_LEXINGTON AND BUNKER HILL._
1. The Pilgrims had passed away. Long years had elapsed since the last
of the New England fathers had exchanged the earthly for the heavenly
kingdom. The grandchildren and the great-grandchildren of the first
immigrants possessed the soil. No aliens they, seeking a refuge in an
unknown land, but the sturdy possessors of homes where they were born,
and around which clustered all tender family ties. The passionate love
for England, filtered through three generations, had moderated to a
filial respect without impairing filial obedience.
2. Marvelous the change in outward conditions of that century and a
half! Wave after wave of intelligent activity had passed over the
land. Settlers' fires hunted the track of Indians westward bound. On
the site of primeval forests, fields of grain shimmered in the sun.
The rude hut, hastily built for shelter, had given place to the
comfortable farm-house and the elegant mansion. Village and city had
grown up in the centers of trade. The mechanic arts had slowly made
their way. Change vast, weighty, permanent--not sudden, but orderly
growth--fruit of seed sown, but none the less marvelous for that.
3. Internal change had accompanied the external. Spiritual growth had
gone hand in hand with increase of life's comforts. Persecution as a
means of conversion had disappeared before common dangers and
sufferings. Intolerance had toned down into a mild form of bigotry.
The shovel-hat of the parson and the flowing robes of the magistrate
had lost much of their superstitious significance. The hard,
self-imposed restraints of the Puritans had become less rigid at home
and in public. Individual life was freer, fuller, and more complete.
4. So sped the years until after the French war--until the last of
England's rivals had been effectually subdued. Now England, for the
first time, seems to have been brought face to face with her sturdy
offspring. Now she deliberately made up her mind to make him
useful--pay her debts, fight her enemies, subserve her interests first
and always. So, with blustering words about rights, she imposed
burdens, with significant hints in regard to chastisements; she
withheld privileges; the cherishing mother in word and deed proving to
be a veritable step-mother with the hardest of hearts.
5. Here trouble began. The son had an equal share with the parent in
Agincourt and _Magna Charta._ He was confiding and unsuspicious, but
the experience of three generations in the wilds had accustomed him to
freedom, and had given him hardihood. His shoulders were broad, but it
was difficult to bind burdens upon them against his will. As the
policy of the parent dawned upon him, first came incredulous
questioning, "What does this mean?"--then protest, showing the injury
and suggesting "There must be some mistake!"--last, conviction of
intended injustice, the hot wrath, and the emphatic statement, "I will
not obey!" The angry note of defiance was heard rolling along the
Atlantic coast from New England to Georgia. Descendants of Roundheads,
Cavaliers, and Huguenots forgot their ancient prejudices and united
against this common danger. Patrick Henry responded to the sentiments
of Otis and Adams, and Virginia sent friendly greetings to the
commonwealth of Massachusetts.
6. The madness that afflicted the last years of the life of George III
seems to have taken possession of the British ministry. Exaction
followed exaction in increasing intensity and number. The history of
coercive legislation can scarcely find a parallel to that of the
British Parliament for the fifteen years following the fall of Quebec.
Withal, no excuse was ever made for injustice done, no sympathy was
ever expressed for suffering inflicted, but all communication conveyed
the stern purpose to subdue. Hungry for affection, the half-grown
offspring turned his face toward England for the smallest caress, and
the east wind brought back across the Atlantic full in his face the
sharp crack of a whip.
7. Then came a period of aggression and resistance. The Stamp Act was
passed, but stamp could not be sold, and the lives of stamp-venders
became miserable. Soldiers crowded citizens upon Boston Common;
citizens mobbed the soldiers; soldiers fired, killing five citizens,
and were saved from destruction only by the active interference of the
patriot leaders. This affray marked the first shedding of blood, and
has gone into history as "The Boston Massacre." Tea was taxed, but
the matrons took to catnip and sage, and no tea was sold. Three
cargoes of taxed tea were sent into Boston harbor, but a war-whoop was
heard; the vessels were boarded by a band of painted savages, tomahawk
in band; the tea-chests were broken up and the tea was thrown into the
water. This last act demanded special punishment, and the Boston Port
Bill shut up the port of Boston, allowing no ship to go in or out. The
sympathetic people of Salem and Marblehead placed wharf and warehouse
at the disposal of Boston merchants, softening the blow as much as
possible. Relief to the suffering poor of Boston poured in from all
sides, and the British ministry saw that the whole people were making
common cause in resistance to oppression.
