As he approached me, I saw that he was brandishing a "waddy waddy," or club. I strove to avoid him; but found, that although mad with drink, he was active upon his limbs, and able to hinder me from making a retreat. Had I attempted to run away, I should have been brought to a stop--by a blow from his "waddy waddy." I saw that my best chance of safety would be in standing firm, and defending myself. The fellow made two desperate lounges at me with his club, which, with some difficulty, I managed to dodge--and all the while that he was delivering his murderous assault, he kept shouting to me, in his native gibberish--apparently making some important communication, but the nature of which I had not the slightest idea. Just as I was beginning to consider the affair serious, and was preparing to act on the offensive, the black made a third blow with his waddy waddy. This I was unable, altogether, to avoid; and the club struck heavily against one of my legs. Irritated by the pain produced, I could no longer control my temper; and, grasping the crowbar with both hands, I aimed a blow at the black fellow's head. I did not strike with the intention of killing the man. I only knew that my life was in danger; and that I was suffering great pain from the wound I had received. This, however, had irritated me beyond the power of controlling myself; and, no doubt, my whole strength was given to the stroke. The crowbar descended upon the black fellow's naked crown; and never shall I forget the horrible sound made by the crashing in of his skull. It was not only horrible, but sickening; and for a moment, completely unmanned me. It was not the mere thought, that I had broken a man's head, that unmanned me, for I had both witnessed, and taken part, in many a sanguinary scene before that--without feeling any such remorseful emotion. It was the horrid sound--caused by the crashing in of his skull--that not only overcame me, but, for a time, rendered me faint, sick, and disgusted with the world, and all it contained. That sound echoed in my ears for hours afterwards; and, ever since that time, I have carefully avoided being near any place where a "free fight" was about to take place--lest it might be my misfortune to hear a similar sound. The day after, it was reported, that the blacks were entertaining themselves with a funeral. I did not learn the particulars of the ceremony; but, presume it was similar to a funeral I had witnessed among a tribe of the same people on Fryer's Creek, in July, 1853. One of their number had been killed, by another of the tribe; and, on the next day, I was present at the performance of their funeral rites, over the remains of the murdered man.