James J. Jefferies was an enormous fellow who for many years held the World’s Championship. He stood 6 feet 1? inches, and his weight was generally in the neighbourhood of fifteen stone. He was born in 1879, and before he was twenty he had at least eight conquests to his name, and had fought drawn battles of twenty rounds each with such men as Gus Ruhlin and Joe Choynski. And having knocked out the majority of his opponents in a very few rounds, and being a man of phenomenal strength and hitting power, it naturally followed that he should challenge Bob Fitzsimmons for the World’s Championship. This he did, and the fight took place at Coney Island Athletic Club, near New York, on June 9th, 1899.

If it wanted a sledge-hammer to hurt Fitzsimmons, the hammer of Thor was needed for Jefferies. There has seldom, if ever, been a man who could take a harder blow, whether on the “mark” or the jaw, without turning a hair. He was not a scientific boxer of the first order, but he was no mere windmill, and he knew enough not to fight “raggedly.” He was, however, slow.

In arranging the conditions of the match beforehand, Fitzsimmons was anxious to have all hitting in holds forbidden, as it is by the strict English rules: that is to say, he preferred a clean break from a clinch. In most boxing contests now, both in England and America, when the referee stands in the ring he breaks the men away from each other, often by the use of considerable force, and passes between them. By this means each man has time to get ready again to start fighting in a fair manner. Jefferies objected strongly, for a man of his great weight and power 140 can do a great deal of damage by hitting “on the break-away.” Fitzsimmons was a very fair fighter, and upheld the English tradition in respect of clinches. Also, he knew, of course, that a clean break was greatly to his advantage. In the end the point was left to the referee, who thrust himself between the men to end a clinch.

The ring used was only 22 feet square; no weights were announced before the fight, but Fitzsimmons was probably between twelve and thirteen stone, whilst Jefferies was evidently a good two stone heavier.

From the very beginning it was seen that the old champion was much the better boxer, Jefferies much the stronger man. Heaven knows that Robert Fitzsimmons in his lean and lanky way was strong enough for six, quite apart from his spiritual qualities of will-power and courage. But Jefferies was phenomenal—is, no doubt, still; for though one speaks of him in the past tense, because this fight took place many years ago, he is at the time of writing still a comparatively young man.

At the time of this encounter Fitzsimmons himself was only, and also, a young man in the comparative sense. He was thirty-six, and in despite of his agility he was stiffer and less alert than he had been. Only two years had gone by since his great battle with Jem Corbett, but they were two years of great significance in the life of an athlete.

He began with his old brilliance of footwork, darting in and out, hitting Jefferies almost as he liked: but his blows were not hard, not hard enough, not so hard as they used to be. On points the first round was certainly his, and he wound it up by sending home a splendid right on his man’s ear. The second round was much spoiled by clinching. Jefferies began to assert himself, landing hard on body and face. He crouched low, and with his forearms close to protect his head, “bored in,” as they say, and went for Fitzsimmons’s body with short-arm blows behind which he swung his huge weight. Fitzsimmons tried to put in a right upper-cut, but his adversary guarded it and they clinched, the referee parting them. Immediately afterwards Jefferies shot out 141 a straight left which caught the Cornishman hard in the face when he was standing square, so that he was off his balance, and the blow knocked him down flat on his back. Such a knock-down as that does little harm, and Fitzsimmons rose at once, scorning to take advantage, as so many men would have done, of the ten seconds’ count. It should be remembered that the blow on the jaw which ends, or nearly ends, a fight makes a man fall forward. The third round was very even: they had settled down to hard fighting, and there was a good exchange of blows. The same may be said for the next round, except that Jefferies’s punches were much harder, and once Fitzsimmons was visibly shaken. He must have realised about this time that the odds were considerably against him. He had excellent opportunities for virtually free blows—blows which he could deliver with all his power, perfectly timed, and nicely judged. And they seemed not to inconvenience Jefferies at all. He tried his famous “shift” upon him without avail, that trick of his own invention by means of which he beat Jem Corbett—that dancing, glancing change of feet so that the right hand followed the right foot and smashed into the body under the heart and then glanced upwards to the jaw. Jefferies stood it all, and crouched and glowered and came on, quite impervious to anything that he could do. Once again Fitzsimmons decidedly “won” the sixth round. But of what use was that? He showed himself the better boxer, he landed more hits than his antagonist landed. That was all. There were to be other rounds beyond the sixth, and Jefferies was unhurt, unweakened, only biding his time. The seventh was the same, and this time Jefferies showed a little uncertainty. Fitzsimmons with his years of experience might be feeling a little desperate: Jefferies was only a lad, and realised the great difficulty of landing a punishing blow. No one knew better than he how much cleverer a boxer was the Cornishman. Jefferies was slow to start work in this round, and even, it seemed, a little reluctant. He kept backing away to avoid Fitzsimmons’s rushes. The old champion never charged blindly at his man; he knew too much for that. But he could get with extraordinary speed across the ring, 142 coming with a sliding, slithering movement which was snake-like in its quickness and certainty. And the expression of his face and especially of his light blue eyes was terribly and coldly fierce. For all the awkward, unsmiling kindness of his nature, Fitzsimmons could look a very devil when he was fighting.

After a little Jefferies halted and tried to force his man up against the ropes, but Fitzsimmons nipped easily away and held his own comfortably. But he was not happy. He could not hurt his opponent, and before this he had been used to make himself felt in seven rounds. In the next round Jefferies was again slow and reluctant at the outset, but after a little sparring he put in a couple of lefts without serious return, and later finished the round with a spanking straight left which sent Fitzsimmons staggering half across the ring.

The ninth round settled the matter. Fitzsimmons led off and attacked ferociously, but was sent back again with just such a left as had troubled him in the previous set-to. He left his body open, and Jefferies swung all his great strength and all his mighty weight into a body-blow which caught the veteran over the heart. He gasped audibly and time was called. But that was the winning blow. The fight was knocked out of Fitzsimmons. He was still almost dazed when he came up for the tenth round. Again Jefferies used that best and safest of all blows, the straight left, and Fitzsimmons was shaken to his heels. He could not defend himself: he could only stand and take what he was given. The next blow sent him to the ground, and he only rose, very groggy, at the seventh second. And now, though it made no ultimate difference, Jefferies lost his head. Fitzsimmons had been beaten by the blow over his heart, the effect of which would last much longer and take far more out of him than three or four on the jaw which failed to knock him out. But Jefferies could not have known that for certain at this moment: and seeing his man weak and tottering he swung wildly at him. If he himself had not been so extraordinarily strong, or if the elder man had not been already broken, he might well have lost the fight by that wildness. It has happened scores of times. As 143 it was, an inferior blow from Jefferies knocked Fitzsimmons down again, but only for five seconds. Done as the old champion was, the blow must have been a comparatively poor one, or he could not have risen in the time, though, as had happened earlier in the fight, his pride would not allow him to take full advantage of the “count.” Even then, in his excitement, ............