8. The next step is the vigorous use of the strong arm. Filial love
must be forced in by means of bayonets, and affection secured by
gunpowder and bullets. A strong force of soldiers under General Gage
took possession of Boston. The troops were quartered in the City Hall
and other buildings sacred in the eyes of the people to justice and
peace. The city government was superseded by the military. Sentinels
patrolled the streets. Arbitrary edicts took the place of law.
Citizens were interfered with while in the pursuit of private
business. For soldiers' insults there was no redress. The leading
patriots, John Adams, Joseph Warren, James Otis, John Hancock, and
Samuel Adams, were hunted, and a price was set on their heads. Boston
was in the strong hands of military power. Outwardly it was subdued,
but beneath was a seething fire, ready to burst into flame when the
moment for conflagration should arrive.
9. But Massachusetts was aroused. Town and country were one. The war
spirit invoked engendered its kind. Committees of Safety were formed
in every town. The drum and fife echoed from mountain to valley. The
musket of the old war, the shot-gun of the sportsman, and the rifle of
the hunter were brought from their resting-places and prepared for
use. Forge and hammer were busy in making guns and swords. Minute-men
in every hamlet prepared to march on the moment. Nor were the women
idle; wheel and loom were busy as never before. The patriot soldier,
starting for the front, was clad in serviceable home-spun, prepared by
loving hands, and he departed amid the tears, prayers, and blessings
of loving yet steadfast hearts.
10. The General Court of Massachusetts was convened. It was denounced
and proscribed by General Gage, but in the eyes of the people its
mandates had all the force of law. Taxes were levied and cheerfully
paid. The colony was divided into military districts, and each one
placed under the command of a competent officer. Powder, arms, and
other military stores were collected, and all needful preparations
were made for war. The other New England colonies fully shared in the
excitement of Massachusetts. The note of alarm spread through the
land, and a Continental Congress was called to meet at Philadelphia to
consider the policy best to be pursued for the common weal.
11. But General Gage became impatient. He would strike a blow that
would at once assert British power and terrify the whole rebel race.
The mailed hand must be seen beneath the soft glove. The opportunity
was not long wanting. A military depot at Concord, eighteen miles
northwest of Boston, he determined to seize. A force of eight hundred
men, under Lieutenant-Colonel Smith and Major Pitcairn, was to set out
on the evening of April 18th. The patriot leaders were early aware
that some movement was on foot, and eager eyes watched for indications
of its force and direction. But it was kept a profound secret, and it
was not until the troops were upon the march that their destination
could be guessed. Let the poet tell how the purpose was discovered and
the news carried to the country:
[Illustration: _Paul Revere's Ride_]
PAUL REVERE'S RIDE.
12. Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, seventy-five.
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.
13. He said to his friend, "If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
In the North Church tower as a signal light--
One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country folk to be up and to arm."
14. Then he said "Good night!" and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where, swinging wide at her moorings, lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war:
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon like a prison bar,
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.
15. Meanwhile his friend, through alley and street,
Watches and wanders, with eager ears,
Till in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers,
Marching down to their boats on the shore.
16. Then he climbed the tower of the old North Church,
By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the somber rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade;
By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town,
And the moonlight flowing over all.
17. Beneath in the churchyard lay the dead,
In their night-encampment on the hill,
Wrapped in a silence so deep and still
That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread,
The watchful night-wind as it went
Creeping along from tent to tent,
And seeming to whisper "All is well!"
18. A moment only he feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread
Of the lonely belfry and the dead;
For suddenly all his thoughts were bent
On a shadowy something far away,
Where the river widens to meet the bay--
A line of black that bends and floats
On the rising tide like a bridge of boats.
19. Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride,
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse's side,
Now gazed on the landscape far and near,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle-girth;
But mostly lie watched with eager search
The belfry-tower of the old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and somber and still.
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light.
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns.
20. A hurry of hoofs in the village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath, from the pebbles in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet.
