will, deluge that part of the world (which it lays hold of) in blood."

The British Annual Register of 1775 said: "The fate of Charlestown was also a matter of melancholy contemplation to the serious and unprejudiced of all parties. It was the first settlement made in the colony, and was considered as the mother of Boston, that town owing its birth and nurture to emigrants of the former. Charlestown was large, handsome, and well built, both in respect to its public and private edifices; it contained about four hundred houses, and had the greatest trade of any port in the province, except Boston. It is said that the two ports cleared out a thousand vessels annually for a foreign trade, exclusive of an infinite number of coasters. It is now buried in ruins. Such is the termination of human labor, industry, and wisdom, and such are the fatal fruits of civil dissensions."

I thus have attempted to present the chief incidents of this memorable battle. It is its connection with the cause of American liberty that gives such an importance to this occasion, and such an interest to its minute details. In conclusion, I cannot forbear to extract the following reflections contained in an article of the October number of the North American Review of 1818, which is understood to be from the pen of Hon. Daniel Webster:

"No national drama was ever developed in a more interesting and splendid first scene. The incidents and the result of the battle itself were most important, and indeed most wonderful. As a mere battle, few surpass it in whatever engages and interests the attention. It was fought on a conspicuous eminence, in the immediate neighborhood of a populous city; and consequently in the view of thousands of spectators. The attacking army moved over a sheet of water to the assault. The operations and movements were of course all visible and all distinct. Those who looked on from the houses and heights of Boston had a fuller view of every important operation and event than can ordinarily be had of any battle, or than can possibly be had of such as are fought on a more extended ground, or by detachments of troops acting in different places,

REFLECTIONS ON THE BATTLE.

205

and at different times, and in some measure independently of each other. When the British columns were advancing to the attack, the flames of Charlestown (fired, as is generally supposed, by a shell) began to ascend. The spectators, far outnumbering both armies, thronged and crowded on every height and every point which afforded a view of the scene, themselves constituted a very important part of it.

"The troops of the two armies seemed like so many combatants in an amphitheatre. The manner in which they should acquit themselves was to be judged of, not, as in other cases of military engagements, by reports and future history, but by a vast and anxious assembly already on the spot, and waiting with unspeakable concern and emotion the progress of the day.

"In other battles the recollection of wives and children has been used as an excitement to animate the warrior's breast and nerve his arm. Here was not a mere recollection, but an actual presence of them, and other dear connections, hanging on the skirts of the battle, anxious and agitated, feeling almost as if wounded themselves by every blow of the enemy, and putting forth, as it were, their own strength, and all the energy of their own throbbing bosoms, into every gallant effort of their warring friends.

"But there was a more comprehensive and vastly more important view of that day's contest than has been mentioned, a view, indeed, which ordinary eyes, bent intently on what was immediately before them, did not embrace, but which was perceived in its full extent and expansion by minds of a higher order. Those men who were at the head of the colonial councils, who had been engaged for years in the previous stages of the quarrel with England, and who had been accustomed to look forward to the future, were well apprised of the magnitude of the events likely to hang on the business of that day. They saw in it not only a battle, but the beginning of a civil war of unmeasured extent and uncertain issue. All America and all England were likely to be deeply concerned in the consequences. The individuals themselves, who knew full well what agency they had had in bringing affairs to this crisis, had need of all their courage; - not that

disregard of personal safety, in which the vulgar suppose true courage to consist, but that high and fixed moral sentiment, that steady and decided purpose, which enables men to pursue a distant end, with a full view of the difficulties and dangers before them, and with a conviction, that, before they arrive at the proposed end, should they ever reach it, they must pass through evil report as well as good report, and be liable to obloquy as well as to defeat.

war.

