The night was dark, but the stars shone bright, and by their light Colonel Prescott and another officer, Major Brooks, stole down to the shore to observe the enemy, where they were reassured by the "All's well" from the British sentries on board the ships off shore.
All was not well--for them--most assuredly; but it was not until the morning mists rolled away from the rounded summits of the hills in front that they found it out. Then they might well gaze in wrath and wonder, beholding that work as if of enchantment going on before them, on that hill-top within short cannon-shot of their shipping. But they did not spend much time in rubbing their eyes and in vain speculation, being well assured at a glance that the "rascally American militia" had stolen a march upon them in the night and brought all their plans to naught.
A brisk cannonade was opened from the war-ships upon the weary, toiling men in the entrenchment; but they still worked on, incited to their utmost by the gallant Prescott, who himself is said to have lent a hand with pick and shovel. General Putnam's predictions as to their coolness under fire were more than verified, and had he been there then he would have been surprised at their indifference to the cannonading now going on so furiously. One man only was killed in this preliminary firing, and he had strayed outside the breastwork.
"Man killed, what shall we do with him?" asked a subaltern of Prescott.
"Bury him," was the laconic answer; and buried he was, in the ditch, while the work on the redoubt went on.
General Putnam was not on the hill when the cannon-fire began, having gone back to camp to change his tired horse for a fresher one; for his gait, says the historian, was always fast and furious. At the first report, however, he pricked up his ears and sent to Commander Ward for another horse; but before his orderly returned, he had procured still another and was already on his way to Charlestown. He had tried to procure for his men not only reenforcements but refreshments, for they had taken with them only one day's rations. In this he was disappointed, General Ward refusing to send over any more men, at that time, believing the British would take advantage of his weakened force to make a direct attack upon the main army at Cambridge. But when, having arrived at the hill, Putnam conversed with Prescott and noted the necessitous condition of the men, he again mounted and in hot haste rode back to Cambridge, with an urgent plea to the commander for assistance.
This time it was not refused, and again gallant Putnam rode across Charlestown Neck, at the risk of his life, to take part in the coming conflict.
Meanwhile, there was a great commotion in the British camps, and from their place of vantage on Breed's Hill the patriots could see the gathering soldiers marching for the shore. General Gage had quickly called a council, which instantly decided that the patriots must be dislodged at whatever cost. As the prescient Putnam had foretold, the occupation of a hill so near their lines made their position untenable.
They must move out or fight, and not even Putnam believed they would retreat from their snug quarters in Boston town. He knew well what was coming, and was not at all surprised to see, gathering beneath the blazing morning sun of the torrid day that had succeeded to a sultry night, the thousands of redcoats, armed and equipped for battle.
After informing the anxious soldiers on the hill of the promised succor to arrive, Putnam rode along the lines and, casting his eye over the situation, perceived that it would be a grave strategic omission to neglect to entrench the hill in the rear, which was the original object of their advance. As the main redoubt was then practically completed, and the men were resting from their toil, he ordered the entrenching tools to be taken to Bunker Hill, and another work begun which might serve as a "rallying place" in case they were compelled to retreat--as undoubtedly they would be. This entrenchment was begun but never finished, owing to the lack of time. Had it been completed, and had the men been able to avail of its defenses, there might have been a different tale to tell of the final finish at Bunker Hill. But noon had now arrived, the British frigates and floating batteries were by this time not only raining shot like hail upon and around the redoubt, but sending a scathing fire across the Neck, under cover of which barge-loads of soldiers were landing on the peninsula preparatory to an advance.
Noon came, but not the reenforcements which had been promised by General Ward, so General Putnam "seized the opportunity of hastening to Cambridge, whence he returned without delay. He had to pass a galling enfilading fire of round, bar, and chain shot, which thundered across the Neck from a frigate in the Charles River, and two floating batteries hauled close to the shore," wrote one who had conversed with eye-witnesses of this scene. The neck, or narrow passage-way between the Charles and Mystic Rivers, was only about one hundred and thirty yards across and exposed to that terrible cannonade; yet over it flew the reckless rider, coat off, in shirt-sleeves, an old white hat on his head; back and forth he rode, fearless and unscathed. The great painter Trumbull, who produced the celebrated picture of the Battle of Bunker Hill, which has excited the admiration of thousands, represented General Putnam conspicuously placed in that scene, but arrayed in an immaculate uniform, with ruffles and frills, and such like accessories which "Old Put" would have spurned.
