by Jack Tunney
“That's very civil minded of you Mr. Rogers,” Lonigan said, his words tinted with sarcasm. “And who are the two aggrieved parties?”
Rogers took his notebook from his apron pocket. “One of the men is Wild Wright. The other party is Mr. Ned Kelly.”
“Kelly you say?” Lonigan spat. The name was like a red rag to a bull.
“Yes,” Rogers replied.
“You know him?” Trooper Warpole interjected.
“He's the flash young cove who rode Constable Hall like a steer,” Lonigan explained.
“I heard about that. Sounds like the upstart needs the starch knocked out of him,” Warpole said.
“I couldn't agree more,” Lonigan said. He turned back to Rogers. “Who was the other fighter again?”
“Wright. Wild Wright,” Rogers answered.
Lonigan grinned. “He'll do nicely. Okay, Mr. Rogers. You can have your fight.”
Rogers was relieved.
Warpole looked confused. “You're letting the fight go ahead?” he queried.
“Indeed,” Lonigan responded. “You said it yourself, this Kelly needs the starch knocked out of him, and Wild Wright's the most ferocious scrapper in north-eastern Victoria. He'll take care of young Kelly good and proper.”
“Then what are we to do?” Warpole asked.
“There is nothing to do,” Lonigan answered, “except wait for the show to start.”
***
After several beers, and caught up in the carnival atmosphere, Wright's anger had diminished. In fact, you could say he felt comfortable and relaxed. But none-the-less he was still looking forward to the fight. Wright lived for a good fight, and he was curious to see what challenge young Kelly could throw his way.
Half an hour before the bout, Rogers came and tapped him on the shoulder.
“It's time Wild,” he said.
Wright finished the glass of porter in front of him and pushed away from the bar.
“Once more unto the breech, dear friends,” he cried, much to the amusement of his friends.
He followed Rogers upstairs to a storeroom. He saw Kelly was already in the room waiting. He stood tense with his arms crossed against his chest, and a furrowed brow.
“Relax, Ned,” Wright teased. “It will be all over soon.”
Kelly didn't responded.
“Here, Wild, give me a hand with this,” Rogers called.
A heavy wooden chest sat on the floor of the cupboard. Both Rogers and Wright grabbed the handles at each end and carried it to the middle of the floor. Rogers leaned over and lifted the lid. The smell of stale sweat was almost overpowering. Inside was assorted boxing equipment; satin trunks, moth-eaten long-johns, leotards, boots and several pairs of mufflers – padded gloves.
“Help yourselves, boys,” Rogers said, as he left the room.
Wright picked up a pair of mufflers and looked at them, bewildered. “Won't be needing these,” he said.
He then retrieved a pair of black trunks and proceeded to undress, whistling a tune as he did so. He looked across at Ned, and noted the tune appeared to put Ned on edge. He stifled a grin.
“Ah, Neddy, it's a shame we couldn't be friends,” Wright taunted.
“I don't want your stinkin' friendship,” Ned spat. “I just want to get started so you can get what's comin' to you.”
Wright laughed. Kelly was a nervous wreck alright. “Don't worry, lad. We'll go at it soon enough.”
***
Both men were dressed for action, and the alley was crowded with onlookers. Ned paced back and forward, bursting at the seams. Wright stood relaxed next to his friend, Cameron. Rogers stood near the scratch line with his hands in the air.
“Listen up, gentleman,” Rogers called. “This fight will be fought under London Prize Ring Rules. There will be no kicking, biting, eye-gouging, head butting or pulling hair. No fighter can hit his opponent when he is down, or hit him in any region below the waist. A round will continue until a man is knocked down. A period of thirty-seconds will be allowed after a fall, with a further eight-seconds for the fighter to toe-the-line. Gentlemen do you understand these rules?” Both men nodded. “Good. May the best man win! Now, gentlemen if you will toe-the-line.”
Rogers pointed to the line he had drawn in the dirt. Ned placed the toe of his left boot on the line. Wright did the same.
They were ready to fight.
