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.
[Footnote 58: From Chapter XIII of "The Story of a Bad Boy."
Copyright, 1869, 1877, by Thomas Bailey Aldrich. Published by
Houghton, Mifflin Company.]
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. 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 flagstaff.
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 snowballs, nor was it permissible to use frozen ammunition. A
snowball 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 comprized
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 the
operations beyond the fort they became cavalry. It was also their
duty, when not otherwise engaged, to manufacture snowballs. 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 thrilling moment had now arrived. If I had been going into a real
engagement I could not have been more deeply imprest by the importance
of the occasion.
The fort opened fire first--a single ball from the dextrous 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, tho 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
snowballs, fired point-blank, 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 nose-bleed, 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 leapt
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.