I was born in Dundalk, Ireland, in 1873, and was one of nine children, three of whom, including a twin brother, are dead. Of those alive two are boys and three girls. My twin brother was killed by a runaway horse when he was about 8 years old.

    My early boyhood can be disposed of in a very few words. I was always husky, was never quarrelsome, and if my schoolmates sus­pected I could fight they conceded the point without seeking actual demonstrations.

    Like most boys at school, I had a nickname, and the only times I wanted to fight was when some fresh kid hid around a fence and yelled at his companions to come and see "The Badger". I did not like to be reminded that my face was covered with white fuzz.
    
GOES AROUND WORLD
    The first work I ever did as a boy was aboard a ship. I used to run on small coaling vessels between my  home town and ports in Scotland. I took my turn at the wheel and often went nineteen and twenty hours at a stretch without sleep.

    Later I shipped on larger vessels, and before coming to New York from Buenos Aires in 1892 I had travelled over the world - to Alaska through the Indian Sea and to ports where no white man had ever set foot.

    I could tell a very interesting story of adventures in foreign lands and seas. I was shipwrecked one time and spent many days in an open boat without a drop of water to drink. But that story will keep for some other occasion.

JOINS U. S. NAVY
    Upon my arrival in New York I joined the navy. I spent six months on the receiving ship Vermont and was then transferred to the cruiser Philadelphia. I liked to box and it was not long before I was putting on the gloves and trading punches with the other sailors.

    These bouts, however, were all of a friendly nature, between fe1Iows who never expected to shine in the ring, and it was not until I was riled up one day that my mates learned I might fight if forced into it.

    There was a fellow on board named "Reddy" O'Neill, a tough guy from Boston. "Reddy", for some reason, never liked me, and when I jostled him one morning while unlashing our ham­mocks he became abusive.

    “Get away from here," he said, "or I’ll swing on you."

    "What’s that you’ll do?” I asked.

    "I’ll break your jaw,” he said.

    The next time I met "Reddy” on the spar deck I called him.

CALLS BLUFF
    "You're going to break my jaw," I said, “Here's your chance to do it."

    The fellow stopped, came toward me, and then, seeing me double my fists, whirled on his heel and walked away. He was never regarded as a tough guy after that.

    That run-in with "Reddy” gave me a great deal of confidence. I knew that he wasn’t exactly a cow­ard; he had engaged in a number of fist fights on shore and had built up a reputation as a bad man to mix with. I figured that if "Reddy," who should know a fighter, was afraid of me, he must have seen something about my work with the boxing gloves which caused him to hesitate about hitting me.

    I boxed more than ever. I put on the gloves every chance I had - tackled five or six men one after another.     When the Philadelphia put in at Honolulu I has established my position as its champion pugilist.

FIRST BIG MATCH
    The information that the sailors of my ship had a man whom they thought could fight was not long in spreading to other ships in the harbor and through the sporting resorts ashore.

    As luck would have it, there happened to be in port at the time the steamer, "Australia", and aboard it, as chief steward, was Tom James, a rabid fight fan, who brought to America Bob Fitzsimmons and many other noted fighters from Australia.

    On the steamer with James was Nick Burley, a professional fighter, who had met Peter Maher and other famous heavyweights.

    James at once busied himself in the work of bringing about a fight. He sent word to the Philadelphia that if our sailors thought their "champion" could fight, he would take the keenest delight in having Mr. Burley show them they were wrong in their opinions.

ACCEPTS CHALLENGE
    My shipmates were up against it. They didn't want to be bluffed, and, knowing that I had never engaged in a professional fight, they did not like to ask me to tackle a seasoned man like Burley.

    They approached me gingerly. "Tom," said one, “there’s a man over on the Australia who has a fighter he thinks can whip you. The fellow wants you to fight as a professiona1.

    “Well,” I asked, “what of it?”

    “Nothing," said the sailor, "only it isn’t fair for him to be asking you to tackle such a tough game.”

    "Tough game,” I said, "who told you this fellow was tough?”

    The sailor nearly jumped out of his a shoes.

    "Will you fight him?” he asked.

    "Fight him?” I said. "I’l1 fight anybody.”

    I will not trouble the reader with an account of how the fight was ar­ranged.

WINS BY KNOCKOUT
    It is quite sufficient to state that several nights later I stepped into a ring in Hono1ulu to engage in my first professional fight.

    I have heard fighters tell, and good fighters, too, how frightened and nervous they were in their first fight. But I must stick to the truth and state that I was neither frightened nor at all nervous when I crawled through the ropes to meet Nick Bur­ley. Perhaps I didn't have sense enough to be. But, anyhow, I wasn't.

    Burley gave me a good taste that night of what I might expect of if I kept at the fight game. In the second round, I believe it was, he whirled on the balls or his feet and pasted me squarely on the face with a La Blanche swing. The blow broke my nose and covered me with blood.

    But it also did something else. It woke me up. It made me want to kill the fellow. I rushed in and began swinging punches as fast as I could.

    I could hear by shipmates around the ring yelling like crazy Indians. I couldn't stop. Between rounds they had to drag me to my corner. The end came in the eighth round.

    I felt my fist collide with Burley's jaw and I saw him drop to the floor. Next thing 1 knew I was being car­ried out of the building on the shoul­ders of a bunch of yelling, wildly ex­cited sailors. That night there was a great jollification on the good ship Philadelphia.

    The way I knocked out Nick Burley made me quite a man on the good ship Philadelphia. Even the officers, who had scarcely noticed me before, seemed anxious to give me a pleasant word.

One month after I disposed of Burley I was matched to fight a fellow named Langley. This fight was for $100 a side, winner take all the gate receipts, and was held near the beach of Waikiki, which is a part of Hono­lulu. I knocked out Langley in two rounds.

Then came a man named Pickett. He was easy. They packed him out in two rounds.

By that time, as may be imagined, I was thinking pretty well of myself. I asked them to get me a real man - one who could take a wallop.

The Honolulans dug up Jim Barrington. He was no better than either Langley or Pickett and lasted about as long.

START BETTING
"Rough" Thompson I also disposed of in two rounds for a $500 side bet. They were beginning to plunge a little on the Philadelphia.

        But the ending of the fight did not suit Thompson’s friends. They said I won with an accidental punch. I gave "Rough" another fight and stopped him in the fifth round.

       Shortly after that fight there put into port an English man o’ war, and aboard it was Gardner, heavyweight champion of the British navy. I
deprived him of his title by stopping him in four rounds.

It should not be imagined, however, because I am rattling these fights off one after another, or because each fight was so short that I didn’t take any punishment.

The way I fought I had to take punches. I didn’t know then that there was such a thing as a side step, a feint or an uppercut, and the idea that a man could guard himself by holding up an arm never entered my head.

PRIDE GETS JOLT
A man, named George Washington, a colored boxing instructor of Honolulu, told me one time that if I would call on him he would show me how to box. I called and we put on the gloves. He started to tell me that I did not know how to put up my bands. That made me mad.

"I know just as much about holding up my hands as you do," I said.