ROUND 12
THE FIGHT
THE IMPERIAL HOTEL
MANSFIELD
NORTHERN EASTERN VICTORIA, AUSTRALIA
AUGUST 8, 1874
“It was early in the morning before the cock did crow,
Like tigers into battle these gallant lads did go.
The blood it flew in torrents and never a blow they missed,
And they carried a bunch of thunderbolts well fastened in each fist.”
Heenan and Sayers (Traditional)
“Gentlemen, fight!” Rogers called.
Both fighters circled around, sizing each other up. Ned was cautious, he wanted to get a look at Wright, before he got in close and traded knuckle blows at close quarters. He didn't have to wait long. Wright sprang into attack, taking three big strides and then throwing a battery of savage blows. Ned held his arms up, trying to protect his head, but a crunching right cross broke through and clipped him on the cheek.
Ned retaliated. He took two paces forward and threw a swinging left hook. Wright rolled his head away, then stepped inside and pushed a jab into Ned's face. Ned reeled back, shaking his head. His nose was bleeding and his bottom lip was already beginning to swell. He glared at his opponent. Wright grinned back, then lowering a hand to his waist, bowed. The crowd roared with laughter which only made Ned angrier.
Ned bounded forward again and threw an agricultural roundhouse right. Wright ducked under the flailing arm and laughed.
“Tis a little early for hay cartin' don't ya think, Neddy,” Wright chided.
In a blinkered rage, Ned charged in, only to run into Wright's fist. Ned hadn't seen the punch coming. It knocked him to the ground.
As Ned shook his head, he heard one of Wright's supporters yell, “Now you know why they call him Wild Wright.”
Yes, Ned did know. He did indeed have a wild-right – a haymaker that seemed to come from nowhere. Ned was soon to learn it was Wright's trademark punch, one which he threw often and to devastating effect.
Ned climbed to his feet and crossed to Tom Lloyd. Lloyd knelt down with one knee extended. Ned sat down on the leg as if it were a stool.
“That's some punch he's got there,” Ned grunted.
“Then stay away from it,” Lloyd responded.
Ned had to admit there was some simple logic to the statement. Stay away, indeed.
***
Ned stood at the scratch line waiting for Rogers' call. Across from him, Wright looked relaxed. His smile was broad.
“Wasn't such a good idea, was it, laddy? You should have let things be,” Wright stated.
Ned didn't have time to respond. Rogers called “Fight!”
Wright bounded forward once again, but this time, he grabbed Ned by the shoulders. Rather than punching him, he rammed his head forward, butting Ned in the nose.
Ned staggered and fell to the dirt again.
Wright laughed and his cronies cheered the illegal blow.
Ned dragged himself up and crossed to Lloyd who was waiting.
“Did you see that?” Ned mumbled. “I though head-butting was illegal.”
“It is illegal,” Lloyd confirmed. “But whose gonna stop him?”
Ned gritted his teeth and nodded. “I guess it's up to me.”
***
Ned stepped up to scratch. Wright was already at the line with Rogers to the side.
“Did you see that?” Ned protested, addressing Rogers.
“Watch the head-butting, Wild,” Rogers said.
“It was an accident,” Wright said with an innocent grin, as he raised his fists in readiness.
&n
bsp; Ned couldn't wait to wipe the smirk of his face. He raised his fists also.
“Fight!” Rogers called.
Ned was wary and took a pace backward. He was not going to be caught again. Wright lunged after him, and Ned saw an opportunity. He snapped out two hard fast jabs that caught Wright on the jaw. As Wright came to a grinding halt, Ned leaped forward and plowed his fist in Wright's side, just above the hip bone.
Wright didn't go down. In retaliation, he threw a barrage of punches aimed at Ned's head. First a left jab, a straight right, then two more jabs. Ned swatted away the first two blows, but the final two lefts caught him on the chin and sent him reeling back. At the last second he retained his balance and pushed out with a right aimed at Wright's head. The big man slapped it away and advanced throwing a wicked flurry of punches.
Ned didn't have time to register where they were coming from – left, right, left, straight, upstairs and downstairs. A brutal uppercut caught him in the stomach, and he collapsed to the dirt. The crowd cheered noisily for Wright.
