“Th’ imperious Briton, on the well-fought ground,
No cause for joy, or wanton triumph found,
But saw, with grief, their dreams of conquest vain,
Felt the deep wounds, and mourn’d their vet’rans slain.”
THE AMERICANS had made a show, in the course of that fearful morning, of returning the fire of their enemies, by throwing a few shot from their light field-pieces, as if in mockery of the tremendous cannonade which they sustained.* But as the moment of severest trial approached, the same awful stillness which had settled upon the deserted streets of Charlestown, hovered around the redoubt. On the meadows, to its left, the recently arrived bands hastily threw the rails of two fences into one, and covering the whole with the mown grass that surrounded them, they posted themselves along the frail defence, which answered no better purpose than to conceal their weakness from their adversaries. Behind this characteristic rampart, several bodies of husbandmen from the neighbouring provinces of New-Hampshire and Connecticut, lay on their arms, in sullen expectation. The line extended from the shore to the base of the ridge, where it terminated several hundred feet behind the works; leaving a wide opening in a diagonal direction, between the fence and an earthen breast-work, which ran a short distance down the declivity of the hill, from the north-eastern angle of the redoubt. A few hundred yards in the rear of this rude disposition, the naked crest of Bunker-hill rose unoccupied and undefended, and the streams of the Charles and Mystick sweeping around its base, approached so near each other as to blend the sounds of their currents. Across this low and narrow isthmus, the royal frigates poured a stream of fire, that never ceased, while around it hovered numerous parties of the undisciplined Americans, hestitating to attempt the dangerous passage.
In this manner Gage had, in a great degree, surrounded the devoted peninsula with his power; and the bold men who had so daringly planted themselves under the muzzles of his cannon, were left, as already stated, unsupported, without nourishment, and with weapons from their own gun-hooks, singly to maintain the honour of the nation. Including men of all ages and conditions, there might have been two thousand; but as the day advanced, small bodies of their countrymen, taking counsel of their feelings, and animated by the example of the old Partisan of the Woods, who crossed and recrossed the neck, loudly scoffing at the danger, broke through the fire of the shipping in time to join in the closing and bloody business of the hour.
On the other hand, Howe led more than an equal number of the chosen troops of his Prince; and as boats continued to ply between the two peninsulas throughout the afternoon, the relative disparity continued undiminished to the end of the struggle. It was at this point in our narrative that, deeming himself sufficiently strong to force the defences of his despised foes, the arrangements immediately preparatory to such an undertaking were made in full view of the excited spectators. Notwithstanding the security with which the English General marshalled his warriors, he felt that the approaching contest would be a battle of no common incidents. The eyes of tens of thousands were fastened on his movements, and the occasion demanded the richest display of the pageantry of war.
The troops formed with beautiful accuracy, and the columns moved steadily along the shore, and took their assigned stations under cover of the brow of the eminence. Their force was in some measure divided; one moiety attempting the toilsome ascent of the hill, and the other moving along the beach, or in the orchards of the more level ground, towards the husbandmen on the meadows. The latter soon disappeared behind some fruit-trees and the brick-kilns mentioned. The advance of the royal columns up the ascent was slow and measured, giving time to their field-guns to add their efforts to the uproar of the cannonade, which broke out with new fury as the battalions prepared to march. When each column arrived at the allotted point, it spread the gallant array of its glittering warriors under a bright sun.
“It is a glorious spectacle,” murmured the graceful chieftain by the side of Lionel, keenly alive to all the poetry of his alluring profession; “how exceeding soldier-like! and with what accuracy his ‘first-arm ascends the hill,’ towards his enemy!”