He said that I had the swelled head - and perhaps I did. But anyhow I was game enough to offer to fight him.

       "Look here," said George Washington. "Ah got nothin' 'gainst yo’. Get ‘long now ‘fore I disfigure yo."

        And I am satisfied now, when I come to think how quickly that negro jumped at the chance offered to meet me in a fight, that he actually
thought be would chop me to pieces.

SHARKEY OUTBOXED
We met in a small hall, the ring being pitched on a stage and with ropes on three sides only.

I will say for George Wazhington - it may give the old fellow some satisfaction - that he certainly made me look foolish in that first round.

I just couldn't hit him. When I rushed he slipped aside and made me bump the ropes. And when I stood in the center of the ring and dared him to come on and fight he poked my head and hopped away.

I was furious when I went to my corner. I had been thinking I could fight and here was a boxing instructor - not a regular fighter, just a plain every-day instructor -showing me I didn’t know a thing about it.

I wouldn’t even sit down. During the minute rest I kept digging my toes into the canvas in my anxiety for the bell to ring.

When it finally did ring I jumped ten feet and landed in the center of the ring on the dead run.

 MANY KNOCKOUTS
    The negro saw me coming and tried to side step. I struck him with my arm and shoulder and slammed him against the wall. As he bounced back I swung and landed on his chest. He went plumb through a window in the back of the stage.

Before leaving Honolulu I had several other fights. One fellow I whipped was Bill Tate, who, so he told me after the fight, was a great friend of the renowned Spider Kelly of San Francisco.

Tate did twice as well as did Jim Dunn, Jack McAuley, Jack Marks and Sailor Brown. Each of them lasted one round.

    Then the Philadelphia set sail for California. The reader will by this time have probably reached the decision that when I left Honolulu I was badly puffed up - a victim of the swelled head.

And had it not been for one thing I certainly would have been some what puffed. It was some trick for a green sailor like I was to knock out so many men right off the reel.

One day while in Honolulu I met Tom James, the steward from the steamer Australia, who had got me to fight Nick Burley.

 GOOD ADVICE
"Tom," he said. "you've been doing some good flghtlng."

I agreed with Mr. James that I had. I expected him to tell me that some day I would be a champion.

“Let me give you a word of advice, Tom,” he said, “You think you’ve done very well in the ring, and, to be truthful you have. But, Tom, all you don't know about fighting would make a cargo for a ship.

“You’ve been meeting bums. The only man you’ve whipped worthy of mention is Nick Burley, and he doesn’t figure one, two, three with the champions.

"You are a big man in Honolulu. In California they've never heard of you. They have real fighters there.

       "Go see some of them fight. Then, if you're still game, go to it. The champions need strong, husky fel­lows like you to practice on. If you can stand the gaff we may hear something of you in a few years.”

        I had plenty of time to think over what Mr. James told me on the trip from Honolulu. The Philadelphia dropped anchor at Vallejo in June of 1895.

       When the Philadelphia put in at Vallejo it was not my idea to get into the ring at once. I remembered what Tom James told me about there being great fighters in California, and I wanted to see some of them in action before I tried my hand.
       However,  I got into the ring quicker than I figured on. On board the Philadelphia there was a fellow, whose name I cannot now recall, who had taken a violent dislike to me. He wanted to see me whipped in Honolulu, and when on our arrival at Vallejo he was transferred to the ship Olympic he grew more bitter than ever. He kept telling everybody that before he finished he would see Tom Sharkey knocked cold.

MEETS OLD-TIMER
       This fellow kept nosing around and finally dug up a man called Sailor Brown. This Brown, so we learned, was no "sucker". He had been at one time the heavyweight champion of the American navy, one of the first it ever had, and was good enough to have boxed Peter Jackson, when the great negro first came to America.

       Brown, who had just come in from a long cruise in the Arctic ocean, was spoiling for a fight, and when my friend"on the Olympic approached and asked him to take me on he just jumped at the chance.
   
 WINS IN SECOND                  
       We met in Vallejo, at Armory hall, which was rented for the occasion by Tim Sheehan.

       Brown didn't give me much trouble. I busted him so hard in the first round that I thought he would snap the ropes. In the second round I gave him a few cuffs and it was all over.

       Then the friend over on the Olympic dug up Jim Dunn to fight me. Jim was as big a man as Jess Willard, six foot four, a fine looking big fellow. His friends wanted to bet $1000 on him.

       I will stop here and explain that my backer-in-chief from the start was Paul Herman, chief boatswain's mate on the Philadelphia. He put up his own money and collected that which the other sailors wanted to bet on me - ten and twenty dollar pieces.

       The $1000 was made up and placed in Herman's hands to cover that of Dunn's friends. We met at Armory hall.

WORLD'S RECORD            
       Several fighters claim the world's record for quick finishes. But that affair of mine with Dunn was pretty near the limit for brevity. It lasted 26 seconds flat.

      When the bell tapped I took a hop, step and a jump. A right-hand overhead swing which I'd started from my corner landed flush on the chin. Persons who were holding watches told me that it was exactly sixteen seconds from the time the gong sounded until the referee began counting. The other ten seconds were consumed in counting Dunn out.

       My quick win over Dunn created quite a little talk in San Francisco. About that time there was a big, tough fellow hanging around named Martin Mulvihill. Mulvihill hailed from Hayward, Cal., and he had told certain friends that if he got the fights it was only a matter of a short time when he would be world's champion.

SHARKEY CHALLENGED
       These friends told Mulvihill about me, but they told him also that I was rather backward about going against men of reputation, and that he would have to trick me into a fight.

       One day when a crowd of us from the Philadelphia were standing in Tim Sheehan's saloon, the door opened and in walked a fellow in a blue shirt and overalls. He looked like a rube just out of the hay field, and, we soon saw, was looking for trouble.  

       "Say," he said, addressing one of the sailors, "you from the Philadelphia?"

       The sailor said that he was.

       "Well," said the fellow, my name is Mulvihill - Martin Mulvihill - and I can lick anything on two legs."

       The sailor began looking toward me. It was just like the man had come in and slapped me.

       "I understand," the fellow continued, "that you've got a duffer named Sharkey on that tub o' yours. He's my meat. Trot him out and watch me maul him up."

MATCH IS MADE    
       “Look here, my friend,” I said, stepping up, "my name is Sharkey, but this no time to have trouble. If you are a fighter we can meet and have it out in the ring."

       "That's my idea exactly," roared Mulvihill, "but I don't think you're game to meet me in the ring or any other place. Sailors are a lot of bluffs. Never saw one of 'em yet who could fight. They're all full of soup and potatoes."

       Mulvihill never knew what a narrow escape he had from being seriously injured that day. Those fellows in Sheehan's wanted to "rough house" with him. But he was finally got out of the place with the understanding that I would meet him in the ring.

       The old Armory was hired again, and it took me nine rounds to convince Mulvihill that he was no champion.

GAINS PRESTIGE
       Mulvihill was a scrapper of the barroom order, covering his face with one arm and lashing out with the other when he got in close. I had to beat him down with main force, slamming him on the back and trading punches with him when I could.

