O’Keefe’s formidable skills.
A sweating, stout man wearing a sleeveless vest and fob watch on a chain pushed his way through the crowded bar to Jimmy. ‘This is Mr Fielding,’ Jimmy said to Lachlan. ‘He is the publican here and is putting up the purse.’
Lachlan shook hands with the stout man.
Jimmy tells me that you are the undisputed champion from the Mudgee district,’ Fielding said. ‘You had better be,’ he added with just a hint of menace. ‘A lot of my clientele have backed you to win.’
‘I do not intend to lose, Mr Fielding,’ Lachlan replied and the publican grunted his satisfaction at the answer before moving away.
‘Well,’ Jimmy said. ‘It’s time to go down to the paddock.’
As always, Lachlan felt the awful fluttering in his stomach. As much as he liked to fight, it was always the same before a bout and he would be glad to get it over with.
It was around four thirty in the afternoon when Lachlan finally stood waiting for O’Keefe to arrive, stripped to the waist surrounded by a very large crowd of men – both drunken and sober – who had come to watch the much-advertised contest. Lachlan had never seen as many people at any one of his country fights before and was awed by how much interest his unproven skills had attracted. Either Irish or Scots honour would prevail at the end of the day.
On a slope adjoining the paddock, Lachlan noticed an expensive carriage drawn by two greys. In the carriage sat a young army officer in his dress uniform and alongside him was Amanda, holding a parasol to shield her milky skin from the dying rays of the summer sun. Even at the distance they were from each other, Lachlan was aware that she was staring at him.
‘Do you know who the officer is with the lady I met at Hyde Park?’ Lachlan asked Jimmy, who was soaking a rag in a wooden pail of water.
‘Who?’ Jimmy asked, glancing in the direction Lachlan was staring. ‘Oh, that is Captain Lightfoot. The captain always attends the fights around Sydney and I hear that his sister likes them too. You know how to pick ’em, Lachlan MacDonald. But I think that she is a bit out of our class.’
Lachlan’s attention was distracted when a low buzz from the gathered spectators became a roaring cheer. O’Keefe had arrived in style, a cigar jutting from his mouth. It was obvious that the crowd in attendance were divided into two camps, as booing was also mixed with the cheers.
Kevin O’Keefe was not alone. Beside him were two men. One, Lachlan had seen the previous week at Hyde Park and knew as Michael Duffy whilst the older, very solidly built man, he did not know.
‘Ah, O’Keefe has brought the referee with him,’ Jimmysaid. ‘His name is Max Braun and he taught Duffy to fight. Max works at the Erin Hotel with the Duffy family. He will guarantee a clean fight.’
Lachlan was reassured by this news, as Braun had a fearsome appearance. From his scarred and broken face it was obvious that he had seen many a brawl in his time. When O’Keefe saw Lachlan he waved in a friendly manner. Lachlan returned his opponent’s gesture.
Max Braun went to the centre of the area left open for the fighters. It was dusty and a silence fell over the spectators as this well-known personage in the world of bare-knuckle fighting took up his position.
‘Ladies an’ gentlemen,’ Max said in a guttural way that left no doubt as to his Germanic origins. ‘Today vee haf Mr Lachlan MacDonald challenging Mr Kevin O’Keefe for the purse of tventy guineas. Vinner take all.’ Max raised his hands to indicate that the two fighters should step forward to him.
O’Keefe stripped off his coat and shirt so that he also stood half-naked in the paddock. Both men were bare-footed and their skin-tight trousers accentuated the muscles in their legs.
‘Go and show him how a Scot can fight,’ Jimmy whispered in Lachlan’s ear. ‘Fer the honour of bonny old Scotland.’
Lachlan moved forward to meet O’Keefe.
‘You two
A sweating, stout man wearing a sleeveless vest and fob watch on a chain pushed his way through the crowded bar to Jimmy. ‘This is Mr Fielding,’ Jimmy said to Lachlan. ‘He is the publican here and is putting up the purse.’
Lachlan shook hands with the stout man.
Jimmy tells me that you are the undisputed champion from the Mudgee district,’ Fielding said. ‘You had better be,’ he added with just a hint of menace. ‘A lot of my clientele have backed you to win.’
‘I do not intend to lose, Mr Fielding,’ Lachlan replied and the publican grunted his satisfaction at the answer before moving away.
‘Well,’ Jimmy said. ‘It’s time to go down to the paddock.’
As always, Lachlan felt the awful fluttering in his stomach. As much as he liked to fight, it was always the same before a bout and he would be glad to get it over with.
It was around four thirty in the afternoon when Lachlan finally stood waiting for O’Keefe to arrive, stripped to the waist surrounded by a very large crowd of men – both drunken and sober – who had come to watch the much-advertised contest. Lachlan had never seen as many people at any one of his country fights before and was awed by how much interest his unproven skills had attracted. Either Irish or Scots honour would prevail at the end of the day.
On a slope adjoining the paddock, Lachlan noticed an expensive carriage drawn by two greys. In the carriage sat a young army officer in his dress uniform and alongside him was Amanda, holding a parasol to shield her milky skin from the dying rays of the summer sun. Even at the distance they were from each other, Lachlan was aware that she was staring at him.
‘Do you know who the officer is with the lady I met at Hyde Park?’ Lachlan asked Jimmy, who was soaking a rag in a wooden pail of water.
‘Who?’ Jimmy asked, glancing in the direction Lachlan was staring. ‘Oh, that is Captain Lightfoot. The captain always attends the fights around Sydney and I hear that his sister likes them too. You know how to pick ’em, Lachlan MacDonald. But I think that she is a bit out of our class.’
Lachlan’s attention was distracted when a low buzz from the gathered spectators became a roaring cheer. O’Keefe had arrived in style, a cigar jutting from his mouth. It was obvious that the crowd in attendance were divided into two camps, as booing was also mixed with the cheers.
Kevin O’Keefe was not alone. Beside him were two men. One, Lachlan had seen the previous week at Hyde Park and knew as Michael Duffy whilst the older, very solidly built man, he did not know.
‘Ah, O’Keefe has brought the referee with him,’ Jimmysaid. ‘His name is Max Braun and he taught Duffy to fight. Max works at the Erin Hotel with the Duffy family. He will guarantee a clean fight.’
Lachlan was reassured by this news, as Braun had a fearsome appearance. From his scarred and broken face it was obvious that he had seen many a brawl in his time. When O’Keefe saw Lachlan he waved in a friendly manner. Lachlan returned his opponent’s gesture.
Max Braun went to the centre of the area left open for the fighters. It was dusty and a silence fell over the spectators as this well-known personage in the world of bare-knuckle fighting took up his position.
‘Ladies an’ gentlemen,’ Max said in a guttural way that left no doubt as to his Germanic origins. ‘Today vee haf Mr Lachlan MacDonald challenging Mr Kevin O’Keefe for the purse of tventy guineas. Vinner take all.’ Max raised his hands to indicate that the two fighters should step forward to him.
O’Keefe stripped off his coat and shirt so that he also stood half-naked in the paddock. Both men were bare-footed and their skin-tight trousers accentuated the muscles in their legs.
‘Go and show him how a Scot can fight,’ Jimmy whispered in Lachlan’s ear. ‘Fer the honour of bonny old Scotland.’
Lachlan moved forward to meet O’Keefe.
‘You two
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