Part 3

After the battle of Lexington, there was an exchange of prisoners made. The British agreed to release those they had taken, in exchange for those taken by the Americans. The place appointed for this exchange to be made was Charlestown, the town so soon after destroyed by some of the _very men_ now met for purposes of kindness and good will. Gen. Warren, as President of Congress, and the brave Gen. Putnam, (under whom Warren had previously served as a volunteer in a skirmish on one of the islands, in which the English had been defeated, and one of their vessels burnt,) were escorted by two of the finest companies of the Massachusetts soldiers, to the place of meeting. The scene was interesting and impressive. Although there had been difficulties among the English soldiers and our people, and with some of the officers also, yet most of the officers, on both sides, had been cordial to each other; some had been intimate friends. They had, previous to the difficulties between the two countries, served under the same commanders, fought the same battles, glowed with united hopes of victory, or felt disheartened together when they failed in their undertakings. These feelings could not be altogether repressed, and when they now first met, after having been arrayed against each other,--met too, to exchange offices of kindness and hospitality, with the sacred flag of truce waving over their heads, every sentiment but that of friendship was forgotten, and they rushed into each others' arms, overcome with feelings too powerful for expression. These feelings quickly spread around, and each hardy soldier was ready to extend the hand of amity to the other.

After the business on which they met was over, Putnam and Warren entertained the British as their guests, with all the hospitality the times would permit.

A few days after this meeting, Warren was appointed Major-General of the American forces in Massachusetts. The people had for some time looked up to him as their leader; and he had made constant exertions to maintain order and enforce discipline among the troops. He united so much coolness with so much true courage, and so much gentleness with so much decision, as to give him immense influence over them. He mingled in the ranks, talked with each soldier as if he was a brother, and thus succeeded most astonishingly in imparting to them his own ardour in the cause, and his confidence in its success. Before he was chosen as their General, he was requested to act as Surgeon-General to the army, but this post did not suit his heroic character. His wish was to lead on the soldiers to battle, rather than to take care of those who were unable to go, or of those who received wounds while there.

The charge he had now received of the army, he would not suffer in any degree to interfere with that he before sustained as President of Congress. He had from the first discovered as much talent in directing the counsels of the nation, as he had energy in animating the soldiers. Part of each day he would pass in Congress, which was now assembled at Watertown, deliberately weighing each subject that was discussed. He gave no opinion until fully convinced what was best to be done. When his opinion was formed, he bent every power of his mind and body, to have that which was resolved upon put into execution. When he had accomplished all he could in the Congress, he would jump on his horse, ride as quickly as possible to the camp at Cambridge, and enter with equal ardor into every thing to be done there.

It was on the 14th of June, that Joseph Warren was elected Major-General of the Massachusetts forces.

The British had four thousand well disciplined soldiers in Boston at this time, under the command of Gen. Gage. Now I dare say you know that four thousand men used to fighting, and commanded by a general whom they know they must obey, are more powerful than double that number who are not used to warfare, and who are not obliged to fight unless they choose.

WILLIAM. Yes, mamma, I should think they must be; but were not our men at all used to fighting? and were they not willing to fight?

MRS. M. They had never been engaged in a regular battle, and, although most of them were very willing to fight, yet they were much more easily intimidated than regular soldiers. This gave the British a great advantage over them; besides this, many of our people did not like to be thought _rebels_, which the British took every opportunity to convince them they were. They did not feel quite sure that they did right to fight against their king, as they had always considered the king of England to be, and they knew, too, that if we were unsuccessful, they should be hung as rebels.

But for all this there were a great many willing to risk every thing in the cause of liberty; and so eager were these for an engagement, that it was extremely difficult to restrain them until they had acquired a little more military knowledge.

The British were also anxious to do something. They had, to be sure, the command of Boston, but all the hills around were guarded by us, and they felt rather foolish in suffering themselves to be cooped up there, and not have the power to leave it, without risking a battle. They finally determined to make a bold push, and obtain possession of the highest parts of Charlestown and Dorchester, and thus give themselves a little more liberty to go in and out of the town.

The 18th of June, 1775, was the day on which they had determined to make this attempt.

