The memory of man, even that of the Oldest Inhabitant, runneth not back
to the time when there did not exist a feud between the North End and
the South End boys of Rivermouth.
The origin of the feud is involved in mystery; it is impossible to say
which party was the first aggressor in the far-off anterevolutionary
ages; but the fact remains that the youngsters of those antipodal
sections entertained a mortal hatred for each other, and that this
hatred had been handed down from generation to generation, like Miles
Standish's punch-bowl.
I know not what laws, natural or unnatural, regulated the warmth of the
quarrel; but at some seasons it raged more violently than at others.
This winter both parties were unusually lively and antagonistic.
Great was the wrath of the South-Enders, when they discovered that the
North-Enders had thrown up a fort on the crown of Slatter's Hill.
Slatter's Hill, or No-man's-land, as it was generally called, was a
rise of ground covering, perhaps, an acre and a quarter, situated on
an imaginary line, marking the boundary between the two districts. An
immense stratum of granite, which here and there thrust out a wrinkled
boulder, prevented the site from being used for building purposes. The
street ran on either side of the hill, from one part of which a quantity
of rock had been removed to form the underpinning of the new jail.
This excavation made the approach from that point all but impossible,
especially when the ragged ledges were a-glitter with ice. You see what
a spot it was for a snow-fort.
One evening twenty or thirty of the North-Enders quietly took possession
of Slatter's Hill, and threw up a strong line of breastworks, something
after this shape:
(Ft Slatter graphic)
The rear of the entrenchment, being protected by the quarry, was left
open. The walls were four feet high, and twenty-two inches thick,
strengthened at the angles by stakes driven firmly into the ground.
Fancy the rage of the South-Enders the next day, when they spied our
snowy citadel, with Jack Harris's red silk pocket handkerchief floating
defiantly from the flag-staff.
In less than an hour it was known all over town, in military circles at
least, that the “Puddle-dockers” and the “River-rats” (these were the
derisive sub-titles bestowed on our South-End foes) intended to attack
the fort that Saturday afternoon.
At two o'clock all the fighting boys of the Temple Grammar School,
and as many recruits as we could muster, lay behind the walls of Fort
Slatter, with three hundred compact snowballs piled up in pyramids,
awaiting the approach of the enemy. The enemy was not slow in making his
approach--fifty strong, headed by one Mat Ames. Our forces were under the
command of General J. Harris.
Before the action commenced, a meeting was arranged between the rival
commanders, who drew up and signed certain rules and regulations
respecting the conduct of the battle. As it was impossible for the
North-Enders to occupy the fort permanently, it was stipulated that the
South-Enders should assault it only on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons
between the hours of two and six. For them to take possession of the
place at any other time was not to constitute a capture, but on the
contrary was to be considered a dishonorable and cowardly act.
The North-Enders, on the other hand, agreed to give up the fort whenever
ten of the storming party succeeded in obtaining at one time a footing
on the parapet, and were able to hold the same for the space of two
minutes. Both sides were to abstain from putting pebbles into their
snow-balls, nor was it permissible to use frozen ammunition. A snow-ball
soaked in water and left out to cool was a projectile which in previous
years had been resorted to with disastrous results.
These preliminaries settled, the commanders retired to their respective
corps. The interview had taken place on the hillside between the
opposing lines.
General Harris divided his men into two bodies; the first comprised the
most skilful marksmen, or gunners; the second, the reserve force, was
composed of the strongest boys, whose duty it was to repel the scaling
parties, and to make occasional sallies for the purpose of capturing
prisoners, who were bound by the articles of treaty to faithfully serve
under our flag until they were exchanged at the close of the day.
The repellers were called light infantry; but when they carried on
operations beyond the fort they became cavalry. It was also their duty,
when not otherwise engaged, to manufacture snow-balls. The General's
staff consisted of five Templars (I among the number, with the rank of
Major), who carried the General's orders and looked after the wounded.
General Mat Ames, a veteran commander, was no less wide-awake in the
disposition of his army. Five companies, each numbering but six men,
in order not to present too big a target to our sharpshooters, were to
charge the fort from different points, their advance being covered by a
heavy fire from the gunners posted in the rear. Each scaler was provided
with only two rounds of ammunition, which were not to be used until he
had mounted the breastwork and could deliver his shots on our heads.
The drawing below represents the interior of the fort just previous to
the assault. Nothing on earth could represent the state of things after
the first volley.
(Fort Slatter detail graphic)
The thrilling moment had now arrived. If I had been going into a real
engagement I could not have been more deeply impressed by the importance
of the occasion.
The fort opened fire first--a single ball from the dexterous hand of
General Harris taking General Ames in the very pit of his stomach. A
cheer went up from Fort Slatter. In an instant the air was thick with
flying missiles, in the midst of which we dimly descried the storming
parties sweeping up the hill, shoulder to shoulder. The shouts of the
leaders, and the snowballs bursting like shells about our ears, made it
very lively.
Not more than a dozen of the enemy succeeded in reaching the crest of
the hill; five of these clambered upon the icy walls, where they were
instantly grabbed by the legs and jerked into the fort. The rest retired
confused and blinded by our well-directed fire.
When General Harris (with his right eye bunged up) said, “Soldiers, I am
proud of you!” my heart swelled in my bosom.