       When Mulvihill left the ring he had changed his mind about sailors all being full of soup and potatoes.

       Several of Mulvihill's friends who bet on him did not have the money to pay their fares back to San Francisco. They had to walk around the bay to get home.

       That fight was the last I had in Vallejo. I had acquired considerable local prestige and my shipmates were urging me to go after some of the better known fighters.

       The defeat of Mulvihill did not make me any friends among those San Franciscans who had bet against me. And particularly bitter were those who had their troubles getting back from Vallejo. These fellows started to look around for some other fighter who would be sure to whip me, and finally hit upon Australian Billy Smith, who had fought Joe Goddard, the Barrier Champion; Frank Childs, a good negro heavyweight, and many other prominent men of his time.

       Paul Herman, my backer on the Philadelphia, when he heard what I was being steered up against, became a little nervous.

       'Tom,' he asked one day, when the match was just about made, 'don't you think you are going up against a pretty tough game? This Australian Billy Smith, I hear, is about the best heavyweight in San Francisco.'

       'No!' I snapped. 'I'll fight him if he's the champion.'    

       It made me just a little bit sore that Herman should think I would sidestep any man. I had fought them all, just as they came, and though I'd been hit, good and hard sometimes, I can truthfully say that I had never been really hurt.

BIG MATCH MADE
       I was beginning to think that I could not be hurt with a sledgehammer. So the match was made. The fight took place at Colma, below Barney Farley's place, just across the San Mateo county line.

       I did my training, as usual, on the Philadelphia, running around the deck in the morning and in the evening around the Vallejo navy yard.

       The officers on the ship were very kind to me. Many of them were rabid boxing fans and I got all the time I wanted off regular duty to condition myself.

       The day of the fight I came over in the morning. I was accompanied by Paul Herman and a few personal friends from among the sailors.

OPPONENT FAVORITE
       People with whom I had made friends in Vallejo chartered a steamer, and this came over in the afternoon, loaded down with sailors and civilians. Among the latter were a number of wise gamblers. These fellows, not satisfied with picking up whatever bets they could in the hour or so it took to make the trip, purposely had the boat delayed in order to get additional bets.

       The betting in San Francisco was 7 to 1 against me.If you wished to back me you could almost write your own ticket. Smith was considered the biggest cinch bet that ever came over the pike.

        And those sailors, with their ten and twenty dollar pieces, fairly gobbled up the bets offered. If I had lost most of them would have had to swim back to the ship.

        Herman was still nervous when it came time to enter the ring.

        'Now, Tom,' he said. 'Don't get scared. This Smith may have nothing more than his reputation. Go after him just like you have all the other fellows. If you hit him he'll drop.'         

HERMAN SCARED
        I didn't answer. It made me sore to have Herman advise me not to get scared when he was the worst scared of the two.

        I cannot quite remember some of the details of that fight with Smith. I am unable to recall, for instance, who promoted the fight. But I think it was Jim Gibbs and Jim Groom.

        The referee was Alva King, a well known bookmaker of that period, and who was a very close friend of Al Herford, the manager of Joe Gans.

        The fight lasted seven rounds, ending with the knockout of Smith, but he gave me the hardest fight up to the time that I met Jim Jeffries. Smith was an accurate and strong hitter, and as I came in, with my head down on my chest and my arms swinging, he measured me and planted a right on the chin that very nearly lifted me off my feet.

SLUGGING MATCH
        In later years, when I had learned a little about boxing, that punch would have served me as a warning that it was dangerous business to tear into a man who could hit like that.

        But in those days I was young and foolish and strong as a bull. The punch merely made me mad. I wanted to get in close and give him a good one in return.   

        I sunk my head in my shoulders and went after the Australian. When we got together there was the finest little slugging bee in the center of the ring that you ever saw.

        Smith didn't back an inch and neither did I. We just put our heads together and smashed away while the sailors outside the ring yelled at me like crazy men.

        One round was very much like another, with the exception that, toward the end, I began knocking Smith down.

        The end, as I said, came in the seventh round. It was a happy bunch of blue jackets that returned to the Philadelphia. And not one of them was happier than I.

LEAVES NAVY
        The fight with Smith was the last I had as a member of the crew of the Philadelphia. My time of service was nearly up and, as the day for leaving drew near, the officers and my pals among the sailors began urging me to re-enlist, to remain with them as their champion.

         But I was beginning to make a little money and couldn't see my way clear to do so.

         Two months after fighting Smith I received my discharge papers and left the ship; and on it I left as good and loyal a set of friends as a seagoing man ever had.

         My next fight was also at Colma, with John Miller, the "Terrible Swede". But of that fight I will tell in the next number. It was while arranging the Miller fight that I met Tim McGrath.

         When I said that I met Tim McGrath for the first time when he trained me for the fight with John Miller I got a little ahead of my story. The first time I saw Tim was at Vallejo. He came over there with a fellow named Vic Lazay.

          I don't know whether that is the way to spell Lazay's name, but anyhow that is the way the name sounded to me. Lazay was a tall, raw-boned man and had about convinced Tim that he was the makings of a good prizefighter.

          There were several good heavyweights around San Francisco who could have tried Lazay out. But Tim wanted something easier. So, having heard that I was nothing more than a rough-and-tumble fighter and that I had gained a little local prominence by whipping Australian Billy Smith, he conceived the idea of having Lazay whip me and thus establish a reputation.

MEETS MCGRATH
           I was standing in Tim Sheehan's saloon with a crowd of sailors when McGrath walked in with Lazay.

           McGrath promptly spotted me and walked up to make himself acquainted.

           "You are Sharkey, the sailor," he said.

           "Yes," I replied, "I'm Sharkey."

           Tim reached in his pocket, drew out a document and began tearing it into bits.

           Then he turned to Lazay and placed a hand on his shoulder.

           "Vic," he said, "you catch the next boat back to San Francisco as fast as you can."

           "What for?" demanded Lazay. "I've signed to fight this Sharkey."

           "I know," said Tim, "but you're not going to fight him under any contract you signed with me. I don't want to be arrested for murder."

           Ever since then Tim McGrath has been my closest friend. Before he left Vallejo Tim had made arrangements to train me for my fight with Miller.

HIS BEST FRIEND
            If a person should ask me now why I like Tim McGrath better than any other man I ever met I could easily answer the question - because he has been my best friend.

            But if a person should ask me why I liked Tim the very first time I ever met him I would not be able to answer.

            Maybe it was because he looked so funny. He reminded me of a rabbit, with his white hair, fuzzy face and little, short bowlegs.

            What Tim said to me, and I to him, that first time we met at Vallejo, I cannot remember.

            But what I do remember that when I went into training over at "Pop" Blanken's for the fight with Miller, the "Terrible Swede", Tim was in complete charge. He just seemed to appoint himself boss. I was the hired man.

            The first thing that Tim told me was that I didn't know a thing about boxing or training.

REAL TRAINING
            I started to use an uppercut.