The Americans, however, gave them something to do a little sooner than this. They had contemplated making some attack on the British, or at least to endeavor to destroy their shipping. Gen. Warren, ardent and enterprising as he was, was not in favor of this plan. He thought it would be hazarding too much to begin warfare again in our situation; that if it was once begun, it would lead to a general engagement, in which our untrained men would not be able to maintain their ground; and he thought if beaten now they might be entirely discouraged. Gen. Putnam, who at that time commanded the troops in Cambridge, was of a different opinion. He said they need only take two thousand men, nor would he risk any more. Gen. Warren walked back and forth the room in which they were debating several times, he then leaned on a chair, and, after a few moments silence, exclaimed, "almost thou persuadest me, Gen. Putnam, still I must think the project rash, but if you execute it, you will not be surprised to find me at your side." "I hope you will not be there," said Putnam, "you are young, and your country has much to hope from you, both in their councils and in the field of battle; let us, who are old and can be better spared begin the affray, there will be time enough for you hereafter; it will not soon be over."

The more this step was deliberated upon, the more difficulties seemed to arise, and Gen. Warren felt it his duty again to oppose it before the committee of safety, of which he was chairman, and before the council of war, assembled on purpose to decide upon it. When, after much discussion, both these bodies resolved on its execution, he gave up his own opinion and joined with his whole heart to promote its success. It was finally voted by the committee, on the 15th of June, that Dorchester heights and Bunker hill should be occupied and fortified by our troops. The intelligence now received, that the British were themselves preparing to leave their entrenchments to take possession of these heights, no doubt decided this measure. The soldiers, you recollect, were encamped in Cambridge. They were quartered, or stationed, in the colleges and in all the houses for a mile or two about; wherever they could find shelter, there they were placed.

On the 16th of June, Col. Prescott was ordered to take a part of the men, stationed in Cambridge, about one thousand, march with them to Charlestown, and fortify Bunker Hill. Accordingly, in the evening they began their march as secretly as possible. It was very important they should get there without the knowledge of the British, for they had to go so near their lines, that it would have been perfectly in their power to prevent the success of their undertaking, had they known it. They took scarcely any refreshments, nothing which was not absolutely necessary. Their first object was to take possession of Bunker Hill, their own comforts were but a secondary consideration; when they had succeeded in that, then would be time enough, they thought, to think of themselves and to have provisions and other necessaries sent them. To insure secrecy, the soldiers were not informed of the object of their march, until they had crossed Charlestown neck. The plan was so well arranged and so well executed, that the British had not the slightest suspicion of it, until the rising sun, as it dispelled the mists of the morning, shone on their fortifications and revealed to the astonished gaze of the bewildered British, their daring enemy immediately above them, overlooking their camp, and entrenched in strong forts which seemed as if created by enchantment; so quietly and so suddenly had they been erected! Those who first beheld the alarming spectacle rubbed their eyes, thinking themselves in a dream, but, soon finding it was reality, they awoke their countrymen and immediately began firing on our men, almost expecting, even then, to find the fortifications vanish from before them. They killed one of our noble fellows, and these men who had done and dared so bravely the night preceding, were so appalled at the unusual sight of death, in so sudden a manner, that some of them quitted the works on which they had labored so hard, and returned no more to defend them.

This can hardly be wondered at. They had been up all night, had had no refreshment, from sleep or food, not even a drop of water to wet their parched lips. It is, therefore, more surprising that any of them should be able to make a stand against the experienced soldiers of Great Britain, than that some should fall back.

WILLIAM. Yes, mamma, I think it was more surprising. I should have thought they would have had no strength or resolution to do any thing. Why did they not have some men from Cambridge to aid them? some who had not worked so hard would surely have been better able to fight.

MRS. M. Perhaps they would; but those who had gained the post of danger with so much toil and through so much peril, were determined to maintain it as long as they were able to stand by it: besides there had yet been no time for reinforcements to arrive.

WILLIAM. Was Gen. Warren with them when they first went to Bunker Hill?

MRS. M. No, my dear, Congress met at Watertown the day preceding that eventful night. Gen. Warren was, you know, president of it; he was therefore obliged to be present when it met. He had been all day engaged with its members, discussing the most important business, and even the night was far spent before they had finished the necessary arrangements for the momentous crisis which had now arrived. The moment he could leave his friends there, he prepared to go immediately to the field of battle. These friends endeavored, with all the arguments they could use, to dissuade him from going. They told him that it was impossible for the troops there to maintain their ground; that they neither had a sufficient supply of powder and balls, nor of arms, and the probability was that all who persisted in fighting would be either killed or taken prisoners. One of them, in particular, entreated him, most earnestly, not to expose his invaluable life where his death was almost certain, for that thus he would injure rather than serve his country's cause. "I cannot help it," he replied, "I must share the fate of my countrymen." "To hear the sound of the cannon and remain inactive, is what I cannot do." "I should die to be at home, while my fellow citizens are shedding their blood for me." "As sure as you go, you will be slain," replied his friend. "It is sweet, it is honourable, to die for our country," was the last reply of the patriotic hero. By daylight of the next morning he was in Cambridge. The British had not made their appearance, and, sick with a nervous headache from his excessive exertions of mind and body, Warren threw himself on a bed, hoping for a few moments' repose. He was soon informed that the enemy were in motion. Their destination was at first uncertain. Many thought they intended to seize the scanty stock of ammunition and other stores, deposited at Watertown and Cambridge. It was all this part of the country contained; all on which the army here depended, to enable them to make any resistance against the well-furnished troops of Great Britain. If these were taken or destroyed, the struggle for liberty would, for a time, perhaps _forever_, be at an end.