That was all! and yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed in its flight
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
21. The British column moved on through the darkness with no sound
save the steady tread of marching feet. At first, farm-house and
hamlet were wrapped in a deep repose, but as the night wore on signs
of life began to appear. At every cross-road, horsemen galloped off at
their approach, and hurried lights at chamber windows showed that
slumber had been suddenly interrupted. At day-break the invading force
reached Lexington, a little village twelve miles from Boston. Here
minute-men to the number of about one hundred and twenty, aroused by
the cry of Paul Revere, had hastily assembled. They offered no
opposition to the British troops, but stood silent spectators to the
unusual sight.
[Illustration: THE FIGHT AT LEXINGTON]
22. The British column halted, and Major Pitcairn rode forward, and,
in the most peremptory tone of command, cried out: "Disperse, you
rebels! Throw down your arms and disperse!" No one obeyed, and he
gave the order to fire. Out blazed the muskets, and what remained of
the little group sought safety in flight. The British marched on,
leaving on that peaceful common, under the very shadow of the church,
eight figures stark and motionless in death. From this baptism of
blood they moved on, regretful, perhaps, at the stern necessity of
their action, but rejoicing that all opposition had been so easily and
completely overcome.
23. On they sped. The sun arose in its glory to cheer them on their
march. Their thoughts were jubilant as in fancy they posed as heroes
before their fellows left behind. No vision of the dead men staring
upward from the blood-drenched grass of Lexington haunted them. The
silent march of the night had ended, and now they could press onward
with clatter and song. The six miles to Concord were soon passed over.
A strong guard was left at the bridge, for, with all his confidence,
Colonel Smith was a skillful commander, and would neglect no
precaution to secure the safety of his troops. So careful was he that
he sent back a secret messenger from Lexington for more men. On press
the exulting soldiers, on through the streets of Concord in search of
the military stores. But lo! they had taken wings and flown to a place
of safety. A few barrels of flour, half destroyed, a, few hundred
cannon-balls thrown into wells, was the sole outcome of the intended
destruction. The Committee of Safety had performed their duty
discreetly and in time.
24. But hark! What means that musketry? Not the scattering fire of a
skirmish, but volley answering volley! Has the impossible come to
pass? Have the rebels dared to fire upon the king's troops? But the
firing grows warmer, louder. Hasten to the bridge lest retreat be cut
off! The guards, sore beset, welcome the aid. Armed foes spring up on
every side! They are behind, before--everywhere! No safety now but in
instant, rapid retreat.
25. "You know the rest. In the books you have read,
How the British regulars fired and fled--
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farm-yard wall;
Chasing the red-coats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields, to emerge again
Under the trees, at the bend of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load."
26. Discipline and valor are of no avail here. Vollied musketry has
little chance against backwoods sharpshooters occupying every
vantage ground that their knowledge of the country enabled them to do.
The day was wearing on. Noon found them a disorganized mass, flying
through Lexington streets, the scene of their morning victory.
27. In the mean time Lord Percy, with eight hundred fresh troops and
two field-pieces, is marching out on the Lexington road; not that any
danger was apprehended, but simply as a precautionary measure. Between
two and three o'clock, while yet two miles short of Lexington, ominous
sounds of conflict smote his ears: not the rolling volleys and stately
tread of victory, but the confused noise of fight and flight,
betokening irretrievable disaster. The fresh troops were formed into a
hollow square, and pell-mell the hunted fugitives came rushing into
their place of refuge. Exhausted by their long march and hot fight,
many of them fell prone upon the ground, "their tongues," says a high
authority, "hanging out of their mouths."
28. But Lord Percy must not delay. Ten miles lie between him and
safety, and many hours of day remain before darkness will lend its
friendly aid. Short time for rest. Beat off the fierce and persistent
attacks! Speed away while yet unsurrounded! A British army must never
suffer the humiliation of defeat and capture by a horde of rebel
Yankees. So through the afternoon the red-coats marched quickly,
sullenly, dejectedly, fighting desperately for very life. The day
closed as they neared the river, and under the starlight they
embarked, finding safety and rest at last--not quite yet, for as the
last boat left the shore a rifle blazed out, and one more victim was
sent to atone for the wanton murder on Lexington Common.