Still, the _man_ was there, if not the uniform. His appointment as major-general was dated two days after that memorable 17th of June; but he was then, as brigadier-general, the ranking officer present, until brave Warren appeared upon the scene. The latter was discovered by Putnam just as he was wheeling about after meeting and posting the gallant Colonel Stark and his New Hampshire reenforcements behind the rail fence and grass breastwork, where they gave such a good account of themselves that day. Turning about, he saw the slender figure of the newly-made major-general before him, a sword at his side, but a musket on his shoulder.
"What, Warren, you here?" he is said to have exclaimed. "I am sorry to see you ... but I'm ready to submit myself to your orders."
"No, no, I came only as a volunteer," replied Warren. "Tell me where I can be most useful."
Pointing to the redoubt, Putnam said, "You will be protected there."
"I am not seeking a place of safety," rejoined Warren with warmth; "tell me where the onset will be most furious."
"There," answered Putnam. "That will be the enemy's object. Prescott is there and will do his duty; if that can be defended, the day will be ours."
The shouts of the soldiers announced to Putnam the arrival of Warren in their midst, and not long after another cheer proclaimed the arrival of an old friend and comrade of his, Colonel Seth Pomeroy, a veteran of the Indian wars, who, twenty years before, had succeeded to the command of Colonel Ephraim Williams's regiment at the battle of Lake George. He had been aroused by the tidings from the seat of war, and though, like Putnam, he lived nearly or quite a hundred miles away, he had hastened to be in the thick of the fight. He had borrowed a horse from General Ward, but, with characteristic Yankee caution, had left it the other side of the Neck, in charge of a sentry, and had walked over, amid the hail of shot from the frigates and batteries.
Pomeroy and Putnam would have made a good pair to represent Valor and Intrepidity, were statues desired for those noble qualities. When Putnam saw him he cried out: "You here, Pomeroy? By God! a cannon-shot would waken you out of your grave!" He was in his seventieth year, having been born in 1706, and twelve years Putnam's senior.
So they gathered, the young and the old, the learned doctor and the practical mechanic, for the defense of Freedom--a magnet that drew both Pomeroy and Warren to that since-famous redoubt on the summit of Breed's Hill. They offered their services to Colonel Prescott, and he gladly accepted them, demurring as to Warren, and tendering him the command, which was his by right of rank. But the patriot simply said, as before, that he had come to fight as a volunteer, and at once mingled with the men within the redoubt.
The movements of the British were slow, and mid-afternoon had arrived before the agonizing suspense was over and they began their advance up the hill. The eager Americans were hardly to be kept behind their earthworks, much less restrained from firing at the advancing foe, as the solid ranks came marching up the acclivity, ominously silent, with deadly intent. But Putnam was with them, riding slowly up and down the lines.
"Don't waste your powder, boys," he shouted. "Wait for orders, then fire low, take aim at their waistbands. Aim at the handsome coats, pick off the commanders!" They did as commanded, only a few anticipating orders, and at the fatal command, "Fire!" the ranks in front of them melted away like snow before the sun.
It was the same at the breastwork as at the redoubt, and at the second or third volley the remaining redcoats broke and fled promiscuously down the hill. It was not in the nature of even the bravest men to march to certain destruction, and General Howe had difficulty in re-forming his defeated troops for a second assault; but on they came, the intrepid Howe in advance and on foot, until within even a shorter distance of redoubt, breastwork, and rail fence, when a sheet of flame burst forth that carried all before it to destruction.
The scene outspread from the hill was perfectly appalling, and, to add to the terrors of thunderous artillery, from frigates, floating batteries and field-pieces, clouds of smoke came pouring out from Charlestown, which had been set on fire, enveloping the contestants, at first, in semi-obscurity. It was the intention of the British, in setting fire to Charlestown, to veil their movements as they marched up the hill; but this was frustrated by the rising wind, which carried the smoke aloft and away.
In the second advance, as in the first, the soldiers were led by General Howe, who seemed, like Putnam, to bear a charmed life, at this time having all his staff officers killed or wounded but one. For the Provincials had strictly obeyed Putnam's orders, to pick off the men in handsome coats. He himself was touched to the heart.
"Oh, my God, what carnage!" he cried, as he saw his former friends and comrades fall before the withering blast. Seeing several of his men aiming their pieces at the only officer remaining unhurt, he darted forward and struck up their muskets, exclaiming: "For God's sake, lads, don't fire at that man! I love him as I do my brother." It was Major Small, a former companion of the Indian wars, who owed his life to Putnam's intervention, and who afterward tried to requite the favor--though vainly--when brave Warren fell, by entreating him to surrender.
The sword with which Old Put struck up the muskets of his men was always visible in the thickest of the fight, waving in air, descending with resounding whacks--the flat of it--upon recreant soldiers' shoulders; held threateningly against the breast of cowardly artillerymen, when, their cartridges proving inadequate, they were about abandoning their guns.