On the other hand, the troops at Bunker Hill were very much exposed, and required immediate reinforcements. These considerations prevented the committee of safety from acting with so much decision, as they would otherwise have done. This committee was now sitting in the same house in which Gen. Warren had been seeking a little repose. The moment he received information that the British were on the move, he started from his bed, exclaiming, "my headache is gone." He then met with the committee, of which he was chairman. With his usual quickness of perception he saw that Bunker Hill was the spot destined to be attacked, and so soon as it was resolved to send reinforcements there, he mounted his horse, and, with his fusil and sword hastened to the post of danger. When he had arrived at Bunker, or Breed's Hill (for they had not yet been able to fortify Bunker Hill,) the enemy had landed at Charlestown, and thus made it clear that their intentions were to attack our forts.[3] Five thousand experienced British troops were already landed and prepared, under the command of Gen. Howe, to encounter our men. They had been through no fatigue, had plenty of arms, ammunition, and every thing necessary to render success almost certain. The Americans, on the contrary, were much exhausted, their arms were poor, their ammunition scanty, and no reinforcements of any importance had arrived. But, as I before mentioned, our men did not wish for aid, they wanted themselves to defend the forts they had themselves so ably constructed, and they were about to fight for their liberties, their homes, and every thing most dear to them. They were determined, too, to show the hired troops of Great Britain of what men were capable who had determined to die free, rather than to live under the tyranny of a foreign power. With such feelings, they did not hesitate a moment to face the enemy, and it was necessary to repress their ardor, so eager were they to begin.

WILLIAM. But, mamma, was it not on Bunker Hill the battle was fought? for you said just now it was Breed's Hill, and that they had not been able to fortify Bunker Hill. I thought they fortified that at first.

MRS. M. No, my dear, they did not. They were directed to do it, but they found it would not answer so well, as it was too far from the enemy for them to reach her fleet and shipping from it with their balls. They therefore fortified Breed's Hill in preference.

MARY. Why then, mamma, was the battle called the battle of Bunker Hill?

MRS. M. Because Bunker Hill was the only one which was distinguished by a name at that time; it was the one, too, which they had intended to occupy, and the battle was fought so near it that it was then designated by that name, which it has ever since retained, and it would be hardly worth while to alter it now.

WILLIAM. No, mamma, I should think not. I should not like to have the name changed, for ever since I can remember, I have heard about the battle of Bunker Hill, and the death of Gen. Warren on it, and I should not know what it meant if I now heard of the battle of Breed's Hill, and I do not think I should think at all of him when it was thus spoken of. But I have interrupted you at the most interesting part. Gen. Warren, I think you said, had joined the Americans just as the battle was beginning.

MRS. M. Yes, he had; the firing had already commenced. Among our commanders the only contention was, who should be foremost at the post of danger. Each was desirous himself to be placed where there was the greatest risk, and, therefore, the greatest honor. So soon as Gen. Warren reached the field of battle, he sought out Gen. Putnam, to request him to point out to him where he should find the most arduous service. As Putnam saw him approach, he exclaimed, "Gen. Warren, I am sorry to see you here: I wish you had left the day to us, as I advised you. From appearances we shall have a sharp time of it, but since you are here, I will receive your commands with pleasure." Warren replied, "I come as a volunteer, I know nothing of your arrangements, and will not interfere with them; only tell me where I can be most useful, and there I will go." Putnam, still earnest, if possible, to preserve him from danger, directed him to a particular spot, observing at the same time, "there you will be covered." But this was not what Warren wanted. "Do not think," he earnestly exclaimed, "I come here to seek a place of safety, tell me where the onset will be most furious, it is there I wish to be." Putnam then told him that the post he had pointed out was a most important one. That it was the first wish of the enemy to drive our soldiers from it; that Col. Prescott was there, determined to defend it as long as possible, for upon retaining it depended the fate of the battle. He added, that the probability was, the British would at last gain possession of it, but when it could be defended no longer, it would require great coolness and skill to bring off as many of our soldiers as possible, and retreat with order and regularity. Warren assented to the truth of this, said he would be governed by his opinions, and instantly went to the redoubt or post that was to be defended.