            "What you trying to do?" asked Tim.

            "Uppercut," I replied.

            "Forget it," said Tim. "You'll never make a fancy boxer if you live to be a thousand. Just wallop, that's all."

            He systematized my work - so much running, a little wrestling, some slugging with sparring partners and just so much of certain foods to eat.

            That was all new to me. On the Philadelphia my training was limited to runs around the deck and an occasional bout with whatever sailors I could induce to don the gloves.

            When in port, as at Vallejo, I did a little running on the roads. But I had no idea as to what constituted physical fitness. I knew that running improved the wind. But that is about all I did know.  

             Tim had many novel ideas about training - ideas that would never occur to any other person.

             One day, for example, at Pop Blanken's, old Pop came out and found old Tim at the head of a bucket brigade dashing water against the outside walls of the gymnasium.

A MCGRATH STORY
             Pop became angry. He said the water would warp the boards. Tim called him aside and explained.

             "Listen, Pop," he explained. "This fellow Sharkey is just off the ocean. Never worked on land before. If we dash water against the walls he'll think he's on a ship and train his head off."

             There's another little story in connection with my first training under McGrath - a story old enough to be new again.

             Tim had a saloon on Ellis street which he called the "Tip". When I had a fight or two against the better class of heavyweights I became a card. People wanted to see me. Tim began to charge 25 cents admission to the gymnasium.

             One day there was a big crowd on hand. The gymnasium would hold no more people and there twenty or thirty outside clamoring to get in. Tim stuck his head out the door.

             "Say," he said. "I don't see you fellows trying this hard to get into the Tip."

              I won't dwell long on the fight with John Miller because it wasn't much of a fight. Miller was a big, good-natured fellow, and I felt ashamed of myself when I stepped into the ring to meet him. The fight, if it can be so called, lasted nine rounds because I didn't know exactly how to get at Miller and he wasn't quite foolish enough to accept my frequent invitations to stop and fight.

              When this fight was over, which, by the way, was the last I had in Colma, I got a rest of several months. I had been fighting quite steadily, had a little money, and Tim McGrath said it was coming on Christmas and I had better lay off and get acquainted with Santa Claus.

               The fight with Miller took place in November, 1895. In February of the year following McGrath came running to me all out of breath.

               "Tom," he asked, "are you ready to fight again?"

READY TO FIGHT
               "I was ready last November," I replied.

               "Well," he said, "I have about matched you for eight rounds with Alec Greggains."

               "Good man," I said. He's been pointed out to me around town."

               Tim looked at me kind of queerly.

               "Not scared of him," he asked.

               The question made me sore as a boiled owl.

               "What you talking about," I asked. "Can't a man say another's a good one without being scared of him?"

               "I was just asking," said Tim. "It's always well to be certain of these things."

               "Now let me tell you about this Greggains. He's a clever boxer, the cleverest you've ever been called on to meet. But he can't hit. He couldn't break an egg if he punched at it for a month."

               "If he can't hit how's he goin' to lick me?" I asked.

TOM IS WARNED
               "Ever hear of a man being outboxed?" asked Tim. "Think every man you'll be called on to meet is a bum?"

               "You've never met any clever guys, unless you call that Australian Billy Smith one, and he wasn't clever, or he'd never tried to mix with you."

               "This Greggains is the real thing. If he gets started on you he'll make you think you fell into a boxing glove factory and are being buried under the stock."

               Greggains and I, to make a long story short, met at the Bush street theatre, before a crowd that was not as orderly as some fight crowds I have seen in later years.

               Alex was backed by Billy Harrison, who in those days was a scrappy individual. Billy, we soon saw, would make trouble if the opportunity offered.

               I found Greggains just as clever a boxer as McGrath told me he was. He walked out in the first round, and, as he met me in the center of the ring, let go a straight left that jarred my head back.  

               The punch didn't hurt much, just surprised me, but it started a rough house.

               Remembering what Tim had told me about Greggains' boxing skill, and hearing Tim yelling at me from my corner to dig in, I doubled in and dug. And I kept digging for eight rounds.

               To this day I do not know just how that fight ended. All I know is that it was a draw.

               Remember, I hadn't been off the ship very long and was still pretty green, so I let McGrath do all my talking.

               As I went to my corner at the end of the eighth round, I heard a commotion, and, looking across the ring, I saw Billy Harrison in the act of drawing his gun.

MAKES GETAWAY
               I didn't stop to investigate. Gun fighting is not a favorite pastime with me. The moment I saw that gun I ducked.

               About five minutes afterward somebody knocked on the door of my dressing room and in walked Tim McGrath.

               "Where you been, Tim?" I asked.

               "Been?" snorted Tim, "where I been? Somebod's going to get in trouble. What's the use of having fire regulations if they're not enforced!"

               "Here I been trying to get out of this theatre and couldn't find an exit. Barked my shins and almost cracked my ribs."

               "Where's Harrison?" I asked.

               "To the devil with Harrison," said Tim; "I'm not looking for him. What's he think I am - a moving target?"

               Tim, so far as I know, never had anything to do with Harrison after that.

               But I became very friendly with Alex Greggains. Alex is a very decent, clever fellow and I always enjoy his company very much. Every time we meet we have a good laugh over how Tim McGrath barked his shins trying to get out of the Bush street theatre when Billy Harrison drew his gun.

               When Alex Greggains couldn't whip me San Franciscans about decided that I was a tough nut. They began looking around for a man who could whip me.

                Finally they hit on Joe Choynski. Joe was in the east at the time and when Tim McGrath said I would take him on under certain conditions, Choynski's friends telegraphed him.

                The match was made with the understanding that Choynski was to try and knock me out in eight rounds.    

                Choynski and I met at the People's Palace, corner of Mason and Eddy streets, and I had never seen Joe before he stepped into the ring.

                I knew the minute I saw him that he had bitten off more than he could chew.

                Choynski, you know, had little thin legs, and he wore his hair bushy, like Paderewski.

                I wanted to laugh when I saw him. The idea of a little thin, dudish fellow like that stopping me seemed ridiculous to think of.

HARD HITTER
                But I didn't laugh. Tim McGrath had told me that I was not to underrate Choynski - that he was one of the hardest hitters in the world.

                And besides, in my corner that night, with McGrath, was Spider Kelly. I had heard about the Spider long before I ever arrived in San Francisco; people had told me that he was a great second, and that he was still a crackerjack of a fighter.

                I spoke to Kelly about Choynski. "He doesn't look tough," I said; "bet I can break him in two."

                "Never mind how he looks," said the Spider, "you'll find him tough enough. Look out for his left. If he hits you with it on the right spot we'll be taking you home in a hearse."

                And, take it from me, the second the gong sounded I found that Kelly had the right dope. Choynski had a sure enough left. I could feel it whizzing past my ears.      

USES RIGHT
                I did a bit of thinking in the first round. Back in Honolulu, a man named Fred Nealon, who trained me for some of my fights, depended on a left-hand punch.

                "When he leads," said Nealon, "duck a little to the side and step in with your right. Hold your arm stiff and dig your glove into his ribs."       

