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, but inside of an hour everybody on the ship knew what had happened, and for the second time in my life I was hailed as a bruiser.

To impress a thousand men in such a manner creates an egotism which is very likely to be lasting.  I had not accomplished very much in my studies.  I was nothing in particular among my religious brethren.  My general reputation up to this moment in the ship was that of a simple-minded Irish lad, who was a religious fanatic, a sort of sky pilot or “Holy Joe.”  I became flushed with the only victory worth while in the army or navy, and the second experience lasted twice as long as the first.

The next thing to be done, of course, by my friends and admirers, was to pit me against the bruisers of other ships.  Two of the officers wanted to know my plans.  This recognition heightened my vanity.  Prayer-meeting night came along, and I was ashamed to attend.  A committee was sent to help me out, and the following week the prodigal returned.  The proper thing to do on my return was to confess my sin and ask the brethren to pray for me; but when I failed to do this, I became a subject of deep concern and solicitude.  I tried to cultivate a sense of conviction, but succeeded indifferently.  The deference paid me by the men of the mess was not calculated