So soon as the soldiers saw him, they welcomed him with loud huzzas. Col. Prescott, as Putnam had before, asked him to take the command; he again refused it, and offered his services as a volunteer, saying, "I am happy to learn service from a soldier of experience."

The battle now commenced most seriously. Our soldiers had, as yet, no time to fortify Bunker Hill, though, if they were beat back from their fort, it was of the utmost importance this should be done; nor had they been able to complete their other works as they wished. It was too late now, for the enemy were already firing on them, unfinished as they were. All that could be accomplished, before the firing began, was for part of the soldiers to take post behind a rail fence, about two hundred and fifty yards in length, which they slightly fortified by placing another fence at a little distance from the first, and filling the space between the two with new mown hay. So soon as the tremendous discharge of cannon from the British began, her troops advanced to attack those stationed at the redoubt and at this fence. Our men were eager instantly to return the fire, but were not permitted to, until the enemy were within eight rods of them. Powder, Putnam told them, must not be wasted. "Do not fire until commanded. You must not fire until you see the whites of the eyes of your enemy, then fire low, take aim at their waistbands. You are all marksmen, and can kill a squirrel at the distance of a hundred yards; reserve your fire and the enemy are all destroyed. Aim at the handsome coats; pick off the commanders." Such were the orders of many of the American officers besides Putnam, as they rode through the lines of the different divisions which were stationed at the fence, and at the redoubt. The redoubt was 150 yards in front of the rail fence. As you may suppose, these instructions came home to the men, and encouraged and animated them, and gave them more confidence in themselves than any thing else that could have been said. Some few, in their eagerness to fire, did not wait the word of command, Putnam drew his sword and declared he would himself cut down the first who should disobey. Gen. Warren was among the most active, cheering the men by his words and actions; he mingled in their ranks, shared all their dangers, and with his musket stood ready to aid them in firing, the moment the enemy were near enough to render it prudent to fire. That moment had come. The British had approached within eight rods of the redoubt. The command was given, they fired, and nearly the whole front rank of the advancing army was destroyed. Another line, and still another, presented itself, and each was in turn levelled with the ground. For a short time there was a pause. The British were retreating. Putnam seized the moment to bring up some reinforcements from Bunker Hill. Howe, the British commander, meanwhile brought his troops once more into order, and was joined by some others from Boston, under the command of Major Small. Again the firing commenced. Our men were obliged to wait until the British were still nearer than the first. Not until they were within _six_ rods were they now allowed to discharge their muskets. When they did, it was with still more deadly effect than before. The flames of Charlestown, to which the British had set fire, urged them on, and rank after rank of officers and men fell before them. The enemy could no longer stand their ground; they retreated once more, and left the field to our brave men. At this moment, Gen. Putnam saw one British officer standing alone, all around him had fallen. Many muskets were levelled at him; in a moment he would have shared the fate of his companions. At this eventful moment, Putnam perceived that it was an old friend and fellow soldier who was about to be destroyed: he rushed to the spot, knocked away the deadly weapons with his sword, and entreated the men to spare one whom he loved like a brother. They could not resist the appeal; the noble and daring generosity of the General excited their admiration and sympathy. His friend was permitted to retire unhurt.

Every thing now seemed to promise success to the cause of liberty. The field was our own. More than a thousand of the enemy had fallen, and a great number of their best officers were slain by our marksmen. But alas! at the very moment in which every thing seemed to smile upon our noble defenders, these defenders found the greatest reason to despair. So soon as they had leisure to look around them, they discovered that their ammunition was expended, their arms almost useless, and scarcely any thing to defend themselves from a renewed attack of the enemy, but the stones which partly formed their fort. Their only hope was, that as the loss of the British had been so great, they would not again make the hazardous attempt to drive them from their entrenchments. In this, _their last hope_, they were fatally disappointed. Some of the British officers were unwilling to lead their men again to an attack, where certain death seemed to await them, but the greater part of them were determined not to yield the victory to _rebels_, as they still called us. They collected all their strength, and once more advanced to the charge, resolved to take the redoubt which Gen. Putnam had pointed out to Gen. Warren as our most important point of defence, or perish in the attempt.