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