The little field-pieces were too puny to do much harm, but they counted for something, Putnam said, as he tore a cartridge in pieces and, ladling the powder and canister into the gun, aimed and discharged it into the advancing ranks of the foe, with effect. But all was of no avail. The Americans had good cause to believe the enemy had had enough; but Putnam knew the foe and cautioned them against overconfidence. True to his predictions, they reformed for a third charge upon the hill, led, as before, by the gallant Howe, and this time, as the Provincials had nearly exhausted their supply of ammunition, they were forced to extremities.
Yet nearer than before, the British were allowed to approach, and, with their artillery enfilading the redoubt and the breastwork with deadly effect, the brave Provincials waited till they were within twenty yards before they fired their last rounds into the foe. Then they clubbed their muskets, dashed stones into the faces of the foe, fighting hand to hand, as the British poured over the earthworks in a stream. Seeing his forlorn position, Prescott ordered a retreat, and his men sullenly obeyed, fighting to the last, stubbornly contesting every foot.
Down below, on the slope near the Neck, was the infuriated Putnam, doing his utmost to urge forward the belated reenforcements. When he saw the onpouring mass of men in retreat he was wild with rage. "Halt, you infernal cowards!" he yelled. "Halt here and make a stand. We can stop them yet!" But he was overborne by the resistless stream, and with an impious imprecation on his lips he dismounted, near a field-piece, "and seemed resolved to brave the foe alone." One man only, a sergeant, took his stand beside him, but he was soon shot down, and brave Old Put was left without support. "The enemy's bayonets were just upon him when he retired," probably the last unwounded warrior to retreat from Bunker Hill!
CHAPTER XIII
HOLDING THE ENEMY AT BAY
The battle had been fought, and had resulted even better than the then enraged Putnam himself could have anticipated, for although technically defeated, the Provincials had achieved a real victory, the fruits of which were to be enjoyed by generations then unborn. For they had conquered themselves as well as the enemy, whom they had met with calm confidence; and had they been better supplied with ammunition, that enemy would never have seen the inside of the redoubt and the breastworks.
British bayonets defeated them finally, as opposed to clubbed muskets and stones cast by despairing men, whose very last thought was of retreat. Many and many a man besides Prescott and Putnam, Stark and Pomeroy, Knowlton and McClary, raged like wolves that day at its ending, to find themselves compelled to accept a retreat as the alternative of capture or death. Like lions making for their lairs in the hills, Prescott and Putnam gave way at last before the overwhelming forces of the enemy; and, after passing through the storm of cannon-balls still hurtling across the Neck, they had leisure to count up their losses; for the British were too exhausted, too much in awe of their prowess, even, to pursue.
It was a very good showing for green troops, that which told the respective losses of British and Americans: more than a thousand of the former, as against less than five hundred of the latter. Each side lost, in killed and wounded, about one-third the total number of its men, for the British brought about four thousand five hundred troops into the field; while the Americans in active conflict, including such reenforcements as reached the hill, scarcely exceeded fifteen hundred.
A very good showing, a "great victory"--yet purchased at fearful cost to both sides. A host of British officers, many of them bearing names distinguished for valor and honorable lineage, went down before the volleys of the Provincials, while the latter had also a sorrowful tale to tell. Warren had fallen, one of the last to leave the redoubt; old Pomeroy had his musket shattered, but drew off in good order, taking it along with him for repairs; McClary was killed by a cannon-ball, while boasting that the shot was not cast that would end his life; and so the story went.
One of the strangest happenings was the end of Major Pitcairn, who had ordered the first shots fired at Lexington, and who, one of the first over the redoubt, was killed by a negro soldier named Salem, falling into the arms of his son. It came about, some time after, that the pistols he had carried at Lexington (which were taken from his holsters when his horse was shot under him, and he lay on the ground feigning himself dead) were presented to General Putnam. He carried them through all his subsequent campaigns, and at present they may be found in the custody of the Library at Lexington.
One field-piece only was saved out of six guns taken by the Provincials into battle, and it was near the last one left in the field that the enraged Putnam took his stand, between his retreating men and the advancing foe, until "his countrymen were in momentary expectation of seeing this compeer of the immortal Warren fall."
That was Putnam: one of the first in the field, the last to leave it. We have seen (as all his biographers and many historians have agreed in stating) that he took a most active part throughout, exposing himself continually to the shots of the enemy, guiding, directing, leading; and that no man's commands were so eagerly received and so promptly obeyed as his. And yet there are cavilers who have raised the question as to whether he or Prescott commanded at the battle of Bunker Hill--as though it mattered much. Both were sons of Massachusetts, and Putnam an adoptive son of Connecticut, fighting on Massachusetts soil.
