They drove (a dodge that never fails) A pin beneath my finger nails. They poured what seemed a running beck Of cold spring water down my neck; Jim with a lancet quick as flies Lowered the swellings round my eyes. They sluiced my legs and fanned my face Through all that blessed minute’s grace; They gave my calves a thorough kneading, They salved my cuts and stopped the bleeding. A gulp of liquor dulled the pain, And then the two flasks clinked again. Time! There was Bill as grim as death. He rushed, I clinched, to get more breath. And breath I got, though Billy bats Some stinging short-arms in my slats. And when we broke, as I foresaw, He swung his right in for the jaw. I stopped it on my shoulder bone, And at the shock I heard Bill groan-- A little groan or moan or grunt As though I’d hit his wind a bunt. At that, I clinched, and while we clinched, His old-time right-arm dig was flinched, And when we broke he hit me light As though he didn’t trust his right, He flapped me somehow with his wrist As though he couldn’t use his fist, And when he hit he winced with pain. I thought, ’Your sprained thumb’s crocked again.’ So I got strength and Bill gave ground, And that round was an easy round. During the wait my Jimmy said, ’What’s making Billy fight so dead? He’s all to pieces. Is he blown?’ ’His thumb’s out.’ ’No? Then it’s your own. It’s all your own, but don’t be rash-- He’s got the goods if you’ve got cash, And what one hand can do he’ll do, Be careful this next round or two.’ Time! There was Bill, and I felt sick That luck should play so mean a trick And give me leave to knock him out After he’d plainly won the bout. But by the way the man came at me He made it plain he meant to bat me; If you’d a seen the way he come You wouldn’t think he’d crocked a thumb. With all his skill and all his might He clipped me dizzy left and right; The Lord knows what the effort cost, But he was mad to think he’d lost, And knowing nothing else could save him He didn’t care what pain it gave him. He called the music and the dance For five rounds more and gave no chance. Try to imagine if you can The kind of manhood in the man, And if you’d like to feel his pain, You sprain your thumb and hit the sprain, And hit it hard, with all your power On something hard for half-an-hour, While someone thumps you black and blue, And then you’ll know what Billy knew. Bill took that pain without a sound Till half-way through the eighteenth round, And then I sent him down and out, And Silas said, ’Kane wins the bout.’