                Every time Choynski lead I stepped in and caught him. I didn't mind his other punches. I caught them on the neck and face. But every time he tried to use his straight left I beat him to it with my right.
 
                The fight had been going less than two minutes when I sent Choynski through the ropes with one of my rib roasters.

                What followed cannot be easily described. I thought Hades had broken loose and that I was right in the center of it all. Eddie Graney, who was in Choynski's corner, jumped in through the ropes and claimed a foul. And Spider Kelly jumped in through the ropes and started to lead me to my corner.

CHOYNSKI OUT
                 "You've licked him!" roared the Spider, "come away! Get out!"

                 Alva King, who was refereeing, didn't know what had happened. Graney's attitude frightened him. He ran around the ring asking questions, with Graney jumping in front of him and yelling "Foul! Foul!"

                 Meanwhile Choynski had been dragged to his corner and was recuperating.

                 It was a terrible mess. Everybody in the crowd was standing up and yelling - you couldn't hear yourself think.

                 Graney ran to Mose Gunst. Mose then was Police Commisioner, and, with an officer at his side, had been sitting in the press row - just outside the ring.

                 "Mose!" screamed Graney, "Mose! Choynski has been fouled!"

                 Whether Gunst was responsible for what happened after Graney appealed to him I don't know, but, anyhow, Choynski was given from fifteen to twenty minutes to recuperate. When we were ordered to fight again Choynski was just as fresh, if not as confident, as when he started.

BLUFFS REFEREE
                  Graney, so I learned afterwards, laughed at the way he had "buffaloed" the referee, and, in fact, admitted that Choynski had not been fouled. He explained his action with the statement that it was all a part of the game, and that he thought if a second could fool or bluff a referee it was his business to do so.

                  I also learned that Graney, after having the fight stopped in order to get Choynski his rest, was instrumental in getting it started again. He said that the people had paid their money to see a fight and that it wouldn't be right to deprive them of the fun.  

                 Now that it's all over I can laugh at what Graney did. But I was a mad sailor at the time. I couldn't understand that Eddie in saving his man, who had actually been knocked out, had accomplished a wonderful piece of work.

                 The fact that I held Choynski to an eight-round draw did not help my feelings. Nor did the fact that the papers next day all agreed that Choynski could hardly have gone two rounds more.

                 All I knew was that Choynski had agreed to stop me; that instead I had stopped him, and that I had been bamboozled out of the decision.

                 Things began to break for me thick and fast after that fight with Choynski. When I went to my dressing room the crowd followed me, and in order to keep me from being suffocated a policeman was posted outside and the door was closed and locked.

                  I was being rubbed down when we heard a commotion outside.

                  "I am going in, sir," said a man's voice; "going in, sir; understand?"

                  Spider Kelly tip-toed to the door and peeked out. Then he threw the door open and began rousting the policeman.

                 "What do you mean, sir, stopping our friends?" he growled. "Haven't you any sense at all?"

                 Then the Spider made a low bow and stepped aside to admit a man of very distinguished appearance.

                 "Tom," said the Spider, "I want you to meet Lord Talbot Clifton. He is one of our most prominent and important sportsmen."
           
                 The lord reached over and tapped me on the shoulder. Then he walked around and looked me over from all angles.

                 "And you're Tom Sharkey, " he said; "well, sir, you're quite a stunning boy; yes, sir, a stunning boy."

                 The lord, who originally came from England, was a genuine member of royalty, and he became one of my best friends.

CORBETT SEES BOUT
                 He insisted that I be his guest at dinner and, of course, I was glad to accept.

                 He gave the dinner at the Cliff house and he took Tim McGrath and "Spider" Kelly and I out in a tallyho, with a big black man in brass buttons handling the ribbons. Some class. I kept looking around to see if there were any sailors around from the Philadelphia to whom I might wave my hand.

                 The lord was certainly a good sport. He returned to England some time afterward and I haven't heard from him for several years.

                 Less than a month after I fought Choynski I was back in the ring again to fight Jim Williams of Salt Lake City. Williams, up to that time, had never been beaten, and was reputed to be able to take punishment like a bulldog and to have a great right hand.

                 The fight with Williams, however, did not amount to much. I stopped him in three rounds, and were it not for one very important thing - a thing which shaped all my subsequent career - I would dismiss it with the mere statement that it was the first fight I ever had at Mechanic's pavilion.   

                 Seated at the ringside the night I fought Williams was James J. Corbett - heavyweight champion of the world.

                 Corbett was on one of his periodical visits home and was of course the center of attraction.

                 I can see him still, sitting there, surrounded by admirers, talking and joking while he laughed at the two "dubs" in the ring.

                 And I remember also how, as Williams and I stood and whaled away at each other, some fellow arose in the audience and yelled across the ring:

                 "Jim, how long would it take you to whip either one of these bums?"
 
                 "A couple of punches," replied Corbett, "a couple of punches!"

                 And of course everybody laughed. It was quite a treat to hear the champion talk.

                 I said everybody laughed. I should have said all but McGrath. Tim turned around and glared at Corbett.

                 "Yeah," sneered Tim, "a couple o' punches. You can't knock him out at all."

                 I had finished Williams and gone to my dressing room when the Spider suddenly burst through the door.

                 "McGrath!" he shouted. "Sharkey! Come over here!"

                 He was so excited that he could hardly talk. He fished around for words to begin with.

                 "Say," he exclaimed at length, pointing through the doorway. "I just come from out there. Know what they're saying? That Corbett can stop Sharkey in four rounds. Get the idea?"

                 The Spider stopped and began jiggling around.

                 "What a cinch!" he said. "A cinch!"

                 "But," I said, "Corbett is the champion of the world."

SAW BIG FIGHT
                 "You keep still!" roared the Spider. "You've got nothing to do but fight. Tim and I will fix this and you'll be champion. Stop you in four rounds - he can't do it with a hammer."

                 Then the Spider grabbed Tim and ran out. He was scared lest the admirers of Corbett, who were urging him to show how he could stop me, would back down.

                 I sat in my dressing room and thought the matter over. Corbett was the world's champion. He ought to be able to punch my head off.

                 And then my mind wandered back.

                 Three days after the fight with Jim Williams we went to Harry Corbett's place on Ellis street. With me was Danny Lynch, who had become my manager; Tim McGrath and Spider Kelly, my trainers and pals, and Danny Needham, the old-time boxer.

                 We found Jim Corbett sitting at a table in a corner with a drink before him and, as usual, surrounded by admirers. He was telling a funny story when we entered, and though he knew what we were there for, as did all the others who were present, he did not seem to notice us until he had finished his story and everybody had laughed.

                  Then Corbett arose and approached us. He shook hands with Lynch, with McGrath, with Kelly, Needham and at last he stuck out his hand at me.

                  "Howdydo?" he said.
              
                  Lynch did the talking.

STARTS WORK
                  "I understand," said Lynch, "that you still think you can stop Sharkey in four rounds."

                  Corbett laughed and slapped his hand down on Lynch's back.

