The Bamberg herald. [volume] (Bamberg, S.C.) 1891-1972, 1913-04-17
KILLED BULL WITH HANDS.
Bio Irishman Gave MeXiCanS Chance
To See How Americans "Nould Dol it,"


In the "nineties' everybody on the
Mexican Central knew Mike Moran.
He was gigantic young Irish-Ameri-
can, standing about six foot in his
stockings, and proportioned like a
hercules.
He had worked his way up from
coal-passer to fireman, from fireman
to freight engine-driver, and from
freight to passenger. Promotion was
rapid twenty years ago on the Mexi-
can Central.
Mikes grand coup, that made his
name known from Ell Paso to Oaxaca,
was made when, as cub engine
driver, he was in charge of a gravel
train during the construction of the
Sullivan road, now known as the Mex
lean National.
1t happened at Acambovo, which
was then the end of the line. The
town was wide OPEN as they say,
with gambling, drinking and bull
fighting as the standard amusements
of the rollicking crowd of well-pald
adventurers who were rapidly push
ing the road to completion with the
vim and energy that characterize the
American workingman wherever he
may be found.
The usual Sunday afternoon bull
fight found Mike, or Don Miguel,
as the admiring poems of his gravel
train called him, with a load of vino
under his belt, which he carried with
ease and dignity, as became his stat
ure and position, although there was
enough of it to have put three small
er men asleep or crazy drunk.
The first bull came into the ring
and, after passing through the usual
tests of plea, capa and banderllla,
was deftly killed by the chief bull
fighter, or matador, with one thrust
through the heart.
II was all done in the most ap'
proved style of the art, but Nike
who had once worked in slaughter
house in Kansas City, viewed the
whole proceedings with contempt and
disdain.
That amt no way to kill bull! .
he growled. Let me in that rlng'
and I'll show 'em how we do it IN
Kansas City,"
No sooner thought of than done.
He forced his way into the inclosure
which in every bull ring serves as &
sort of greenroom for the performers,
and, walking up to the plcadop, VINO
was already mounted and ready to go
into the ring, calmly pulled him from
the saddle, regardless of the lndlg-
nant protests and threats of the man
and his fellow performers. Then,
dressing himself in the picador's cos
tune, which he plucked from Its
righful owner very much as one picks
chicken, Mike leaped into the sad
die and, lance in hand, rode out into
the ring, where his train crew OF
Mexican shovel experts recognized
him by his great bulk and received
him with storms of applause. The
legitimate and duly accredited bull
fighters looked on in state of semi
stupefaction from the greenroohl
door,
The bull was a good one and ap-
pcared to be suffering from a dis
tinct grievance as he rushed into the
ring like roaring lion.
Mikes huge bulk on the starvel-
ing, weakened mustang was the
most prominent object that met his
ewes. and without a moments loss of
time he charged.
In an instant the sharp point of
the garocha (lance) was in his
shoulder, and Mike gracefully and
easily-thanks to his wonderful
strength-held the bull off, although
his mount had narrow escape from
fall
viva Don Miguel, Nuestro ma
uuinista." howled the gravel train
sang in chorus. Bully for you, Jum-
boz shouted Tom Foley, a fellow
Irish-American, above the din.
"Stick him again, Moike. Stick
him again." came in rich sonorous
accents from Paddy Cafferty, the boss
of the steam shovel outfit, while the
rest of the crowd gave vent to yells
of inarticulate enthusiasm.
Discounted by the. sharp recep'
ton he had met with, the bull re-
tired a few yards and there stood
paving and tossing his head, hale
frightened by the pandcmonium on
all sides of him. Mike, gracefully