"Spirits that fear nothing else, fear disgrace; and this danger is necessarily encountered by those who engage in civil Unsuccessful resistance is not only ruin to its authors, but is esteemed, and necessarily so, by the laws of all countries, treasonable. This is the case at least till resistance becomes so general and formidable as to assume the form of regular war. But who can tell, when resistance commences, whether it will attain even to that degree of success? Some of those persons who signed the Declaration of Independence in 1776 described themselves as signing it 'as with halters about their necks.' If there were grounds for this remark in 1776, when the cause had become so much more general, how much greater was the hazard when the battle of Bunker Hill was fought!"

"These considerations constituted, to enlarged and liberal minds, the moral sublimity of the occasion; while to the outward senses, the movement of armies, the roar of artillery, the brilliancy of the reflection of a summer's sun from the burnished armor of the British columns, and the flames of a burning town, made up a scene of extraordinary grandeur."

SCENES IN BOSTON.

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CHAPTER VIII.

The Environs of Boston fortified. The Continental Army established. Description of the American Camp.

THE extraordinary news of the battle of Bunker Hill naturally created astonishment and alarm; and the day following -Sunday, June 18-was characterized around Boston by exciting rumor, intense anxiety, and painful suspense. A circular of the committee of safety, stating that the British troops were moving into the country, and calling upon the militia to march forthwith to Cambridge, though soon countermanded, served to increase the excitement. The militia promptly repaired to the camp. Thousands accompanied them, to verify the great reports, or to learn the fate of friends, or to aid in preventing further inroads of the enemy. The roar of the British cannon had not ceased. Mrs. Adams writes: "It began on Saturday morning about three o'clock, and has not ceased yet, and it is now three o'clock Sabbath afternoon." A shower came up during the afternoon, when there was a cessation of the cannonade. It was believed, however, that the British would move out of Boston. Mrs. Adams continues: "It is expected they will come out over the Neck to-night, and a dreadful battle must ensue. Almighty God! cover the heads of our countrymen, and be a shield to our dear friends."

In Boston, there was hardly less distress or less alarm. The remains of the gallant officers, the hundreds of as gallant privates, that were borne through the streets, together with the lamentations of the mourners, made up heart-rending scenes. They had a depressing effect upon all. It was in vain the soldiers called to mind their victory, if victory it could be called. The officers felt that it was purchased at too dear a price, and there was an air of dejection in their looks. This dejection was seen also in the men. Bitter were the reflections that were cast on the policy that had cut down the

flower of the troops. A disagreeable murmur now (June 25) runs through the army, which ever most disagreeably invades the general's ears." Again the officers and the royalists dreaded the vengeance of the exasperated people, and felt apprehensive that the town would be attacked, and be burnt over their heads. The Tories again established a night patrol, forty-nine each night, to relieve the troops of this duty. Two hundred volunteered in this work. General Gage issued (June 19) an ill-natured proclamation. He stated that the selectmen and others had repeatedly assured him that all the inhabitants had delivered up their fire-arms, though he had at the same time advices to the contrary; and that he had since full proof that many had been perfidious in this respect, and had secreted great numbers. He required those who had any "immediately to surrender them at the court-house," and he declared "that all persons in whose possession any fire-arms might hereafter be found should be deemed enemies to his majesty's government." The British general had no intention of marching out of Boston. His main object was selfpreservation, to prevent a surprise, and to strengthen his defences.

Charlestown presented (June 18) melancholy evidence of the complicated horrors of the battle-field. A few persons were allowed to visit it from Boston. The smoke of its dwelling-places still rose on the air; the dying and the dead still lay upon its hills. Among the details of the scene is the statement that ninety-two bodies were counted on the line of the rail fence protection.' General Howe spent the preceding night on the heights, and his troops lay on their arms. He was placed in the command of this post, which he continued to hold until General Gage was recalled. He was immediately supplied with additional troops. On the night of the 17th he commenced a breast work on the north-western declivity of Bunker Hill, and stationed two regiments, the 47th and 52d, in the main street from the burying-ground to the Neck. Subsequently regular working parties, relieved every four hours, labored night and day in throwing up defences. Gen1 The description of the scenes in Boston, Charlestown, and the neighborhood, is derived from diaries and letters of 1775.