, and New Orleans were registered at the principal hotels. Last evening a train arrived from the East, bringing the principal pugilists of the country, besides a host of gamblers, pickpockets and thieves.

FROM CHICAGO

the train brought sporting men, and not a few gentlemen of respectability who came that they might gratify their curiosity in witnessing their first, and as they have since declared, their last prize fight. Among these last are four representatives of the legal profession, two doctors, six merchants, and one architect, besides an ex-police official, and a somewhat notorious ex-divine. The press is, of course, numerously represented, and correspondents are here from all the prominent journals in the country.

ST. LAWRENCE HALL,

on Fourth street, near Vine, has been the headquarters of sporting men since their arrival. Here tickets for the ride to the ground were on sale yesterday, and a scene of most intense interest and excitement was presented. Far out into the street the crowd extended, composed of faces of every character, while a large force of police was at hand to preserve order. Not only men of professional sporting pursuits were there, but gentlemen of wealth and respectability shared the common excitement, and all day long one heard of nothing but the coming fight. There were many surmises as to where it was to be fought, but, beyond a select few, it was only known that it was to occur somewhere on the line of the Hamilton & Dayton Railroad.

THE POLICE

yesterday were exerting themselves to prevent the fight from occurring, but so carefully were the movements of the principals guarded, that they could gain no clue to the whereabouts of either Jones or McCoole until it was too late.

WAITING FOR THE TRAIN.

St. Lawrence Hall presented a lively spectacle at midnight. Popular interest seemed to culminate as the hour for starting to the scene of the fight drew near. Other saloons, except the few mentioned above, were closed. About these the crowds had been constantly swelling, until, two hours before the time of starting, there must have been at least ten thousand people collected. The scene at St. Lawrence Hall was exciting. The great crowd of drunken, swearing roughs con- tracted strangely with the respectable faces which only slightly relieved the prevailing element. Such as could took places on seats ranged about the side; while others, overcome by fatigue, or too intoxicated to stand, sprawled about the floor in front or behind the bar, where they were jostled or trodden upon by those about them. Most were talking—not a few in tones that flavored strongly of over indulgence; some were quietly conversing concerning the probable result, or exchanging the latest information on, or rumor about the fight, while others still strolled about, anxious only to kill time.

Thus sped the hours until two hours after midnight, when the crowd slowly began to file down the street toward the depot of the Hamilton & Dayton Railroad. Here a strong police force was present, commanded by the Superintendent himself. Arriving at the depot a scene of great confusion occupied the place. Two trains had been provided—one of eighteen, the other of ten cars. For these an indiscriminate rush was made. These were found so inadequate to accommodate the crowd that before half-past two o’clock every one of the twenty-eight cars was completely filled, even to platforms, while large numbers had clambered upon the roofs.

ENROUTE.

Finally, after an almost interminable period of waiting, compelled meanwhile to listen to a wild pandemonium of mingled curses, yells, shouts, bawdy songs and ribald jokes, the foremost train moved out of the depot. It was just half past three o’clock.

The ride out to Busenbark’s Station, five miles beyond Hamilton and thirty miles from Cincinnati, was terribly tedious and tiresome. The train was so heavily laden that it could not move at even ordinary speed, so that it was nearly six when our destination was reached. Wearied out by three successive nights of sleeplessness, it was yet useless to try to sleep, for the crowd of passengers was more turbulent than a multitude of Sioux. Yelling, fighting, or quarreling were kept up throughout the whole ride. Added to all this, the cold damp air of early morning, coursing through the cars, chilled one’s very bones. Still it was better to endure cold, than the choking fumes of liquor and tobacco smoke; so the doors and windows remained open.

THE SCENE OF THE FRAY.

The sun was just rising in the east, gilding the fields of ripening corn with a golden tinge, as the train drew up at Busenbark.

Very sore during the whole route, I could not help shuddering at the thought of the horrible business in hand. As soon as the train stopped, a rush took place for the ground of the fray, situated in a grove about forty rods from the train. Men began to clear the necessary space, and a ring was formed, though not without great difficulty, as the drunken rabble insisted upon occupying the whole place. Several fights occurred, which were stilled only after the disturbance had become general, and a number of persons were more or less seriously injured.

THE FIGHT.

When the ring had been marked out, N. Devlin of Indianapolis, mounted a chair in the center ring, and said: “The parties are all ready to make this fight, but unless there is order, there will be no fight to-day. I have to ask you on the part of these gentlemen, that all step outside of the outer ring. [Applause.] All the space on the outside of the inner ring is for representatives of the press. No others will be allowed there. If any man is a gentleman he will get back, if not a reporter. [Then, after a pause:] Gentlemen, the parties are all ready, but unless there is silence the fight will not go on. [Loud applause.]”