The intensity of his feelings prevented Major Lincoln from replying, and the other soon forgot that he had spoken, in the overwhelming anxiety of the moment. The advance of the British line, so beautiful and slow, resembled rather the ordered steadiness of a drill than an approach to a deadly struggle. Their standards fluttered above them, and there were moments when the wild music of the bands was heard, tempering the ruder sounds of the artillery. The young and thoughtless in the ranks turned their faces backward, and smiled exultingly, as they beheld steeples, roofs, masts, and heights, teeming with thousands of eyes, bent on their bright array. As the British lines moved in open view of the little redoubt, and began slowly to gather around its different faces, gun after gun became silent, and the curious artillerist, or tired seaman, lay extended on his heated piece, gazing at the spectacle. There was just then a minute when the roar of the cannonade seemed passing away like the rumbling of distant thunder.
“They will not fight, Lincoln,” said the animated leader at the side of Lionel—“the military front of Howe has chilled the hearts of the knaves, and the victory will be bloodless!”
“We shall see, sir—we shall see!”
These words were barely uttered, when platoon after platoon, among the British, delivered its fire, the blaze of musketry flashing swiftly around the brow of the hill, and was immediately followed by heavy volleys that ascended from the orchard. Still no answering sound was heard from the Americans, and the royal troops were lost to the eye as they slowly marched into the white cloud created by their own fire.
“They are cowed, by heavens—the dogs are cowed!” once more cried the gay companion of Lionel, “and Howe is within two hundred feet of them, unharmed!”
At that instant a sheet of flame glanced through the smoke, like lightning playing in a cloud, while at one report a thousand muskets delivered their fire. It was not altogether fancy which led Lionel to imagine that the smoky canopy of the hill waved as if the trained warriors it enveloped faltered before this close and appalling discharge; but in another instant, the stimulating war-cry, and the loud shouts of the combatants were borne across the strait to his ears, even amid the din of the combat. Ten breathless minutes flew by like a moment, and the bewildered spectators on Copp’s were still gazing intently on the scene, when a voice was raised among them, shouting—
“Hurrah! let the rake-hellies go up to Breed’s; the people will teach ’em the law!”
“Throw the scoundrel from the hill! Blow him from the muzzle of a gun!” cried twenty soldiers in a breath.
“Hold!” exclaimed Lionel—“’tis a simpleton, an idiot, a fool!”
But the angry murmurs as quickly subsided, and were lost in other feelings, as the bright red lines of the royal troops were seen issuing from the smoke, waving and recoiling before the vivid fire of their enemies.
“Ha!” said Burgoyne—“’tis some feint to draw the rebels from their hold!”
“’Tis a palpable and disgraceful retreat!” muttered the stern warrior nigh him, whose truer eye detected at a glance the discomfiture of the assailants—“’Tis another base retreat before rebels!”
“Hurrah!” shouted the reckless Job again; “there come the reg’lars out of the orchard too!—see the grannies skulking behind the kilns! Let them go on to Breed’s, the people will teach ’em the law!”
No cry of vengeance preceded the act, but fifty of the soldiery rushed, as by a common impulse, on their prey. Lionel had not time to utter a word of remonstrance, before Job appeared in the air, borne on the uplifted arms of a dozen men, and at the next instant he was seen rolling down the steep declivity, with a velocity that carried him to the water’s edge. Springing to his feet, the undaunted lad once more waved his hat in triumph, and shouted his offensive challenge. Then turning, he launched his canoe from its hiding place among the adjacent lumber, amid a shower of stones, and glided across the strait; his little bark escaping unnoticed in the crowd of boats that were rowing in all directions. But his progress was watched by the uneasy eye of Lionel, who saw him land and disappear, with hasty steps, in the silent streets of the town.
While this trifling by-play was enacted, the great drama of the day was not at a stand. The smoky veil which clung around the brow of the eminence, was lifted by the air, and sailed heavily away to the south-west, leaving the scene of the bloody struggle open to view. Lionel witnessed the grave and meaning glances which the two lieutenants of the king exchanged as they simultaneously turned their glasses from the fatal spot, and taking the one proffered by Burgoyne, he read their explanation in the numbers of the dead that lay scattered in front of the redoubt. At this instant, an officer from the field held an earnest communication with the two leaders, when, having delivered his orders, he hastened back to his boat, like one who felt himself employed in matters of life and death.