Ned got up quickly, sucking in lungfuls of air, stunned by the ferocity of Wright's assault.
“You okay, Ned?” Lloyd asked as Ned sat down.
“Yeah. A lucky punch was all. I am good.”
***
Ned had known fighting Wright would not be easy. Since the fight had been declared, many people had told him he was crazy, and just how ferocious Wright was when push came to shove. But he hadn't counted on it being this difficult. Ned was a strong lad who had held his own in prison, but Wright had already knocked him down three times. It seemed like he was outmatched. But Ned couldn't walk away. Not yet. He was a Kelly. Not only was his pride on the line, but also his family name.
Ned approached the scratch line and plonked his foot down. His confidence was shaken. Wright was ready and waiting, the same toothy smile plastered on his face.
“You a farmer Ned?” Wright said.
Ned was confused.
Before Ned could say a word Rogers called for the fourth round to begin.
“Fight!” the hotelier yelled.
Wright was the early aggressor once again. He fired off two slick jabs. Ned took them on his forearms, then slipped inside and thundered a punch into Wright's midriff. The older man covered up, bobbing into a crouch. Ned threw another punch, but it sailed over Wright's head. While Ned was over-extended and off balance, Wright sprang to his full height, and threw a roundhouse right, which spun Ned's head around. Before Ned realised what had happened, Wright fired in a low blow – straight to the groin.
Geee Yaaa!
Ned had never felt such pain. With tears in his eyes, he collapsed to the dirt.
Wright stood over him, once again with the grin on his face.
“Hey, Ned,” he called. “I knew you were a farmer – 'cos you've got a couple of acres.”
Ned crawled to his knees and glared at Wright.
Rogers even had the courage to intervene, stepping forward. “I am warning you, Wild.”
Wild shrugged. “So I was a little low. Give the lad an extra ten seconds to come up to scratch, I don't mind.”
***
Ned took the extra time afforded to him, then stepped up to scratch. He gritted his teeth and glared at Wright. He wasn't going to stand for any more dirty tactics.
“You okay, Ned?” Rogers asked.
“I'm fine,” Ned replied.
Rogers took a few extra seconds, then called, “Fight.”
Ned knew Wright would expect him to be weary and weak. But that wasn't how he'd play it. At the call, he took a long stride toward his opponent and wound up for a right-cross. It was a feint. As Wright sidestepped to avoid the blow, Ned fired out a stiff left which found the target – Wright's cheekbone.
While Wright was dazed, Ned followed up with the promised right-cross. He struck Wright on the jaw, but the brawler didn't fall. He staggered away cursing, angry at himself for falling for such an obvious ploy.
Wright snapped around, his eyes full of fury. With fists raised, he charged ahead, his arms like flailing windmills. Ned was struck on the cheek, the jaw, his arms, and his stomach. He tried to fight back, slinging an uppercut at Wright's jaw. It struck home, but had little effect. Wright kept coming.
***
Lonigan was enjoying the show. He watched with delight as Wright wound up and fired a shot at Kelly's jaw. Kelly backpedaled, almost tripping over his feet. Wright didn't let up. He bounded forward, and while the young upstart was still off balance, he clubbed him about the side of the head. Kelly fell. Lonigan laughed as he hit the ground.
He slapped Warpole on the shoulder and said, “He doesn't look so flash now.”
“No he doesn't,” Warpole agreed. “He's done.”
“Here, watch this.”
Lonigan pushed his way to the front of the crowd, and squatted down on his haunches so Kelly could hear his words. In the background, Rogers began to count.
“Constable Hall sends his best wishes,” Lonigan whispered. “He wished he could have been here to see you cop a hiding, but he was too busy with your sister, Maggie.”
Lonigan was surprised when Kelly turned his head and glared at him. There was no mistaking the anger in the young man's eyes. Kelly pushed himself to his feet with his fists clenched tight at his side, and spat in Lonigan's direction. The bloody glob landed at the trooper's feet.
“You're a splaw footed windbag like that blubber-bellied fool, Hall. The devil take the lot of ya!” Kelly snarled, as he crossed over to the scratch line.
