From the Bottom Up | Page 9

When away from the gymnasium at my barrack-room that night, I did
some hard thinking. A room-mate whose cot was next to mine, was
something of a boxer. He possessed two pairs of gloves. He had often
urged me to accommodate him as an opponent, but I had steadily
refused.
On learning of my plight, he laughed loudly. So did my other
room-mates as they learned of it. That night, before "taps," I bound
myself to an arrangement by which I was to pay my room-mate
two-thirds of my regimental pay per week for instruction in handling
the gloves. He gave me an hour each night for six weeks. At the end of
the first week, I had gained an advantage over him. I had a very long
reach, and a body as lithe as a panther. I gave up prayer meetings,
lectures, and socials, and devoted my self religiously to what is called
"the noble art of self-defence."

If my drill sergeant imagined that a thrashing would wake me up, he
was a very good judge. It did. Incidentally, it woke others up, too. It
woke my new instructor up, and half a dozen of my room-mates. At the
end of my six weeks' training, by dint of perseverance and application
to the thing in hand, I had succeeded in this new type of education
thrust upon me.
During all this time, I had not visited the gymnasium in the evening,
but was remembered there by all who had noticed the process of my
awakening. One night, I modestly approached the chief instructor and
asked him if I might not have another lesson by the man who had
taught me the first. He remembered the occasion and laughed, laughed
at the memory of it, and laughed at the brogue and what he supposed to
be the temerity of my asking. In asking, I had made my brogue just a
little thicker, and my manner just as diffident and modest as possible.
"Oh, certainly," he replied, chuckling to himself.
The man who gave me my first lesson, a man of my own build and
height, appeared, also laughing as he noticed who the applicant for
another lesson was. My barrack-room instructor was on hand also, for I
had confidentially communicated to him that evening my intention to
try again.
There is something fiendish in the Celtic nature, some beast in the
blood, which, when aroused, is exceedingly helpful in matters of this
kind. In less than sixty seconds, I had demonstrated to the onlookers,
and particularly to my opponent, that I had been to school since last
meeting him. I had not been particular about fancy touches, or the
pointless, gingerbread style of showing off before a crowd. There was a
positive viciousness in my attack, which was perfectly legitimate in
such circumstances; but it was the first time I had ever felt the beast in
my blood, and I turned him loose; and if I had been made Prime
Minister of England by a miracle, I could not have felt one-hundredth
part of the pride that I did, when, inside of the first thirty seconds, I had
stretched my instructor on his back at my feet, and in the absolute
joyfulness and ecstasy of my soul, I yelled at the top of my voice,
"Hurry up, ye blind-therin' spalpeen, till I knock yez down again!"

The man got up, and was somewhat more cautious, but utterly
unprepared to be completely mastered at his own game in five minutes;
and, when the chief instructor interfered and ordered his assistant out of
the ring, I begged for more; and so a fresh man was put in, and another,
and another, until six men had failed to tire me, or to disturb me in the
least. After the first two I laughed, laughed loudly, in the midst of my
aggressive work, and enjoyed it every moment of the time, and, when
occasionally I was the recipient of a stinging blow, it merely added to
my zest.
Next morning I found myself a hero. In the course of the night, I had
become famous in a small circle as a bruiser. In accomplishing this, I
had thrown aside for the time being my religious scruples on the
question of boxing, not only on boxing, but fighting, and I had set aside
a good deal of my prejudice in my struggle for an education, and my
success in the thing I started out to do almost unbalanced me.
I had for the first few days after this encounter a terrific struggle, a
struggle of the human soul, between my character and my reputation.
Only about one hundred and fifty men saw the encounter, but, before
parade time next morning, fifteen hundred men were acquainted with it.