It is certain that neither he nor Prescott gave a thought to this matter, especially at the time the balls flew thickest.[2] They may have had differences of opinion, as, for instance, when Putnam attempted to take away some of Prescott's men from the redoubt to throw up earthworks on Bunker Hill. Subsequent events proved that Putnam's scheme of defense was the right one, and only lack of time and men prevented its being carried out.
[Footnote 2: "Putnam," says Irving, in his Life of Washington, "also was a leading spirit throughout the affair; one of the first to prompt and the last to maintain it. He appears to have been active and efficient at every point, sometimes fortifying, sometimes hurrying up reenforcements; inspiriting the men by his presence while they were able to maintain their ground, and fighting gallantly at the outpost to cover their retreat."]
As soon as once assured that the defeat of the Provincials was overwhelming, Putnam lost no time in entrenching at Prospect Hill, the first spot at which he could halt his fleeing troops. Here he stayed, working like a beaver and digging like a badger, and this strategic position, which he had seized and selected almost intuitively, he continued to occupy until appointed to the command of the center division of the army at Cambridge, where, on July 2, 1775, he for the first time met General Washington, who had come with his appointment as Commander-in-Chief recently received from the Continental Congress.
Not long after formally taking command of the army, beneath the historic elm at Cambridge, Washington made a tour of the fortifications and was astonished at the progress Putnam had made at Prospect Hill, as well as at the military skill he had shown in taking and fortifying it. Two days later he presented him with his commission as a _Major-General_ in the Continental Army, which had been unanimously bestowed by Congress on the 19th of June, two days after the battle of Bunker Hill, and which he received on the 4th of July. Putnam's commission was the only one then presented in person by Washington, though three others had been appointed major-generals under him: Lee, Ward, and Schuyler. A great deal of jealousy and heart-burning resulted from the appointments, one of the brigadiers, General Spencer, over whom Putnam had been advanced, threatening to resign.
In these days began the friendship which existed between the Commander-in-Chief and Major-General Putnam during the remainder of their lives. Putnam's honesty, industry, frankness, and integrity interested General Washington, who was delighted with this bluff old soldier who wore his laurels so modestly. "You'll find," wrote a contemporary to a friend, "that Generals Washington and Lee are vastly fonder and think higher of Putnam than any man in the army; and he truly is the hero of the day!"
On the 6th of July, 1775, the Continental Congress sent out its formal Statement, which was read at headquarters in Cambridge on the 15th, and to Putnam's division, then at Prospect Hill, on the 18th. At the same time the new standard recently sent from Connecticut was unfurled, to the acclaim of a mighty "_Amen!_" and the thunder of cannon from the fort. The commotion aroused the British in their dearly-bought stronghold over at Charlestown. In the language of the Essex Gazette, proclaiming this event: "The Philistines on Bunker Hill heard the shouts of the _Israelites_, and being very fearful, paraded themselves in battle array."
Putnam's bold stand at Prospect Hill, so promptly taken and so stoutly maintained, kept the enemy within the territory they had purchased with the blood of their best soldiers, and they never advanced any farther into the country they coveted. The lines of investment around Boston were drawn closer and made more nearly impregnable, yet weeks and months went by without any material change in the relative positions of British and Provincials, save that Putnam still kept on digging, and creeping nearer and nearer to the foe. By fortifying Cobble Hill, an elevation that more completely commanded the Charles than his main fortress at Prospect Hill, Putnam was enabled to open fire upon the British men-of-war and floating batteries, and soon silenced and drove them away. Not satisfied with this achievement, a few days later his men were at work upon an entrenchment within half a mile and under the fire of a British man-of-war, a squad of these intrepid soldiers being commanded by his eldest son, Israel.
The British were now alarmed, and doubtless believed, in the language of a writer commenting on these events, that "every fort which was defended by General Putnam might be considered as impregnable, if daring courage and intrepidity could always resist superior force."
Still, while the British feared to advance upon the Americans, the latter, though eager to drive them out of their stronghold, were unable to do so from lack of artillery and ammunition. This lack was to some extent supplied by the capture of some ordnance ships by our gallant privateers, though as late as January, 1776, one of the Provincial colonels wrote to another: "The bay is open; everything thaws here except Old Put. He is still as hard as ever, crying out for _powder--powder_--ye gods, give us powder!"
Cannon-balls, several hundred of them, he had secured (if we may credit a story told at the time) by conspicuously posting some of his men on an elevation in front of a sandy hill in sight of a British war-ship, from which by this ingenious ruse he drew a rain of shot, which supplied his needs for the time being, as they were afterward easily dug out of the sand!