                  "Yes," he said, "you have it straight."

                  "The match is on, then," said Lynch; "it's all right with the promoters."

                  "Yes," said Corbett; "I've attended to my end of the business with Groom and Gibbs."

                  "Well," said Lynch, turning to me, "you get over to Oakland and go into training."

                  I left Corbett's place, went to Vallejo for my things and moved over to Danny Needham's house in Oakland. I was to do my training at the Acme club, where DeWitt VanCourt was boxing instructor, and McGrath and the Spider were to look after my work.

                  It may be well to explain that this match led to the split-up between Corbett and Billy Brady, his manager.Brady, as the story was told, had been working to get a big purse for Corbett with Fitzsimmons.

BACKS DOWN
                  And then Corbett came to California, and against the advice of Brady, if he actually told him anything about it, matched himself with me - thinking, of course, that he was picking up some extra money for himself on the side by whipping the "soft sailor."

                  Everything was going along fine and dandy over at Oakland. I was boxing every day with the Spider and Needham, and running over the Piedmont hills,when Lynch came over one afternoon with a face on him a foot long.

                  "Tom," he said. "I'm sorry; But you had better knock off work and go back to Vallejo. Corbett's backed down."
                     
                  McGrath and the Spider almost threw a fit - a couple of them.

                  "Corbett," said Lynch, "refuses to go along with the proposition of attempting to knock Tom out in four rounds."

                  "What will he agree to do?" I aksed.

                  "He states," said Lynch, "that he will box you four rounds to a decision."

                  I got so hot that I lost all sense of reason. I boiled over and said many things that I ought not.

MAKES OFFER
                  "He's a fine champion," I said. "Makes a man a proposition and then backs down cold. Go back and tell him that I'll bet him $10,000 that I can stop him in four rounds."

                  Lynch began to smile.

                  "Oh," I said, "you needn't think I'm bluffing. I've got the money - I've saved it up."

                  Lynch laughed out loud.

                  "Hold your horses, Tom," he said. "I know that you're not bluffing. But let's not make any fool bets. Corbett's is the world's champion. They'd put us in the asylum if we offered to bet that you or any other man can stop him in four rounds. Let's be sensible."

                  Lynch had a talk with McGrath and Kelly.

                  "If he won't agree to knock Sharkey out, take him up on any kind of proposition," advised Kelly. "Man alive! Can't you understand that this Corbett is the world's champion?  We're pretty lucky even to get him to talk about meeting a rough sailor.

MATCH IS ON
                  "Get him! Tell him he can have the decision to start with. Promise anything - but get him in the ring."   

                  Lynch told me to remain in Oakland and then returned to San Francisco. Late that night he showed up at Needham's.

                  "It's all fixed," he said. "Corbett agrees to box for a decision. I'm on to him. He figures that he'll run rings around you and make you look like a sucker. I don't suppose that he'll even try to knock you out."

                  "That's his business," said the Spider. "He can make his fight and we'll make ours."

                  The next morning I was out on the Piedmont hills again. I never heard anything more from Corbett until the night we went to Mechanic's pavilion for the four-round go which made me known to the sporting world.

                  The afternoon of the night I was to fight Corbett we crossed over from Oakland - the three of us, McGrath, the Spider and I - and went to the old Windsor Hotel, corner of Fifth and Market. There I landed among friends - hundreds of them. I actually think that there was nobody left in Vallejo that day - everybody had come over to see me fight.

                  Mrs. Jim Gillren, who owned the hotel, and who, I am told, is now living in San Jose, took personal charge of me.

                  "Ah, Tom, me b'y," she said, "there's nothin' to it. Listen. I've sent $20 to the poolroom to bet that you'll knock the stuffin' out of this Corbett."

                  Mrs. Gillren then led the way to the dining room and made us sit down to dinner. She is a fine woman and a good friend.

                  We went to Mechanic's Pavilion at an early hour and found it filled to the rafters. Danny Lynch was busy at the box office and did not have time to see me. I went straight to my dressing room and remained there with Tim McGrath and the Spider until some man stuck his head in the door and announced that it was time to enter the ring.

CORBETT FAVORITE
                  I got a cheer from my Vallejo friends as I went down the aisle. Corbett, as was his custom, did not show up until twenty minutes later. He figured that by keeping me waiting he would make me nervous.

                  When Corbett finally did show up I thought the crowd would tear the roof off the place with their cheers.

                  Corbett took off his bathrobe, folded it very carefully and then walked to the center of the ring, where I was waiting to pose for a picture. As he came up close he reached over quickly and, grabbing my hand, attempted to jerk me toward him.

                  "Stand over here," he said.

                  It so happened, however, that just before I left my dressing room Spider Kelly had warned me that Corbett would attempt to get my goat. When he tried to jerk me, therefore, I was ready for him.

                  "No," I said, "stand over here." And with that I jerked back and almost yanked his arm out.

CARR REFEREES
                  I should have explained that when Corbett came to the ring he had no towels or buckets. He thought the fight would be over so quickly that he would not need such things. His second-in-chief was George Green, the present boxing instructor of the Olympic club, the original Young Corbett.

                  Billy Jordan introduced Corbett as "a native son of California and champion of the world." I thought the house was coming down the way the crowd cheered.

                  I was introduced as "the pride of the American navy" and received a few hand claps.

                  Frank Carr, who is still in business in San Francisco, was referee. He told us that there should be no hitting in the clinches, and we both understood that when we went to our corners.

                  But no sooner did we go into the first clinch then Corbett, ignoring the referee's instructions, let go a punch that landed flush on my eye. That punch gave me the only black eye I ever had in my entire ring career.

TOM AGGRESSIVE
                  Naturally I expected that Carr would at least say something to Corbett about having disregarded his order, and when he didn't it made me so mad that I forgot all about Corbett being the world's champion.

                  I put my head down and sailed in, not caring how or where I landed, nor how many times Corbett landed on me. All I knew was that I had been struck an unfair punch and that I ought to clean the fellow who struck me.

                  The first three rounds were pretty much alike - me digging in all the time and Corbett doing his best to avoid me and at the same time making a pretense of boxing cleverly.

                  When I went to my corner at the end of the third round it was to fall into the hands of a pair of crazy men.

                  "You've got him, Tom!" screamed McGrath, "You've got him!"

                  "You're champion of the world!" screamed the Spider. "You're the champion!"

REFEREE HOLDS
                  Then the two pounced on me, sat me on the stool, and such rubbing I never got in my life.

                  "Now," said Tim, "when the bell rings you run out there and beat him down. Don't stop for anything - just sail in, and punch!"

                  And the Spider - I don't know all he did say. He just kept talking about how I had won the championship.

                  At the sound of the bell I took Tim's advice and ran. I met Corbett coming out of his corner, and pumped punches into him so fast that he staggered back, and the crowd came to its feet as one man.

                  Then something funny happened. As I began getting at Corbett good and hard, when he was actually groggy, Frank Carr, the referee, got to holding me back. On the slightest pretext he took hold of my arms and tried to keep me from hitting Corbett.