29. The eventful day ended with a loss on the part of the British of
two hundred and seventy-three, while the aggregate loss of the
patriots was one hundred and five. Without discipline, and with the
most reckless exposure to danger, they had inflicted a loss nearly
three times as great as they had sustained.
30. The news of Lexington spread, everywhere producing wild
excitement. The notes of warlike preparation were heard throughout the
land. With deliberate purpose General Gage had sown the dragon's
teeth, and there literally sprung up a bountiful crop of armed men.
Every village and every farm-house helped to swell the number. The
remotest hamlet furnished its contingent. In distant Connecticut,
gallant old General Putnam heard the news while plowing. Prompt as
when he dragged the wolf from its den, he unyoked his oxen, left his
plow in the furrow, and, leaping to his saddle, galloped to the fray.
Fiery Ethan Allen, at the head of his Green Mountain Boys, was eager
to march, but paused to execute that marvelous enterprise which
secured for the patriot cause the formidable fortresses of Ticonderoga
and Crown Point, with all their military stores. Day by day the
multitude increased, until thirty thousand men were encamped around
Boston, from Charlestown Neck to Dorchester.
31. From the evening of the Lexington fight General Gage was shut up
in Boston. The patriots kept a strict guard on every road, and no
parties were permitted to pass out or provisions to pass in. All
supplies for the town came by sea. The officers chafed under the
enforced inactivity. They would be done with the ignoble work of
defense behind fortifications. They longed for an opportunity to
regain the prestige lost on that fatal nineteenth of April. But
General Gage was too wise a commander to risk the safety of his army,
so he held the impatience of his officers in check and awaited events.
32. The patriot leaders were equally impatient. The enthusiasm of the
moment must be turned to good account. The men were all unused to
living in camps, and were peculiarly exposed to camp diseases and camp
vices. Discipline had not yet counteracted the demoralizing tendencies
of army life. The different divisions of the army were ranged under
favorite local leaders, and while there was some show of order there
was little or no concert of action. It was now the middle of June. Two
months had elapsed since Lord Percy was driven back into Boston. All
means to lure General Gage from the town had failed, and an aggressive
movement was devised. It was resolved to take a new position
threatening the town and the shipping in the port. The place selected
was the highland on the Charlestown peninsula known as Bunker Hill,
and the time fixed upon for the enterprise the night of June 16th.
33. Eight hundred men armed with shovels and picks assembled at six
o'clock. The movement was known to be a perilous one, and every man
felt that he took his life in his hand. President Langdon, of Harvard
College, offered prayer with the ancient Puritan fervor. Colonel
Prescott took command of the military operations and Colonel Gridley
conducted the engineering. In early evening they set out. The march
was in profound silence. With suppressed breathing and stealthy tread
they made their way--an army of ghosts entering the land of shadows.
But the grim faces of the officers and the clinched hands of the men
showed more than ghostly purpose. About midnight the march ceased.
Clear in the starlight they could see British ship and camp, and could
hear the sentinel proclaim, "All is well." A redoubt eight rods
square was laid out, and these eight hundred husbandmen bent their
seasoned muscles to the work. The embankment grew up in the darkness,
and at day-break its six feet of height amply protected the workers
within.
34. In the American camp all was excitement and expectation.
Supporting parties were organized, supplies hurried up, and means for
re-enforcement and retreat provided. It was now that the fatal
weakness of the patriot organization was made manifest. Different
leaders had notions inconsistent with each other, and divided councils
led to indecisive action. The brunt of the coming engagement was left
to one tenth of the patriot forces. Scarred veterans scented the
battle from afar, and hastened to the front to share the danger and
the glory. With no command, officers were content to act as volunteers
and handle muskets. Putnam, with military foresight, took charge of
the line of communication, and with true farmer instinct he converted
two rail-fences and a field of new-mown hay into a line of serviceable
breastworks reaching across Charlestown Neck into the country.