PRELIMINARIES.

But it was only after a free use of clubs and much urging that the impatient crowd consented to retire, whereupon the following were chosen ring-keepers: A. Farlan, Charles Coulter, Cincinnati, Dick Roach, Arthur Grove, Detroit, Billy Carroll, Patsy Sheppard, St. Louis, Bill Thompson, New York, Old Sanford, Philadelphia. Jack Looney then measured ground and marked the “scratch.” This proceeding was viewed with much interest.

THE RING.

The ground now presented a lively sight. Imagine a grove of tall oaks which spread their branches so that the morning sun peeped through in upon the ring in but few spots. In the very centre of the grove lay a space of two acres, smooth, level and clear of trees. In the centre of this space stood the ring, formed of stout oaken stakes and double ropes, the upper four feet from the ground. Strongly guarded entirely around the ring, and at no place nearer than twenty feet, was the larger ring, formed of a single rope stretched from tree to tree.

THE SPECTATORS.

Outside the inner or twenty-four foot ring, ranged about in a group, were seated representatives of the press from all the principal cities, East and West, to the number of perhaps fifty. Without the outer ring,

standing eight or ten deep, were spectators, the front ranks sitting on the ground in front of the others. A number of carriages surrounded the outer ring, which were filled with people who had collected there from the neighboring country; every tree adjacent to and commanding a good view of the scene was filled, far out on its branches, with men who watched from elevated positions the progress of all these preliminaries with the deepest interest. Taken altogether there were not less than seven thousand persons assembled to witness the fight.

A long and tedious time was consumed in preparations, while the gathering amused itself at intervals by clapping hands or impatient shouts of “Time.” A disturbance arose in the outer ring, but it was speedily quelled, with no other damage than the loss of half his nose by a man named Lunnen, from St. Louis.

At one minute past nine o’clock, James Cusick and Jerry Donovan, Jones’ trainers, entered the ring. These were immediately followed by Sherman Thurston and Dennis O’Brien, McCoole’s seconds. Dad Ryan was elected McCoole’s umpire, while Jack Looney performed a similar office for Jones. Rufus Hunt, of New Orleans, was chosen referee. Mr. Hunt being informed of his election advanced to the center of the ring, and, amid deep silence, spoke as follows: “I have been chosen by the unanimous consent of both parties referee of this fight. I intend to see that the best man wins according to the best of my judgment. [Great Applause.]”

McCullough, of New York, was chosen time keeper. There now ensued more clapping of hands. Considerable money was wagered, Jones being generally the favorite, though no odds were offered. Offers of fifty to forty on the first blood for Jones met with no takers.

After every one had begun to grow thoroughly tired and there were signs of approaching trouble, Jones finally made his appearance. At three minutes past ten he threw his hat into the ring, quickly following. His appearance was the signal for loud cheering, which he acknowledged by bows and then sat down. McCoole followed at ten minutes past ten, and was greeted with such applause as showed quite plainly that he was the greatest favorite. He shook hands with Jones, with apparent cordiality, and then sat down. Jones, winning the toss, chose the corner where the sun should fall directly upon McCoole. Jones had slept the night before at the house of Colonel George Elliott, about four miles southwest of the scene of the fight, McCoole passing the night at Middletown, some six miles north.

Another delay was now caused in escorting the men to their places. After these preliminaries had all been settled, the referee examined the hands of the contestants, to satisfy himself that they contained nothing hurtful, after which the men began to strip. Jones showed far better condition than his antagonist. He did not seem to have an ounce of extra flesh, and his muscles stood forth like chiseled marble. McCoole seemed the giant that he was. His frame, cast in herculean mould, indicated terrible strength, but he had a deal of fat, and his muscles were soft and flabby. His huge breast was densely covered with thick black hair, at the sight of which the frantic crowd burst forth again and again with shouts of enthusiasm. The opposing colors of the men were then fastened on the centre stakes. McCoole’s colors were a green field, bordered by red, white and blue, enclosing a harp in the centre, and the word “McCoole” beneath. Jones’ colors were pure white. McCoole wore blue breeches and white stockings; Jones, buff breeches and white stockings.

After the contestants and seconds had crossed hands, McCoole advanced to Jones’ corner and offered to bet him an additional one thousand dollars that he would win the fight. The offer was at once taken, when Jones offered to bet $100 that he would give the first knock-down blow. McCoole had no more money to bet, but an outsider accepted the wager. Time was then called, and the fight began.

First Round—McCoole, showing a disposition to push matters from the start, followed Jones near his corner, and then retreated, laughing, as Jones followed back. McCoole let out with his right and struck Jones a blow on the right eye, which brought blood freely, Jones falling from the force of the blow. First knock down was not allowed. Time, five seconds.

