Joe Wilson and His Mates [11]
I'd never learnt to use my hands.
I scarcely knew how to put them up. Jack often wanted to teach me,
but I wouldn't bother about it. He'd say, `You'll get into a fight some day,
Joe, or out of one, and shame me;' but I hadn't the patience to learn.
He'd wanted me to take lessons at the station after work,
but he used to get excited, and I didn't want Mary to see him
knocking me about. Before he was married Jack was always getting
into fights -- he generally tackled a better man and got a hiding;
but he didn't seem to care so long as he made a good show --
though he used to explain the thing away from a scientific point of view
for weeks after. To tell the truth, I had a horror of fighting;
I had a horror of being marked about the face; I think I'd sooner
stand off and fight a man with revolvers than fight him with fists;
and then I think I would say, last thing, `Don't shoot me in the face!'
Then again I hated the idea of hitting a man. It seemed brutal to me.
I was too sensitive and sentimental, and that was what the matter was.
Jack seemed very serious on it as we walked down to the river,
and he couldn't help hanging out blue lights.
`Why didn't you let me teach you to use your hands?' he said.
`The only chance now is that Romany can't fight after all.
If you'd waited a minute I'd have been at him.' We were a bit
behind the rest, and Jack started giving me points about lefts and rights,
and `half-arms', and that sort of thing. `He's left-handed,
and that's the worst of it,' said Jack. `You must only make as good a show
as you can, and one of us will take him on afterwards.'
But I just heard him and that was all. It was to be my first fight
since I was a boy, but, somehow, I felt cool about it -- sort of dulled.
If the chaps had known all they would have set me down as a cur.
I thought of that, but it didn't make any difference with me then;
I knew it was a thing they couldn't understand. I knew I was reckoned
pretty soft. But I knew one thing that they didn't know.
I knew that it was going to be a fight to a finish, one way or the other.
I had more brains and imagination than the rest put together,
and I suppose that that was the real cause of most of my trouble.
I kept saying to myself, `You'll have to go through with it now, Joe, old man!
It's the turning-point of your life.' If I won the fight,
I'd set to work and win Mary; if I lost, I'd leave the district for ever.
A man thinks a lot in a flash sometimes; I used to get excited
over little things, because of the very paltriness of them,
but I was mostly cool in a crisis -- Jack was the reverse. I looked ahead:
I wouldn't be able to marry a girl who could look back and remember
when her husband was beaten by another man -- no matter what sort of brute
the other man was.
I never in my life felt so cool about a thing. Jack kept
whispering instructions, and showing with his hands, up to the last moment,
but it was all lost on me.
Looking back, I think there was a bit of romance about it:
Mary singing under the vines to amuse a Jackaroo dude, and a coward
going down to the river in the moonlight to fight for her.
It was very quiet in the little moonlit flat by the river.
We took off our coats and were ready. There was no swearing or barracking.
It seemed an understood thing with the men that if I went out first round
Jack would fight Romany; and if Jack knocked him out somebody else
would fight Jack to square matters. Jim Bullock wouldn't mind
obliging for one; he was a mate of Jack's, but he didn't mind who he fought
so long as it was for the sake of fair play -- or `peace and quietness',
as he said. Jim was very good-natured. He backed Romany,
and of course Jack backed me.
As far as I could see, all Romany knew about fighting was to jerk one arm
up in front of his face and duck his head by way of a feint, and then
rush and lunge out. But he had the weight and strength and length of reach,
and my first lesson was a very short one. I went down early in the round.
But it did me
I scarcely knew how to put them up. Jack often wanted to teach me,
but I wouldn't bother about it. He'd say, `You'll get into a fight some day,
Joe, or out of one, and shame me;' but I hadn't the patience to learn.
He'd wanted me to take lessons at the station after work,
but he used to get excited, and I didn't want Mary to see him
knocking me about. Before he was married Jack was always getting
into fights -- he generally tackled a better man and got a hiding;
but he didn't seem to care so long as he made a good show --
though he used to explain the thing away from a scientific point of view
for weeks after. To tell the truth, I had a horror of fighting;
I had a horror of being marked about the face; I think I'd sooner
stand off and fight a man with revolvers than fight him with fists;
and then I think I would say, last thing, `Don't shoot me in the face!'
Then again I hated the idea of hitting a man. It seemed brutal to me.
I was too sensitive and sentimental, and that was what the matter was.
Jack seemed very serious on it as we walked down to the river,
and he couldn't help hanging out blue lights.
`Why didn't you let me teach you to use your hands?' he said.
`The only chance now is that Romany can't fight after all.
If you'd waited a minute I'd have been at him.' We were a bit
behind the rest, and Jack started giving me points about lefts and rights,
and `half-arms', and that sort of thing. `He's left-handed,
and that's the worst of it,' said Jack. `You must only make as good a show
as you can, and one of us will take him on afterwards.'
But I just heard him and that was all. It was to be my first fight
since I was a boy, but, somehow, I felt cool about it -- sort of dulled.
If the chaps had known all they would have set me down as a cur.
I thought of that, but it didn't make any difference with me then;
I knew it was a thing they couldn't understand. I knew I was reckoned
pretty soft. But I knew one thing that they didn't know.
I knew that it was going to be a fight to a finish, one way or the other.
I had more brains and imagination than the rest put together,
and I suppose that that was the real cause of most of my trouble.
I kept saying to myself, `You'll have to go through with it now, Joe, old man!
It's the turning-point of your life.' If I won the fight,
I'd set to work and win Mary; if I lost, I'd leave the district for ever.
A man thinks a lot in a flash sometimes; I used to get excited
over little things, because of the very paltriness of them,
but I was mostly cool in a crisis -- Jack was the reverse. I looked ahead:
I wouldn't be able to marry a girl who could look back and remember
when her husband was beaten by another man -- no matter what sort of brute
the other man was.
I never in my life felt so cool about a thing. Jack kept
whispering instructions, and showing with his hands, up to the last moment,
but it was all lost on me.
Looking back, I think there was a bit of romance about it:
Mary singing under the vines to amuse a Jackaroo dude, and a coward
going down to the river in the moonlight to fight for her.
It was very quiet in the little moonlit flat by the river.
We took off our coats and were ready. There was no swearing or barracking.
It seemed an understood thing with the men that if I went out first round
Jack would fight Romany; and if Jack knocked him out somebody else
would fight Jack to square matters. Jim Bullock wouldn't mind
obliging for one; he was a mate of Jack's, but he didn't mind who he fought
so long as it was for the sake of fair play -- or `peace and quietness',
as he said. Jim was very good-natured. He backed Romany,
and of course Jack backed me.
As far as I could see, all Romany knew about fighting was to jerk one arm
up in front of his face and duck his head by way of a feint, and then
rush and lunge out. But he had the weight and strength and length of reach,
and my first lesson was a very short one. I went down early in the round.
But it did me