“It shall be done, sir,” repeated Clinton, as the other departed, his own honest brow knit under high martial excitement.—“The artillery have their orders, and the work will be accomplished without delay.”
“This, Major Lincoln!” cried his more sophisticated companion, “this is one of the trying duties of the soldier! To fight, to bleed, or even to die, for his prince, is his happy privilege; but it is sometimes his unfortunate lot to become the instrument of vengeance.”
Lionel waited but a moment for an explanation—the flaming balls were soon seen taking their wide circuit in the air, carrying desolation among the close and inflammable roofs of the opposite town. In a very few minutes a dense, black smoke arose from the deserted buildings, and forked flames played actively along the heated shingles, as if rioting in their unmolested possession of the place. He regarded the gathering destruction in painful silence; and on bending his looks towards his companions, he fancied, notwithstanding the language of the other, that he read the deepest regret in the averted eye of him who had so unhesitatingly uttered the fatal mandate to destroy.
In scenes like these we are attempting to describe, hours appear to be minutes, and time flies as imperceptibly as life slides from beneath the feet of age. The disordered ranks of the British had been arrested at the base of the hill, and were again forming under the eyes of their leaders, with admirable discipline, and extraordinary care. Fresh battalions, from Boston, marched with military pride into the line, and every thing betokened that a second assault was at hand. When the moment of stupid amazement which succeeded the retreat of the royal troops had passed, the troops and batteries poured out their wrath with tenfold fury on their enemies. Shot were incessantly glancing up the gentle acclivity, madly ploughing its grassy surface, while black and threatening shells appeared to hover above the work like monsters of the air, about to stoop upon their prey.
Still all lay quiet and immoveable within the low mounds of earth, as if none there had a stake in the issue of the bloody day. For a few moments only, the tall figure of an aged man was seen slowly moving along the summit of the rampart, calmly regarding the dispositions of the English general in the more distant part of his line, and after exchanging a few words with a gentleman who joined him in his dangerous look-out, they disappeared together behind the earthen banks. Lionel soon detected the name of Prescott of Pepperell, passing through the crowd in low murmurs, and his glass did not deceive him when he thought, in the smaller of the two, he had himself descried the graceful person of the unknown leader of the ‘caucus.’
All eyes were now watching the advance of the battalions, which once more drew nigh the point of contest. The heads of the columns were already in view of their enemies, when a man was seen swiftly ascending the hill from the burning town: he paused amid the peril, on the natural glacis, and swung his hat triumphantly, and Lionel even fancied he heard the exulting cry, as he recognised the ungainly form of the simpleton, before it plunged into the work.
The right of the British once more disappeared in the orchard, and the columns in front of the redoubt again opened with the imposing exactness of discipline. Their arms were already glittering in a line with the faces of the mound, and Lionel heard the experienced warrior at his side, murmuring to himself—
“Let him hold his fire, and he will go in at the point of the bayonet!”
But the trial was too great for even the practised courage of the royal troops. Volley succeeded volley, and in a few moments they had again curtained their ranks behind the misty skreen produced by their own fire. Then came the terrible flash from the redoubt, and the eddying volumes from the adverse hosts rolled into one cloud, enveloping the combatants in its folds, as if to conceal their bloody work from the spectators. Twenty times in the short space of as many minutes, Major Lincoln fancied he heard the incessant roll of the American musketry die away before the heavy and regular volleys of the troops, and then he thought the sounds of the latter grew more faint, and were given at longer intervals.
The result, however, was soon known. The heavy bank of smoke which now even clung along the ground, was broken in fifty places, and the disordered masses of the British were seen driven before their deliberate foes, in wild confusion. The flashing swords of the officers in vain attempted to arrest the torrent, nor did the flight cease with many of the regiments until they reached their boats. At this moment a hum was heard in Boston like the sudden rush of wind, and men gazed in each other’s faces with undisguised amazement. Here and there a low sound of exultation escaped some unguarded lip, and many an eye gleamed with a triumph that could no longer be suppressed. Until this moment the feelings of Lionel had vacillated between the pride of country and military spirit, but losing all other feelings in the latter sensation, he looked fiercely about him, as if he would seek the man who dare exult in the repulse of his comrades. The poetic chieftain was still at his side, biting his nether lip in vexation; but his more tried companion suddenly disappeared. Another quick glance fell upon his missing form in the act of entering a boat at the foot of the hill. Quicker than thought, Lionel was on the shore, crying as he flew to the water’s edge—
“Hold! for God’s sake, hold! remember the 47th is in the field, and I am its Major!”