Second Round—McCoole rushed in, and a clinch followed. Jones being thrown on the ropes. Time, six seconds.

Third Round—As the men sat on their seconds’ knees, it was easy now to mark the deadly purpose and human tiger passion that lurked beneath the smile of each as he eyed the other previous to renewing the battle. Time was called. Both springing with alacrity to the scratch began to deal each other such terrible blows as can be given only by men enjoying matchless strength and perfect health. Also! what abuse of strength and health! The fighting was sharp, without displaying the least pugilistic science, each giving a number of hard body blows. At length they clinched, and Jones went down. Time, twelve seconds.

Fourth Round—Jones now seemed determined to try to worry out McCoole, and accordingly kept away quite as long as he could and then, hitting him heavily on the face, went down. The crowd evidently had no sympathy with this tame kind of fight on Jones’ part and vigorously hissed him, which was repeated every time that he went down with the intent to avoid punishment. Time, seven seconds.

Fifth Round—Jones struck at McCoole, hitting hard on the cheek, which he followed with another on the chest, and then fell. Time, seven seconds.

Sixth Round—Coming up, Jones, smiling, hit McCoole a terrible blow in the breast. McCoole countered lightly on the right breast, and Jones again went down, turning his face to McCoole as he fell, and smiling as if to provoke a foul hit. Time, eleven seconds.

Seventh Round—Approaching the scratch, the men went straight at each other and clinched. After mutual hard blows, Jones freed himself, and, facing McCoole, was met with the latter’s right, which hit him so hard that he was knocked flat half way across the ring. Time, eleven seconds. First knock down for McCoole.

Eighth Round—McCoole advanced briskly to Jones, whom he met near the corner. McCoole hit twice very heavily, when Jones tried to return, but falling short, went down. Time, seven seconds.

Ninth Round—This round was merely a repetition of the former—McCoole forcing the fighting, Jones too short, going down. Time, eight seconds.

Tenth Round—Jones seemed bent on endeavoring to provoke McCoole to forget himself and hit foul. In each round Jones had one down to escape punishment save where he had been knocked down. It was evident that he had started out with the idea that he should be able to tire McCoole out, and so had saved himself where he could. Rallying under the jeers and curses of the crowd, who had not come to see this kind of fight, he forced fighting in this round and was met by a severe blow on the shoulder, after hitting McCoole hard in the face, and fell. Time, seven seconds.

Eleventh Round—Jones struck McCoole a blow that opened a great gash over his left eye, from which blood streamed down the face. As soon as he gave the blow he went down, laughing in McCoole’s face, who was very near hitting him when down. Time, twelve seconds. The referee cautioned McCoole not to hit Jones when down.

Twelfth Round—Both came up breathing heavily from the effect of the fearfully rapid fighting. Jones again hit McCoole a heavy blow over the left eye. McCoole returned the blow with interest on the nose, when Jones fell. Time, twelve seconds.

Thirteenth Round—This was the most terrific round of the fight, and lasted twenty-two seconds. Both men went straight at each other, with that total disregard of science that they had shown from the first. Jones got a blow on his throat that staggered him, when he rushed in, but after a struggle, he was landed on the ropes. Rallying quickly, he again struck McCoole hard in the chest, when McCoole, sending forth his right, hit Jones in the right eye, knocking him down. Time, twenty-two seconds.

Fourteenth Round—The crowd was now in a state of intense excitement, and vented cheers and curses perfectly deafening. Betting was now in favor of McCoole, two to one. McCoole let out his right, but was short. Jones fell, after hitting McCoole in the face. Time, twenty-four seconds.

Fifteenth Round—Jones slipped down, and a foul was claimed. The referee was instantly surrounded by the crowd, which was only driven back by clubs. Foul not allowed. Time, two seconds.

Sixteenth and Seventeenth Rounds—McCoole forced the fighting, and Jones went down, receiving slight punishment.

Eighteenth Round—Jones again put in a heavy blow on McCoole’s injured eye, now swelled almost to closing. McCoole, in return, hit very heavily in the breast, knocking Jones down. Time, seven seconds.

Nineteenth and Twentieth Rounds—McCoole had had everything his own way from the first, and seemed certain of victory, unless Jones should succeed speedily in blinding him. But Jones’ chances were evidently gone. Influenced by this belief, a large portion of the crowd who had bet on Jones tried to create a row, and end the fight. Clubs and fists were again freely used for a few minutes, when order was again restored. Jones’ face now began to show marks of the fearful punishment dealt out by McCoole’s powerful right. His cheek was puffed up to an alarming size. His throat began to swell. Livid marks on the breast showed where McCoole’s fist had been planted, and, altogether, Jones seemed much distressed. On the other hand, McCoole was comparatively fresh with the exception of his left eye, which was now nearly closed. In both these rounds Jones took hard blows and went down to avoid punishment.

