the space was exceedingly small between the two
big guns and I didn't succeed very well. During the first five minutes
I was very badly bruised and beaten. One of my ribs was broken and
both eyes almost closed. Half the time I could not see the bully at
all. In one of the breathing spells, the sailmaker, who, despite his
quotations of Scripture, had remained to see the proceedings,
whispered something in my ear. It was a point of advice. He told me
that if I could stand that five minutes longer, my opponent would be
outclassed. The support of Lanky was a great encouragement to me, and
a good deal of my fear disappeared. I began to think harder, to plan,
and to plant blows as well as to avoid them. This excited the crowd
and it became frenzied.

Up to that point it was a one-sided thing. Now, I was not only taking
but giving; and not only giving, but giving with laughter and
ejaculations. Our Bible study for that month was the memorizing of the
names of the minor prophets; and once when I managed to toss my
opponent's head to one side with a blow on the point of the chin, I
shouted full of glee, "Take that, you cross-eyed son of a
seacook--take it in the name of Hosea!" The crowd laughed, but above
the roar of laughter rang out the voice of a Scotchman who was one of
our best Bible students: "Gie him brimstone, Sandy!" A few minutes
later I ejaculated, "And, bedad, that's for Joel!" In this new spirit
and in this jocular way, I pounded the twelve minor prophets into him
one after another, while the rafters of the ship rang with the cheers
of the crew. By the time I had exhausted the minor prophets, I was
much the stronger man of the two. My opponent was wobbling around in
pretty bad shape. Once he was on his knees, and while waiting, I
shouted, "I want to be yer friend, Billy Creedan. Shake hands now, you
idiot, and behave yourself!"

The only answer I got was a string of vile oaths as he staggered to
his feet. I pleaded with him to quit, but that is not the way that
such fights end. Men fight while their senses last, while their legs
keep under them, and at such a moment a blood-thirsty crowd becomes
crazed for the accomplishment of something that looks like murder. The
injection of the minor prophets made a ludicrous ending of a thing
that had at the beginning almost paralyzed me with fear. So the thing
ended with the bully of the mess lying prostrate on his back. I was
not presentable as a waiter for several days,