35. At day-break the astonished Britons gazed upon this vision of the
night. A moment's pause, then instantaneous, rapid action. That
nocturnal growth threatened their very lives. Those audacious and
insolent rebels must be swept from existence. Without orders the
Boston battery at Copp's Hill opened upon the redoubt as soon as it
was discovered. Ships in the bay poured in furious broadsides. The
cannonade awoke Boston from her slumbers. Citizens half dressed rushed
into the streets. Every roof and steeple that commanded a view of the
scene was soon crowded with anxious spectators, who remained there
during the livelong day. Patriot and royalist mingled, and fierce
passions and wordy wars accompanied the progress of the conflict
outside. Exultation at patriot success was often too great to be
suppressed, and wild cheers sounded from the house-tops and echoed
through the streets.
36. So passed the forenoon. The little band on the hill, protected by
the earth-works, worked on with speed and safety. The hurtling masses
of iron aimed at their destruction either buried themselves in the
yielding earth or passed overhead without injury. One man only paid
with his life the penalty of his curiosity in looking over the
breastworks. An early luncheon was served and then work again. But
even iron muscles have their limit of endurance, and the earth-walls
grew less rapidly as the day wore on, until at high noon work
altogether ceased.
37. But what of the enemy! By this time they are aware of the
uselessness of their cannonade. Other and stronger measures must be
taken, and that on the instant. The military renown gained on so many
battle-fields must not be lost in a conflict with rude peasants--the
best point of vantage in a general war must not be lost to the king.
Every sentiment of ambition and loyalty urged to action. A ship
dropped down the river and took position to command Charlestown Neck.
But the rail-fence and the new-mown hay resisted the shock, and the
American line remained unturned. Rough old Putnam's foresight became
an important factor in the day's conflict.
38. Suddenly the drum's loud beat and the shrill scream of the fife
startled all hearts into a fiercer life. The notes, with no tremor of
fear, rang out sonorous, triumphant. For centuries such notes had led
Britons to victory, and to-day British soldiers will do or die. Four
thousand grenadiers, under Lord Howe, march down to the shore with the
quick, elastic tread of soldiers upon a holiday excursion. In that
resolute front and precision of movement there was little to raise the
spirits or inspire hope in the hearts of the thousands of patriotic
observers who were watching the movements with feverish anxiety. In
perfect order they embark, and in perfect order they land upon the
Charlestown shore. In their advance toward the silent redoubt no line
wavered and no step faltered, though every man was aware of the
fearful peril before him.
39. Within the little earth-work all was activity and expectation.
Pomeroy, Stark, Putnam came to help--not to dictate. At the last
moment General Warren, from the State Committee of Safety, unable to
conceal his anxiety, came and took his place in the ranks. These
officers all outranked Colonel Prescott, but neither of them would
take the command from the officer who had proved himself capable and
worthy of it. Shovels and picks gave place to rifles and muskets, and,
as experienced eyes glanced along the death-dealing tubes, grave
smiles lit up rugged faces at the thought of the welcome the enemy
would soon receive. "Be steady! Be firm!" is the parting injunction of
Putnam, as he takes his way to his command at the rail-fence. "We must
conquer or die," is the sentiment of Warren, as he grasps the musket
of a common soldier, showing to the last that noble patriotism which
makes his name so dear to all who love their country. "Keep cool. Wait
until you see the color of their eyes! Aim at their red coats. Pick
off their commanders!" are the fiery last commands of Prescott, as the
scarlet column moved up the hill. Each soldier is in place, each eye
unflinchingly is fixed on the enemy, and each right hand is pressed
upon the musket, ready for the supreme moment.
40. The batteries, which had been covering the advancing columns,
ceased as they neared the summit. An ominous silence succeeded the
tumult of the preceding hours. No sound is heard but the short, quick
words of command in the British ranks, and the steady tread of the
marching files. The space had diminished to a few rods, and still a
grave-like silence wrapped the redoubt. At the last moment had the
hearts of the patriots failed? Did the near approach of the red-coats
deprive them of their courage? By the double-quick, forward march!"
rang out from the British lines. A sudden rush, and one deafening
volley! Was it lightning from heaven that struck down every man in
their first rank? Was it the earthquake's shock that left those long
lines of dead heaped like grass before the mower's scythe? The rear
ranks, paralyzed by the terrible disaster, held their ground, but no
human courage could withstand the fire that blazed fierce and
merciless from the redoubt. A moment's pause, and then a wild,
headlong flight to the sheltering boats on the shore.