Twenty-first Round—A mere repetition of the preceding round, Jones falling and exhibiting signs of great distress.

Twenty-second Round—Jones came up very briskly, planting a heavy blow on McCoole’s nose, but soon went down. Time, fifteen seconds.

Twenty-third Round—Jones again struck McCoole’s damaged eye, quite closing it, and drawing blood afresh, but immediately slipped down. Time, nineteen seconds.

Twenty-fourth Round—They went for each other with a rush, Jones getting in first on McCoole’s closed eye, but immediately receiving McCoole’s right on his mouth, and getting hit frightfully. He again fell. Time, twelve seconds.

Twenty-fifth, Twenty-sixth, Twenty-seventh, and Twenty-eighth Rounds—These rounds were like the preceding ones. In each McCoole was hit very lightly, while Jones, receiving hard blows, slipped down to escape McCoole, who followed close with his right.

Twenty-ninth Round—McCoole advancing close to Jones, struck hard on his breast. They clinched, and Jones was sent against the ropes. Returning, McCoole met him with his right, giving a frightful blow against Jones’ ribs, which sounded like beating a hollow box, and knocking him clear through the ropes. When Jones was picked up, he looked almost gone. His face became deadly pale, his head drooped feebly forward, while his arms hung listlessly by his side. The mark of the blow was immediately visible in a great purple welt that rapidly commenced swelling. It now became evident that this was the decisive blow. McCoole, as had been feared, had sent in his great right arm with all his power, and the result of the battle was henceforth certain. Time, twenty seconds.

Thirtieth, Thirty-first and Thirty-second Rounds—Jones, almost gone, still came manfully up to the scratch at the call of time. Though he was for a time unable to do anything, he at last succeeded in getting down with light punishment.

Thirty-third Round—Jones gathered all his remaining strength and struck McCoole a crushing blow over his heart, and then fell. Time, ten seconds.

Thirty-fourth Round—The effect of McCoole’s blow in the twenty-ninth round now began to tell on Jones, who vomited forth blood on being carried to his corner. At the call of time Jones rose up and waited for McCoole, who came straight up and struck him with terrific force between his eyes. The blow opened a great gash, from which blood spouted forth, forming a pool on the ground beside the fallen pugilist, who had sunk beneath the blow as though he had been struck by a falling wall. Jones was knocked out of time.

McCoole’s right in the twenty-ninth round, and again in the last round, had done the work for Jones, and he lay prostrate and powerless as an infant. He was still insensible when time was called, and remained so until 15 minutes afterward.

As soon as the result was known, the crowd rushed into the ring and a free fight ensued. Clubs and knives were flying about everywhere; men were knocked down; not a few were bruised severely; one man was badly cut about his head; and matters were fast assuming a very serious phase, when the cry was raised that the train was about to start, which caused the mob to scatter like wild-fire. Thus in a few moments the ground was deserted save by the combatants. McCoole shook the hand of his unconscious antagonist, and then with his friends embarked on the train on the way back to Cincinnati.

All bruised and weak as he was, McCoole went through the train and succeeded in raising a handsome collection for Jones’ benefit. Jones was attended by a physician, who finally brought him to his senses. It was found that two ribs had been broken, while the last blow received by him had caused a severe shock to his brain. A little while later he was placed in a hack and conveyed to Hamilton, where now he lies—a sorry, wretched, miserable, aching wreck.

The fight lasted just twenty-eight minutes, and was one of the most rapidly fought battles that ever occurred in the ring. So it was the most brutal and disgusting.

The Tribune spoke editorially of this matter in the same issue, as follows:—

“On Saturday three or four thousand men assembled at a railway station in Butler County, Ohio, to witness a prize fight between Aaron Jones and Mike McCoole. On the thirty-fourth round Jones was ‘knocked out of time,’ and was borne away by his seconds with two of his ribs broken, and according to one account, with his forehead fractured. It is to be hoped that his wounds may prove mortal, and that his antagonist may be hanged for murder, and all the seconds, umpires, referees, stake-holders and other professionals, sent to the Penitentiary. An example of this kind is needed.”

At the same time the Tribune well knew that it must cater to the public taste sufficiently to send a special reporter to the spot, and publish a lengthy account of the affair. Verily the tastes and inclinations of the people must meet with a radical change before a temporal millennium can be brought in. They are changing, but in just the opposite direction from that imaginary state. For these are not the expiring throes of a barbarous age from which we are just emerging, but the incipient scenes of a period of barbarism upon which we seem to be just entering.