“Receive him,” said Clinton, with that grim satisfaction with which men acknowledge a valued friend in moments of trial; “and then row for your lives, or what is of more value, for the honour of the British name.”
The brain of Lionel whirled as the boat shot along its watery bed, but before it had gained the middle of the stream he had time to consider the whole of the appalling scene. The fire had spread from house to house, and the whole village of Charlestown, with its four hundred buildings, was just bursting into flames. The air seemed filled with whistling balls, as they hurtled above his head, and the black sides of the vessels of war were vomiting sheets of flame with unwearied industry. Amid this tumult the English General and his companions sprung to land. The former rushed into the disordered ranks, and by his presence and voice recalled the men of one regiment to their duty. But long and loud appeals to their spirit and their ancient fame were necessary to restore a moiety of the former confidence to men who had been thus rudely repulsed, and who now looked along their thinned and exhausted ranks, missing in many instances more than half the well-known countenances. In the midst of the faltering troops stood their stern and unbending chief; but of all those gay and gallant youths who followed in his train as he had departed from Province-house that morning, not one remained, but in his blood. He alone seemed undisturbed in that disordered crowd; and his mandates went forth as usual, calm and determined. At length the panic, in some degree, subsided, and order was once more restored as the high-spirited and mortified gentlemen of the detachment regained their lost authority.
The leaders consulted together, apart, and the dispositions were immediately renewed for the assault. Military show was no longer affected, but the soldiers laid down all the useless implements of their trade, and many even cast aside their outer garments, under the warmth of a broiling sun, added to the heat of the conflagration which also began to diffuse itself along the extremity of the peninsula. Fresh companies were placed in the columns, and most of the troops were withdrawn from the meadows, leaving merely a few skirmishers to amuse the Americans who lay behind the fence. When each disposition was completed, the final signal was given to advance.
Lionel had taken post in his regiment, but marching on the skirt of the column, he commanded a view of most of the scene of battle. In his front moved a battalion, reduced to a handful of men in the previous assaults. Behind these came a party of the marine guards, from the shipping, led by their own veteran Major; and next followed the dejected Nesbitt and his corps, amongst whom Lionel looked in vain for the features of the good-natured Polwarth. Similar columns marched on their right and left, encircling three sides of the redoubt by their battalions.
A few minutes brought him in full view of that humble and unfinished mound of earth, for the possession of which so much blood had that day been spilt in vain. It lay, as before, still as if none breathed within its bosom, though a terrific row of dark tubes were arrayed along its top, following the movements of the approaching columns, as the eyes of the imaginary charmers of our own wilderness are said to watch their victims. As the uproar of the artillery again grew fainter, the crash of falling streets, and the appalling sounds of the conflagration, on the left, became more audible. Immense volumes of black smoke issued from the smouldering ruins, and bellying outward, fold beyond fold, it overhung the work in a hideous cloud, casting its gloomy shadow across the place of blood.
A strong column was now seen ascending, as if from out the burning town, and the advance of the whole became quick and spirited. A low call ran through the platoons, to note the naked weapons of their adversaries, and it was followed by the cry of “to the bayonet! to the bayonet!”
“Hurrah! for the Royal Irish!” shouted M’Fuse, at the head of the dark column from the conflagration.
“Hurrah!” echoed a well-known voice from the silent mound; “let them come on to Breed’s; the people will teach ’em the law!”
Men think at such moments with the rapidity of lightning, and Lionel had even fancied his comrades in possession of the work, when the terrible stream of fire flashed in the faces of the men in front.
