And such a deadly fire, perhaps, was never before made; and, when the smoke rolled off, such a sight was perhaps never before seen. The hill-side was covered with the slain. The ranks of the British were broken, and confusion appeared on every side. The British officers attempted to rally their troops. In this, they succeeded so far as to induce them to fire; but, evidently appalled at the fearful and unexpected carnage, they turned, and fled down the hill.
"Following this repulse, there was an ominous pause," says a writer, "like the lull that sometimes interrupts the wildest tempest, only broken by the occasional discharge of artillery from the ships and batteries." It was not, however, of long duration. A second attack was decided upon, and orders issued again to advance. Meanwhile, a deep silence brooded over the American lines, all being intent upon the devastation which had been made, and watching for the future movements of the enemy which had been so signally repulsed. Their success had greatly exceeded their own expectations, and served to inspire them with still more confidence in a second rencontre which they might now momently expect. In the first attack, they had been directed to reserve their fire until the enemy had approached within eight rods; now they must wait until the enemy should approach within six rods.
While the British troops were advancing, suddenly a new spectacle burst upon the eyes of the tens of thousands who were looking on from every neighboring eminence, which greatly added to the sublimity of the scene.
Annoyed in his first attack upon the American redoubt, by the fire of a detachment stationed at Charlestown, General Howe had given directions to fire that town, both by way of revenging the injury he had sustained, and, also, the more to distract the Americans during his second attack, to which he was now advancing. In furtherance of this object, a large quantity of combustibles had been conveyed from Boston, and a detachment of marines, from the Somerset, been landed to set them on fire. The work of conflagration was now commenced. Dense and dark clouds of smoke rose over the town, and at length enveloped the whole peninsula; through this smoke, columns of flame shot up, and flashed in every direction. The fire spread with fearful rapidity from house to house, and from street to street. At length, the flames reached the church, and, climbing its lofty steeple, converted it into a blazing pyramid. The beams, supporting the bell, were burned in sunder, upon which it fell, and while falling, its pealing sounds were distinctly heard by hundreds, uniting with crackling flames and crashing edifices in enhancing the dreadful magnificence of the day.
It was in the midst of a scene of desolation like this—by which property to the amount of one hundred and twenty thousand pounds sterling was destroyed, six hundred buildings consumed, and two thousand people rendered houseless—the two opposing forces were preparing for another sanguinary rencontre. The British general was leading on his troops, as cool and undisturbed as if they had met with no repulse. They opened their fire by platoons, and apparently at random, yet not entirely without effect. Colonels Nixon and Brewer were borne wounded from the works. A ball through his shoulder rendered Colonel Backminster a cripple for life. Major Moore received a shot through the thigh; soon after which, a second ball pierced his body, which subsequently proved mortal.
The Americans had been charged to reserve their fire till the enemy were within six rods. The success which had attended their former delay, now enabled them the more cheerfully to yield obedience to orders, a compliance with which had, in the first instance, seemed nearly impossible. At length, the enemy reached the prescribed distance, when the anticipated words, "Make ready! Take aim! Fire!" were heard in a voice like thunder—and, in an instant, hundreds of men, including a surprising number of principal officers, were seen prostrated in the dust. The fire proved even more destructive than in the first attack. General Howe was left nearly alone, almost every officer of his staff being either killed or wounded. So sweeping had been the destruction, that the ranks were fatally broken, and a second time orders were issued for the British army to make good their retreat.
An interesting incident is related, as having occurred immediately following the fire of the Americans. Among the British officers who escaped the terrible destruction, was Major Small; but, so fatal had been the fire, that scarcely was there a man left near him. Consequently, his superior dress rendered him a more conspicuous object. Several riflemen had marked him—had indeed raised their guns, and were in the act of levelling them, when Putnam recognised Major Small, and perceived the imminent danger he was in. A moment longer, and his early friend, with whom he had served in the French war, and for whom he cherished an unfeigned regard, would be in the agonies of death. He sprang upon the parapet, and rushed immediately before the levelled rifles, exclaiming: "My gallant comrades! spare, spare that officer! we are friends; we are brothers. Do you not remember how we rushed into each others' arms, at the meeting for the exchange of prisoners?" The appeal, it needs scarcely be added, was successful. Every rifle was instantly lowered; every bosom glowed with the generous emotions which filled that of the high-souled Putnam; nor was one feeling of regret indulged, as the gallant British officer retired unharmed.
