"Clear them out! Don't let them stay here!" was the wild cry.
"Everybody around the flagpole!" was the command of the fort leader.
The flagpole was a small one located in the center of the enclosure, and from it fluttered the banners of the freshmen and the sophomore classes. Those making the attack would have to haul those banners down before they could claim a victory.
Snowballs were now flying in all directions, and it was quite probable that in the excitement many of the students let fly at their friends instead of at the enemy; but it was all good, clean sport, and everybody enjoyed it greatly.
"Now, then, fellows, for a center rush!" came from Stanley, when he and Sam and about twenty others had forced their way to within ten yards of the flagpole.
"Avalanche them, boys! Avalanche them!" came suddenly from one of the sophomores, and then without warning huge chunks of loose snow were sent flying through the air on the heads of those who were battling to get to the flagpole.
"Great Cæsar's ghost!" spluttered Bob, as some of the snow went down inside his collar. "What is this; a snowslide?"
"Oh, you mustn't mind a little thing like that," answered Sam Rover. "Come ahead, everybody! Push!"
There was a wild scramble, with many yells and shouts. Student after student went down in the mêlée, a few to be trampled upon, but fortunately nobody was seriously hurt. There was such a congestion that to make or throw more snowballs was out of the question, and the most a fighter could do was to snatch up a handful of loose snow and thrust it down the neck of the student opposing him. Sam and Stanley, with four others close by them, had now managed to get within a few feet of the flagpole. Here, however, the freshmen and sophomores had planted themselves in a solid mass, and it looked for the moment as if nothing could budge them.
"Only six minutes more, boys! Only six minutes more!" came from one of the sophomores who had been detailed as a timekeeper. "Save those banners for six minutes and we'll win."