BOUT STOPPED
                  I became so furious at the evident favoritism being shown Corbett that I finally rushed in with all my might, not only taking Corbett to the floor with me, but the referee as well.

                  Now, here I wish to say something in a spirit of fairness. It has been said that when this happened Corbett called on the police to save him his championship.

                  I did not hear Corbett call. I don't believe he did utter a sound with his mouth. But persons around the ringside, a score of them, told me that they saw him nod to Captain Wittman.

                  And whether he did or not, there is no question as to the fight being stopped and the fight being declared a draw. And neither will anyone who saw the fight argue that Corbett could have gone another round.

                  There was a lot of money bet that Corbett would knock me out. And you could have written your own ticket at any odds if you though Corbett would not get the decision.

                  The action of the police in stopping the fight when they did saved a great deal of money. We still had a minute to go, and Corbett was a very wobbly man when he went to his corner. Much might have happened even in that one minute had we been permitted to go on.

                  Naturally, after I had virtually defeated the world's champion in four rounds, I was the man of the hour. I won't attempt to be modest because I wish to stick to the truth. The papers the day after the fight agreed that Corbett could not have lasted another round. That helped out. People followed me on the streets and pointed me out to their friends.

                  I did not see Corbett again until about two days after the fight. Then I ran across him at the place of his brother Harry, on Ellis street.

                  I could see that Corbett was feeling badly and that he was doing his best to appear cheerful and unconcerned. He clearly indicated how he felt by his eagerness to engage me in conversation.

                  "Well," he said, "you did pretty well."

                  I agreed that I did about as well as could be expected considering the conditions I had to work under.

                  "Yes," said Corbett. "you are a very strong man. You ought to make a good wrestler. You'll never make a fighter."

                  I won't tell what I said in reply. But the reader may rest assured that it wasn't anything very polite.

                  I wound up my little talk with an offer to fight Corbett at any time, any place, for any amount of money and for any number of rounds.

                  "And when I finish with you," I said, "you will have found out whether I will ever make a good fighter."

A NEW MATCH
                  The upshot of the thing was that Corbett and I before leaving the place had agreed to fight to a finish for a side bet of $10,000. Each of us put up $2500 to bind the match.

                  But Corbett, as foxy a man as ever drew on a glove, had no idea of going through with that match. This we ascertained later, when it developed that in the articles we signed he caused to be inserted a clause which prohibited either of us before we met again in the ring from participating in a contest with any other opponent.

                  This clause resulted eventually in the match falling through, though it hung fire and was written about for several months.

                  This second run-in with Corbett gave me additional publicity and in a week or so I made my first appearance on a stage at the Alcazar theatre, across the street from the Orpheum. I did a boxing stunt with Danny Needham as my sparring partner.

                  When we finished at the Alcazar Needham and I started on an eastern theatrical tour with Danny Lynch as manager.

                  This tour took us to many cities. At St. Louis I used as sparring partner Jake Holtman, who since then has gained fame as a starter of horse races. Jake was a strong, willing young fellow, and in those days had his own ambitions to star in the prize ring.

                  We reached New York in August of 1896 and Lynch arranged to have me engage in a three-round exhibition with John L. Sullivan.

                  Sullivan then, of course, was old and fat, but it was quite a treat for me to put on the gloves with a man whom I had looked on through my boyhood as the greatest fighter that ever lived.

                  At the conclusion of our exhibition Sullivan met me in the center of the ring, shook my hand and said:

                  "Tom, I'm pleased to have met and sparred with you. You are strong and rugged and game. If you keep on you'll be the champion of the world. You'll whip them all."

                  I never had a higher compliment paid me than that. When I had dressed and left the building I must have been a couple of inches bigger around the chest.

SULLIVAN'S FRIEND
                  Sullivan and I became very friendly and when we happened to meet on the street and in other places he gave me pieces of advice which I was very thankful for.

                  One day he told me that the reason he liked me was that I had walloped Corbett.

                  "He's a parlor fighter, that Corbett," said Sullivan, "and he never would have whipped me, old as I was, had he dared to stand up and trade punches with me. In my younger days I would have caught and beaten him down."

                  That trip east did me much good. It gave me the opportunity to meet many prominent sporting men whom I had heard of and to see many things which I did not even know existed.

                  We remained in the east several months, the fact that I was then supposed to be matched with Corbett making me a live theatrical card. But all good things must end, so in September we began working toward the Pacific coast.

                  We arrived in San Francisco in November, ascertained that the match with Corbett had fallen through, and then - now comes a big chapter - I was matched with "Ruby" Bob Fitzsimmons.

(This was the end of the last article in my possesion.)            

Peter Maher and Tom Sharkey fought Tonight at the Palace Athletic club for a  $15,000 purse .At the end of the seventh round, the police interfered and the contest resulted in a most unsatisfactory manner.

Never in the history of the ring has there been such an enormous attendance at a boxing bout in this vicinity. There were about 10,000 persons squeezed into the big building at One Hundred and Seventh street and Lexington avenue. A more representative congregation of well known sporting men has never witnessed   a boxing match than that which assembled at the club house tonight.

The quantity of money which would have changed hands had the bout resulted in favor of either man is well up in six figures. That there would be police interference it tbe men fought hard was feared by the majority of those who purchased tickets, but after the two boys who took part in the opening bout bad been allowed to pummel each other without being stopped by the police, those present had hopes that the big fellows would have a good chance to settle the question of superiority.

Maher, was a big favorite but there seemed to be plenty of money on Sharkey. Sharkey's style of leaving himself open when stepping away caused a good deal of comment and it was easily seen that Maher was in no hurry to mix matters, as he evidently preferred to size his man up. The boxing was very tame for five rounds, neither man showing a mark.

In the sixth round. Sharkey, with a well directed straight right on the mouth, sent Peter sprawling half way through the ropes, where he struggled for five seconds before he regained his feet As Maher was getting up Sbarkev rushed toward him, but was called back by Choynski, who was evidently afraid that the sailor might commit a foul Ten seconds later the gong ended the sixth round and when Maher returned to his corner he spat out a lot of blood. Sharkey's  friends,
when they saw this, yelled "First blood for Sharkey" and there was a great deal of cheering.

The seventh round was nearly completed when Maher, after getting in some good blows on Sharkey. sent the latter to the floor near the ropes with a left in the wind and a right swing on the jaw. Tom was up again inside of five seconds and rushed into a clinch. In this clinch Maher kept working his right on the body and when the gong sounded, neither heeded the warning of the timekeeper but kept on hitting each other. One of .Maher's seconds rushed over and grabbed Maher. While he was trying to pull the big fellow away, Sharkey swung his right on the second's face, dazing him By this time, the house was in an uproar and there were cries of "Foul" from the partisans of both men. '

The din was terrific, but was increased ten fold when Inspector McLaughlin ordered the police, to arrest all those concerned in the fight. Policemen in uniform swarmed into the ring and a number of detectives also climbed through  the ropes. The principals .were the first to be placed under arrest , and then the seconds and referee were told to accompany the officers
.
While all this was going on thousands of spectators were clamoring for a decision from the referee, who was busily engaged arguing with the officers who surrounded him. Finally it was made known that Referee Colville had decided to call the bout a "draw." This did not seem to please a good many, but, according to the conditions agreed  upon by both men, the Judgment of the referee was right and proper.

