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