41. As shouts of triumph went up from thousands of sympathizing
hearts, the contending forces were in a state of intense activity.
Within the breastworks Prescott, cool, deliberate, masterful, watched
every detail and directed every action. Warren, Stark, and Pomeroy put
soul into every movement. Putnam defended his own line, and sent the
good news outward to cheer the thousands who had taken no part in the
contest, and to urge immediate re-enforcements. In the British
quarters new officers took the place of those who lay stretched on the
hill-side; the men were rallied and reformed; new regiments came over
from Boston, and again four thousand men breasted the hill and marched
up to the breastworks with colors flying and drums beating. This time
they were permitted to come within the reach of friendly greeting,
when again a solid sheet of flame leaped forth from the breastworks,
again covering the earth with the dead. The rear columns for a few
moments stood fast, but nothing could withstand that hail of shot
aimed to take life, and again they fled to the shore.
42. The day was wearing on. It was now five o'clock. If the Americans
can hold on until the friendly darkness sets in, they may retain
possession of Charlestown and force the British to evacuate Boston.
General Ward was at Cambridge, trying in vain to secure order in time
for action. General Knox ranged up and down the lines, frantically
urging the men to follow him to the fray. Putnam, blazing with
excitement and fully comprehending the danger, was everywhere
animating and urging on the fresh troops. Now he sent almost frantic
appeals for powder; now he implored the men in reserve to move at
once, and now he rallied his own men to repel the attack upon his own
lines. A considerable force was at last rallied to march, but upon
reaching Charlestown Neck the firing from the British ships was so
deadly that they dared not venture to cross. In the redoubt was the
courage of despair. The powder had given out, and for many of the
muskets only a single cartridge remained to meet the coming charge.
But all remained firm while the sun slowly sunk in the west.
43. After their second repulse, the force under Lord Howe, cowed and
demoralized, refuse to again advance into the jaws of death. The idea
is gaining ground that the rebel position is impregnable, and that a
wise policy demands that no more blood shall be shed in a vain
endeavor to reduce it. The impetuous Sir Henry Clinton refuses to take
this view of the situation, and his counsels are heeded. Every
military resource at the command of General Gage is now brought into
requisition. All the ships in the harbor are ordered to direct their
fire upon the fort and the line of communication. New batteries are
erected by competent engineers to sweep through the outer breastworks
and render them untenable. The reserve forces are ordered up, and
every available man is in the ranks. The charge must now be made on
every side and the little band of eight hundred literally crushed by
numbers. All this and the final charge must be made within the few
hours of remaining daylight, or British power is forever at an end in
America.
41. At last all preparation ends and the time for action arrives. Shot
from the new batteries drive the defenders with severe loss within
their interior defenses. The advance of the swarming enemies is met
with a feeble, scattering fire in place of the volleyed death of the
previous charges. Showers of stones and blows from clubbed muskets
greet those who first mount the ramparts; but nothing could resist the
last desperate bayonet charge of the British. The defenders of the
fort slowly and sullenly retired before the overwhelming numbers of
their adversaries. At the last moment Major Pitcairn meets his death,
and thus expiates as far as possible his bloody orders at Lexington.
At nearly the same moment General Warren, in the very rear of the
retreating troops, is shot, sealing with his life his devotion to his
country. That the retreating Americans were not annihilated was due to
the rail-fence of General Putnam, and to his skill in holding the
enemy in check while the flying fugitives found safety in the country.
45. The battle of Bunker Hill is ended. The cross of St. George flies
over Prescott's redoubt. Four hundred and fifty patriots and fifteen
hundred Britons are killed, wounded, and missing. Eighty-nine British
officers--numbers unprecedented--sleep in the dust. Patriot courage
and endurance are found to equal patriot enthusiasm. Technically the
battle is lost; morally it is won. Where Warren fell a nation is born.
The Fourth of July records the fact--Yorktown attests the record. A
nation is born--from the Pilgrims inheriting love of freedom, from
stout Roger Williams toleration--a nation charged with the sacred
mission of organizing human rights upon the basis of human liberty.
End of Project Gutenberg's Ten Great Events in History, by James Johonnot