Exploits and adventures of a soldier ashore and afloatAdams, William Llewellyn
History
Exploits and adventures of a soldier ashore and afloat
Adams, William Llewellyn
Adams, William Llewellyn; Americans -- Foreign countries; United States. Army -- Military life
A prize-fight is advertised between a “chocolate soldier” and a
“pale-face.” Every man in uniform buys a ticket, the returns from
which go to make up a purse for the winner. There are no Turkish baths
taken to reduce weight, no skipping the rope or punching the bag to
improve the respiratory organs; this was completed before leaving the
Philippines, by way of mountain “hikes” in heavy marching order, from
early morn till dewy eve, subsisting on an emergency ration, on which
you are guaranteed to exist for at least a while. Each soldier is so
confident in his prowess, that training is out of the question; each
imagines he will land a hook that will send his opponent to the arms
of Morpheus for the customary count. Steps are removed and a hatch is
battened and roped; as the time arrives for the combat, soldiers crowd
around the arena, hang from spars and davits, all eager to see the
“black” and “white” contest for superiority. The contestants arrive
with their seconds as the band strikes up a warm selection, the gloves
are slipped on, and the men take their corners. The referee is a man
who holds little value on life and must be able to fight himself. Time
is called. The men shake hands, then spar awhile for an opening. A
soldier cries, “Fake! why don’t they fight?” They now slam each other
to body and head; both are bleeding when the gong sounds. Round second
opens wild; they swing, hook, and duck, hammering away with one arm
free in the clinch; each man dances as he awaits a lead from his
opponent; both take their corners pretty much exhausted as the gong
sounds. The third round begins viciously, though each man cautiously
parries off the blows; both are fighting in good old military style,
when they clinch; in the break-away they mix things, and the pale
soldier drops to the mat as the crowd yell, “Foul! foul!” and he is
counted out. A little ammonia revives him, and he is awarded the
decision on a foul, though badly whipped by his dark opponent. “Can he
come back?” No one cares. The referee is the hope of the white race!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account