The little boy sprang forward, at these words, for his book; but his tormentor caught hold of him, and pulling him back, said, “He’s my fag! do you recollect, sir, he’s my fag?”
“Fag or no fag,” cried Howard, “you shall not make a slave of him.”
“I will! I shall! I will!” cried Holloway, worked up to the height of tyrannical fury: “I will make a slave of him, if I choose it—a negro-slave, if I please!”
At the sound of negro-slave, the little Creole burst into tears. Howard sprang forward to free him from his tyrant’s grasp: Holloway struck Howard a furious blow, which made him stagger backwards.
“Ay,” said Holloway, “learn to stand your ground, and fight, before you meddle with me, I advise you.”
Holloway was an experienced pugilist, and he knew that Howard was not; but before his defiance had escaped his lips, he felt his blow returned, and a battle ensued. Howard fought with all his soul; but the body has something to do, as well as the soul, in the art of boxing, and his body was not yet a match for his adversary’s. After receiving more blows than Holloway, perhaps, could have borne, Howard was brought to the ground.
“Beg my pardon, and promise never to interfere between me and my fag any more,” said Holloway, standing over him triumphant: “ask my pardon.”
“Never,” said the fallen hero: “I’ll fight you again, in the same cause, whenever you please; I can’t have a better;” and he struggled to rise.
Several boys had, by this time, gathered round the combatants, and many admired the fortitude and spirit of the vanquished, though it is extremely difficult to boys, if not to men, to sympathize with the beaten. Every body called out that Howard had had enough for that night; and though he was willing to have renewed the battle, his adversary was withheld by the omnipotence of public opinion. As to the cause of the combat, some few inquired into its merits, but many more were content with seeing the fray, and with hearing, vaguely, that it began about Howard’s having interfered with Holloway’s fag in an impertinent manner.
Howard’s face was so much disfigured, and his clothes were so much stained with blood, that he did not wish to present himself such a deplorable spectacle before his aunt; besides, no man likes to be seen, especially by a woman, immediately after he has been beaten; therefore, he went directly to bed as soon as he got home, but desired that one of his companions, who boarded at Mrs. Howard’s, would, if his aunt inquired for him at supper, tell her “that he had been beaten in a boxing match, but hoped to be more expert after another lesson or two.” This lady did not show her tenderness to her nephew by wailing over his disaster: on the contrary, she was pleased to hear that he had fought in so good a cause.