“Push on with the ——th,” cried the veteran Major of Marines—“push on, or the 18th will get the honour of the day!”
“We cannot,” murmured the soldiers of the ——th; “their fire is too heavy!”
“Then break, and let the marines pass through you!”†
The feeble battalion melted away, and the warriors of the deep, trained to conflicts of hand to hand, sprang forward, with a shout, in their places. The Americans, exhausted of their ammunition, now sunk sullenly back, a few hurling stones at their foes, in desperate indignation. The cannon of the British had been brought to enfilade the short breast-work, which was no longer tenable; and as the columns approached closer to the low rampart, it became a mutual protection to the adverse parties.
“Hurrah! for the Royal Irish!” again shouted M’Fuse, rushing up the trifling ascent, which was but of little more than his own height.
“Hurrah!” repeated Pitcairn, waving his sword on another angle of the work—“the day’s our own!”
One more sheet of flame issued out of the bosom of the work, and all those brave men, who had emulated the examples of their officers, were swept away, as if a whirlwind passed along. The grenadier gave his war-cry once more and pitched headlong among his enemies; while Pitcairn fell back into the arms of his own child. The cry of ‘forward, 47th,’ rung through the ranks, and in their turn this veteran battalion mounted the ramparts. In the shallow ditch Lionel passed the dying marine, and caught the dying and despairing look from his eyes, and in another instant he found himself in the presence of his foes. As company followed company into the defenceless redoubt, the Americans sullenly retired by its rear, keeping the bayonets of the soldiers at bay with clubbed muskets and sinewy arms. When the whole issued upon the open ground, the husbandmen received a close and fatal fire from the battalions which were now gathering around them on three sides. A scene of wild and savage confusion succeeded to the order of the fight, and many fatal blows were given and taken, the mêlée rendering the use of fire-arms nearly impossible for several minutes.
Lionel continued in advance, pressing on the footsteps of the retiring foe, stepping over many a lifeless body in his progress. Notwithstanding the hurry, and vast disorder of the fray, his eye fell on the form of the graceful stranger, stretched lifeless on the parched grass, which had greedily drank his blood. Amid the ferocious cries, and fiercer passions of the moment, the young man paused, and glanced his eyes around him with an expression that said, he thought the work of death should cease. At this instant the trappings of his attire caught the glaring eye-balls of a dying yeoman, who exerted his wasting strength to sacrifice one more worthy victim to the manes of his countrymen. The whole of the tumultuous scene vanished from the senses of Lionel at the flash of the musket of this man, and he sunk beneath the feet of the combatants, insensible of further triumph, and of every danger.
The fall of a single officer, in such a contest, was a circumstance not to be regarded, and regiments passed over him, without a single man stooping to inquire into his fate. When the Americans had disengaged themselves from the troops, they descended into the little hollow between the two hills, swiftly, and like a disordered crowd, bearing off most of their wounded, and leaving no prisoners in the hands of their foes. The formation of the ground favoured their retreat, hundreds of bullets whistling harmlessly above their heads; and by the time they gained the acclivity of Bunker’s, distance added to their security. Finding the field lost, the men at the fence broke away in a body from their position, and abandoned the meadows; the whole moving in confused masses behind the crest of the adjacent height. The shouting soldiery followed, pouring in fruitless and distant volleys; but on the summit of Bunker the tired platoons were halted, and they beheld the throng move fearlessly through the tremendous fire that enfiladed the pass, as little injured as if most of them bore charmed lives.
The day was now drawing to a close. With the disappearance of their enemies, the ships and batteries ceased the cannonade, and presently not a musket was heard in that place where so fierce a contest had so long raged. The troops commenced fortifying the outward eminence on which they rested, in order to maintain their barren conquest, and nothing further remained for the royal lieutenants but to go and mourn over their victory.
* The Americans used no artillery in the battle, as there was a mistake in fitting the ammunition. [1832]
† This circumstance, as, indeed, most of the others, is believed to be accurately true. [1832]