te of subjection.

I purposed that he should not reduce me at all. I walked towards the
place where he stood, with the whip in my hand. As I approached him he
moved towards me with his weapon thrown back in readiness to hit me. I
halted first, and then retreated a few paces, to afford me time to
disengage the lash from the handle of the whip,--I used to consider
myself very skilful with the whip,--though this may be vanity,--and I
could take a piece out of a maple leaf at twelve feet, three times out
of four, all day long. This was one of my accomplishments as a boy, and
I enjoyed the practice.

Retreating before the advance of Ham, I brought the whip smartly around
the calves of his legs, with a regular coachman's flourish. This did not
operate to cool my antagonist's temper; indeed, I am forced to confess
that this was not exactly the way to subdue his ire. I am sorry to say
that Ham used some naughty words, which politeness will not permit me
to repeat. Then he rushed forward with redoubled energy, and I gave him
another crack with the whip, which hit him in the tenderest part of his
pedestals.

I knew by his wrinkled brow that the part smarted; but, as long as it
did not cure him of the infatuation of "licking" me, I felt that he was
responsible for all consequences. He wanted to throw himself upon me
with that club, and I am satisfied that a single blow of the formidable
weapon would have smashed my head. He followed up his treatment, and I
followed up mine, keeping just out of the reach of his stick, and
lathering his legs with the hard silk snapper of my whip.

He foamed, fretted, and struggled to gain the advantage of me; but he
was mad, and I was cool, and I kept my respectful distance from him,
punishing him as rapidly as I could swing the long lash. Ham soon became
fearfully disgusted. At the rate he was subduing me, he must have felt
that it would be a long job. His patience--not very carefully
nursed--gave out at last; and, when he found that it would be
impossible for him to inflict a single blow upon me, he raised the club,
and let it fly at my head. If it had hit me there, I think the reader
would have been saved the trouble of reading my adventures "Down the
River." As it was, it struck me on the left shoulder, and I did not get
over the effects of the blow for a fortnight. But I was too proud to
show any signs of pain, or even to let him know that I had been hit.

I picked up the club, and held it