The victory, however, had not been without its price. Six North-Enders,
having rushed out to harass the discomfited enemy, were gallantly
cut off by General Ames and captured. Among these were Lieutenant P.
Whitcomb (who had no business to join in the charge, being weak in the
knees), and Captain Fred Langdon, of General Harris's staff. Whitcomb
was one of the most notable shots on our side, though he was not much
to boast of in a rough-and-tumble fight, owing to the weakness before
mentioned. General Ames put him among the gunners, and we were quickly
made aware of the loss we had sustained, by receiving a frequent artful
ball which seemed to light with unerring instinct on any nose that was
the least bit exposed. I have known one of Pepper's snow-balls, fired
pointblank, to turn a corner and hit a boy who considered himself
absolutely safe.
But we had no time for vain regrets. The battle raged. Already there
were two bad cases of black eye, and one of nosebleed, in the hospital.
It was glorious excitement, those pell-mell onslaughts and hand-to-hand
struggles. Twice we were within an ace of being driven from our
stronghold, when General Harris and his staff leaped recklessly upon the
ramparts and hurled the besiegers heels over head down hill.
At sunset, the garrison of Fort Slatter was still unconquered, and the
South-Enders, in a solid phalanx, marched off whistling “Yankee Doodle,”
while we cheered and jeered them until they were out of hearing.
General Ames remained behind to effect an exchange of prisoners. We held
thirteen of his men, and he eleven of ours. General Ames proposed to
call it an even thing, since many of his eleven prisoners were officers,
while nearly all our thirteen captives were privates. A dispute arising
on this point, the two noble generals came to fisticuffs, and in
the fracas our brave commander got his remaining well eye badly damaged.
This didn't prevent him from writing a general order the next day, on a
slate, in which he complimented the troops on their heroic behavior.
On the following Wednesday the siege was renewed. I forget whether it
was on that afternoon or the next that we lost Fort Slatter; but lose it
we did, with much valuable ammunition and several men. After a series
of desperate assaults, we forced General Ames to capitulate; and he, in
turn, made the place too hot to hold us. So from day to day the tide
of battle surged to and fro, sometimes favoring our arms, and sometimes
those of the enemy.
General Ames handled his men with great skill; his deadliest foe could
not deny that. Once he outgeneralled our commander in the following
manner: He massed his gunners on our left and opened a brisk fire, under
cover of which a single company (six men) advanced on that angle of the
fort. Our reserves on the right rushed over to defend the threatened
point. Meanwhile, four companies of the enemy's scalers made a detour
round the foot of the hill, and dashed into Fort Slatter without
opposition. At the same moment General Ames's gunners closed in on our
left, and there we were between two fires. Of course we had to vacate
the fort. A cloud rested on General Harris's military reputation until
his superior tactics enabled him to dispossess the enemy.
As the winter wore on, the war-spirit waxed fiercer and fiercer. At
length the provision against using heavy substances in the snow-balls
was disregarded. A ball stuck full of sand-bird shot came tearing into
Fort Slatter. In retaliation, General Harris ordered a broadside of
shells; i. e. snow-balls containing marbles. After this, both sides
never failed to freeze their ammunition.
It was no longer child's play to march up to the walls of Fort Slatter,
nor was the position of the besieged less perilous. At every assault
three or four boys on each side were disabled. It was not an infrequent
occurrence for the combatants to hold up a flag of truce while they
removed some insensible comrade.
Matters grew worse and worse. Seven North-Enders had been seriously
wounded, and a dozen South-Enders were reported on the sick list.
The selectmen of the town awoke to the fact of what was going on, and
detailed a posse of police to prevent further disturbance. The boys at
the foot of the hill, South-Enders as it happened, finding themselves
assailed in the rear and on the flank, turned round and attempted
to beat off the watchmen. In this they were sustained by numerous
volunteers from the fort, who looked upon the interference as
tyrannical.
The watch were determined fellows, and charged the boys valiantly,
driving them all into the fort, where we made common cause, fighting
side by side like the best of friends. In vain the four guardians of the
peace rushed up the hill, flourishing their clubs and calling upon us to
surrender. They could not get within ten yards of the fort, our fire was
so destructive. In one of the onsets a man named Mugridge, more valorous
than his peers, threw himself upon the parapet, when he was seized by
twenty pairs of hands, and dragged inside the breastwork, where fifteen
boys sat down on him to keep him quiet.
Perceiving that it was impossible with their small number to dislodge
us, the watch sent for reinforcements. Their call was responded to, not
only by the whole constabulary force (eight men), but by a numerous
body of citizens, who had become alarmed at the prospect of a riot. This
formidable array brought us to our senses: we began to think that maybe
discretion was the better part of valor. General Harris and General
Ames, with their respective staffs, held a council of war in the
hospital, and a backward movement was decided on. So, after one grand
farewell volley, we fled, sliding, jumping, rolling, tumbling down the
quarry at the rear of the fort, and escaped without losing a man.
But we lost Fort Slatter forever. Those battle-scarred ramparts were
razed to the ground, and humiliating ashes sprinkled over the historic
spot, near which a solitary lynx-eyed policeman was seen prowling from
time to time during the rest of the winter.
The event passed into a legend, and afterwards, when later instances of
pluck and endurance were spoken of, the boys would say, “By golly! You
ought to have been at the fights on Slatter's Hill!”