Those arrested, including the principals, seconds and referee, were escorted to the One Hundred and seventh street police station, first allowing Maher and Sharkey to go to their dressing rooms and put on their street clothes. All furnished bail. Dan Lynch of San Francisco  Sharkey's timekeeper, and Steve O'Donnell of New York who acted as the  club's timekeeper, were also arrested and released on bail.

The relative merits of the men is As much  of a puzzle as ever, and until they meet again and get a definite decision their adherents will not be satisfied. It was said that over $40,000 was taken in at the box office and, judging from the number of people in the house, this was a very conservative estimate.


DETAILS OF THE FIGHT

When the doors of the Palace Athletic Club Were opened at 7 o’clock Lexington avenue was crowded with a surging mass of people, each one endeavoring to get to the box office, and the corridor at the entrance, was jammed. Police Inspector  McLaughlin and a large force of bluecoats. As well as a big force of central office detectives in civilian dress, soon made the people form in queue, and the ticket sellers were kept busy.

By 8:80 o'clock there were over 6000 people in the house and the crowd outside did not seem to be in the least diminished.  Half an hour later the big  building was filled with a clamoring host of sports. The seating capacity of the house is estimated at 8000 and the aisles and every inch of standing room were soon crowded to suffocation.

Large  delegations from the principal cities west of Chicago were on hand and it would be easier to name the prominent sporting men who Were absent than to enumerate those who were in the arena.. The betting on the big! Event was lively and Maher was a pronounced favorite. odds of 100. to 86 and 100 to 70 were bet on Peter's chances and some of those who were confident of Peter's ability to defeat the sailor lad Laid odds of a 100 to 60.

John L Sullivan, James J Corbett and Kid McCoy occupied box seats at the ringside and each of them got a rousing reception when he made his appearance. At 9:20 o'clock, Charley Royden of Jersey City and Bob Quade of this city Entered the ring  At the end of the third round Referee Charley .White Stopped the bout and declared Quade the winner, the Jersey City boy being Weakened by the battering he received.

Betting on the result continued to be lively and several wagers were made at even money that Maher would win in 10 rounds. Kid McCoy took the Sharkey end of this for $1000. He also placed $1000 on Sharkey to win at odds ranging from 100 to 60 and 100 to 80. Riley Grannon bet $3000 against $1400 on Maher, and "Pittsburg Phil" had commissioners placing his money on Maher at 100 to 70.

There was a long delay in getting Maher and Sharkey to the ringside. And the crowd  begun to show signs of impatience. Sharkey entered the ring at 10:10. He was accompanied by Joe Choynski, Tim McGrath, Tim Lansing and, Solly Smith. He chose the southeast  corner which was the one, in which the winner of the first bout had sat. He was warmly received. But  the greeting which Maher  got was vociferous. Peter took his corner at '10:14. His seconds were Buck Connolly, Pat Scully, Peter Lowry, Jack Quinn Jack  Cattanach ."Pittsbnrg Phil" held the watch for Maher and Danny Lynch did the  same for Sharkey.

Maher came into the ring wearing black sweater and black trousers while Sharkey was enveloped in a yellow bath robe trimmed with blue.Maher wore black trunks with green belt and Sharkey green trunks with an American  flag for a belt.

Billy Brady announced that the agreement between The men and the referee was that, in case of  Police interference if either men was in such condition as not to have a chance to win, in the opinion of the referee, the latter should give his decision in favor of the other man, but that if the referee
saw that the man, having the worst of the contest bad a chance to win, then he was to declare the bout a draw.

The men were announced to box 25rounds at catch weights. It was announced the men had to break clean and that they could box with either hand free.

They shook bands at 10:26.



THE ROUNDS.

Round 1

They sparred carefully for a minute, Sharkey holding his bands wide apart. Sharkey led for the stomach and missed. Maher landed a light left on the chest and Sharkey sent the left band on the stomach and then swung a left on the chest. Sharkey tried a right swing but was short. He tried a swing again on the body, but fell short again. Sharkey, still on the aggressive, swung his right on the neck and they clinched. Maher jabbed his left on the wind and swung his right on the neck at the end of the round.

Round 2

After some sparring Maher jabbed his left hook on the neck and Sharkey crossed his right on the neck. Sharkey put a left swing high on Maher's arm. Maher sent in a very low left jab, but Sharkey stopped it with his glove. Tom jabbed a left in the wind and swung again with a left on the cheek. Sharkey led for the stomach and put a low left on the stomach and Maher crossed his right on the head.

Round 3.

Sharkey led a left but fell sort and Maher crossed him with a right on the chest. Sharkey led a left, fell short and then touched Maher on the nose with a right swing. Peter feinted frequently and tried to draw Sharkey out. Then he jabbed a left on the head and they exchanged left jabs on the face. Both men were careful but Sharkey left himself very open whenever he stepped back.

Round 4

Sharkey swung his left on the shoulder and jabbed the same fist on the stomach. Maher countered on the head with his left. They then exchanged rights and lefts on the face. Maher countered on the head with his left. They then exchanged rights and lefts on the face. After missing two rights and lefts, Sharkey put a left jab on the face and they were sparring when the bell rang.

Round 5

Peter fiddled a good deal and landed a left jab on the mouth and Sharkey Jabbed his left on the stomach. Sharkey swung a right on the stomach and Maher crossed his left on the face. Just then Sharkey said ”Why don’t you cut your moustache off” and jabbed his left in the wind. Then he jabbed right and left on the face. During this round there were cries of “Fight, Fight” which showed that some of those present did not like such tame boxing.

Round 6

There was a long spell of fiddling and dancing around Sharkey tried to get Maher into a neutral corner. Sharkey led a left for the stomach and fell short and then Sharkey sent a straight right on the mouth and Maher fell hal through the ropes, where he remained for six seconds.His mouth was bleeding when he got up and the bell rang 10 seconds later.

Round 7

First blood for Sharkey in the last round sent his stock up and Maher’s face wore a worried look when he came to the scratch. Peter fell short on a left lead for the face and heart. Sharkey swung a right on the ribs and jabbed his left in the stomach. Maher clinched and they broke away clean. Maher rushed and put a right and left swing on the face and they clinched. After a break away Maher swung a left on the face and a right on the jaw which sent Sharkey on his back at the ropes. When Sharkey arose the men clinched and were in that position when the gong sounded.

Maher was using his right hand, sending uppercuts on the ribs and head and did not break when the gong sounded. When they did break one of Maher’s seconds rushed over to take Maher over to his corner, when Sharkey turned and punched the second on the nose. There were cries of “foul” while Maher and Sharkey were clinched at the call of time, but the police jumped into the ring and created an uproar by arresting the principals, seconds and referee.

The bout was declared a draw.

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