Lonigan had naturally, expected a response, but not such a vehement display. Seconds ago it had seemed if Kelly was out on his feet. Now the boy looked like he was ready to go to war.
***
Ned remembered Thomas Lonigan. He had been one of the mangy curs who had held him, while the fat buffoon, Hall, had pistol whipped him all those years ago. The sight of him made Ned's blood boil. He almost wished he was fighting him, rather than Wright. But one thing was for sure, he wasn't going to give the snake the satisfaction of seeing him beat. No – Ned had two opponents now – Wild Wright, and Sergeant Lonigan.
***
Wild Wright didn't know what Lonigan said to Kelly, but it worked the boy up. Wright thought he had him beat. But now young Ned was bustling in and throwing punch after punch. So far, Wright had avoided most of them, and those that landed he returned with interest. Wright had been in some tough scraps in his day, some fought under prize ring rules and many that weren't, but he couldn't recall coming up against anyone quite as hard headed as Ned Kelly. The kid just wouldn't quit.
Wright rolled his left arm forward, his fist sticking Ned in the nose. He followed with his trademark haymaker, which thundered into the young man's ear.
Ned grunted, turning his head away, showing his other ear in the process. It was an opportunity to good to pass. Wright boxed Ned's other ear.
Ned growled and snorted, as he bounded forward unleashing a furious barrage of blows. Wright held his arms up high in front of his face to protect himself. Ned swatted them away, then rattled Wright's teeth as he tagged him on the point of the chin.
Wright shook his head, trying to clear the fog from his mind. As he did so, a crunching right plowed into his midriff taking his breath away. Wild leaned over, with his head lolling forward. Two side-hand swipes from Kelly had Wright falling to the dirt.
It was the first time he had gone down.
Wright felt foolish lying on his side as the crowd stared down at him. He pushed himself to his elbows and spat out a glob of blood. Then he stood and walked back to Cameron who was waiting with bended knee. Wright sat down and swore.
“That boy has fists like sledgehammers and a head like a rock,” he hissed through swollen lips.
“You've fought tougher,” Cameron remarked.
Wild nodded. “Yeah, but I can't remember when,” he conceded.
***
Ned could barely hear. Wright had boxed his ears good and proper during the p
revious round, and everything sounded muted. It was like he had his head in a bucket of water. When he sat down on Lloyd's knee, he knew Tom was speaking to him, but couldn't understand a word.
“You're gonna have to spake up, Tom. I canna hear a bloody thing,” Ned yelled.
“You gotta watch that right,” Lloyd yelled.
The crowd gathered around, burst into laughter. Ned could see they were laughing, but had no idea what was so funny.
As Rogers yelled, “Time, gentlemen,” Lloyd pushed Ned in the centre of the back toward the scratch line.
Ned toed the line in readiness, but did not hear Rogers' call to fight. He was on the back foot from the outset as Wright lunged forward with his long left arm. As the fist slammed into Ned's cheek, he rolled with the punch, and correctly guessed Wright would follow it with another haymaker. Ned blocked the blow, and while Wright was still in the open, he pushed two sharp jabs into his face.
Wright was stunned by the bare-knuckle strikes, but didn't back off. He pushed forward and unleashed a ferocious volley of sharp stinging punches.
Right, left, right, right and left.
Ned swayed on the balls of his feet, dazed by the onslaught.
A final crushing right sent Ned to the dirt.
***
The eighth and ninth rounds were over quickly. Wright steamrolled Ned in both, coming out hard and fast. His fists were like steam-pistons as he pounded away at Ned's body. The young fighter had no defence against the ferocious onslaught. But on both occasions, he managed to get to his feet and cross to the scratch line.
As Ned looked over at Wright, he could see the fight was taking its toll on him too. The brawler had expended a lot of energy and was breathing heavily, sucking in deep lungfuls of air. Ned could tell he was tiring.
There and then he formulated a new plan of attack.
Rogers called, “Fight!”
Wright came out hard and fast again, as Ned suspected he would. But this time, he chose not to meet him toe to toe. He sidestepped and allowed Wright to bustle past without making contact. The brawler cursed and swung around and charged in again. Ned sidestepped once more, and Wright's blow went wide.
