Bunker Hill: A City, A Siege, A Revolution Part 15

Just a quarter mile to the south lay the wharves of Boston, with Admiral Graves's fleet of warships anch.o.r.ed in the waters in between and, even more menacing, the mammoth cannons of the Copp's Hill battery pointed in their direction. To place a fort overlooking Charlestown on Breed's Hill-right in the figurative face of the British-was an entirely different undertaking than had been ordered by the Committee of Safety. Instead of a defensive position, this was an unmistakable act of defiance. A fort built here, especially one equipped with provincial cannons that could rake British shipping and the Boston waterfront, invited a forceful response from the British army. Given the provincials' almost nonexistent reserves of gunpowder, this was not what the Committee of Safety had in mind. But this was where Prescott, Putnam, and Gridley began to build the fort.

We will never know exactly why they arrived at this decision. According to the only account we have of what transpired among the three officers that night, Gridley, the engineer, and one of the other officers wanted to begin by fortifying Bunker Hill, but "on the pressing importunity" of the third officer, they started with Breed's Hill instead. Given Putnam's aggressive personality-he was the one, after all, who led the brazen march down to the Charlestown waterfront back in May-many have a.s.sumed that he browbeat the others into disregarding Ward's orders and building the fort in a place that General Gage could not ignore. But as the events of the following day revealed, Prescott was just as forceful, if not more so, than Putnam, who appears to have been there only as a volunteer. No matter whose idea it was, Prescott was in charge of the operation and was therefore the one who a.s.sumed ultimate responsibility for the location of the fort. In the day to come he would fight with a ruthless, often inspiring ferocity, but that did not change the fact that dysfunction came to define a battle that was ultimately named-perhaps appropriately, given its befuddled beginnings-for the wrong hill. As John Pitts later wrote to Samuel Adams, "Never was more confusion and less command."

And so they began. Around midnight, with only four hours between them and the approach of morning, Gridley began to sketch out the contours of a quadrangular fort on Breed's Hill. In addition to pickaxes and shovels, the men had been provided with fascines (cylindrical bundles of brushwood), gabions (cages filled with rocks or soil), and empty barrels that were used to build the fort's earthen walls, the two longest of which stretched approximately 132 feet and met to form a west-facing V. A ditch surrounded the roofless, fully enclosed fort, known technically as a redoubt, which could be accessed from the rear, east-facing wall by what was called a sally port.

The redoubt (which means, ironically enough, "place of retreat") was about as simple a structure as could be designed but still required hours of backbreaking labor to build. They wanted their efforts to remain a secret for as long as possible. Unfortunately, only a few hundred yards away were several men-of-war, floating cities of sailors whose watches stood on the decks gazing across the warm, unruffled harbor. The absence of wind meant that the sounds of shovels and pickaxes banging against rocks and pebbles echoed unimpeded across the dark emptiness toward Boston. Fearful that they were about to be discovered, Prescott sent a group of sixty men, which included that devout veteran of the Battle of Chelsea Creek, Amos Farnsworth, down into the empty village of Charlestown to act as sentinels. Those who were not patrolling the waterfront were told to wait in the town house and, Farnsworth recorded, "not to shut our eyes." Prescott's concern was so great that he descended the hill several times that night to make sure they were still undetected. He later told his son about how relieved he felt when he heard the watch aboard the sloop-of-war Lively report, "All's well."

As it turned out, they were detected. General Henry Clinton, living in John Hanc.o.c.k's house on Beacon Hill, was having trouble sleeping that night. So he went for a walk along the northern margins of Boston and quickly realized that something was going on in the direction of Charlestown. He could hear it-the unmistakable sounds of digging. He stood either on a wharf or, more likely, on a well-positioned hill and stared into the darkness through his spygla.s.s. Sure enough, he "saw them at work."

He rushed to Province House and awakened Thomas Gage. In an early-morning meeting with Gage and Howe, Clinton urged "a landing in two divisions at day break." Howe appeared to think it was a good idea, but as he so often did when presented with a plan for immediate action, Gage demurred. They would wait to see what the light of day revealed.

It came gradually-the brightening of the sky in the east toward the islands of Boston Harbor, the fading of the stars overhead into a gray, increasingly bluish sky, and then the sudden realization that they were digging a fortification that might very well become their collective grave. When the provincial soldiers paused to look around, they could now see that instead of being set back on the distant height of Bunker Hill, they were here, on the little knoll of Breed's Hill, overlooking Charlestown. Peter Brown of Westford, Ma.s.sachusetts, was appalled. He estimated that they were surrounded by eight cannon-equipped ships, along with "all Boston fortified against us." "The danger we were in," he wrote to his mother in Newport, Rhode Island, "made us think ... that we were brought there to be all slain, and I must and will venture to say that there was treachery, oversight, or presumption in the conduct of our officers."

In front of them was Charlestown, tucked into the side of the hill and the harbor. To the east was the sweep of an easy slope that ran down to a thirty-five-foot sh.o.r.eside b.u.mp known as Morton's Hill. There were some fences, some swampy ground, and the clay pits of a brick kiln, but nothing of any substance to prevent an army of regulars from landing at the tip of the peninsula and attacking from their unprotected left. Here they were-all by themselves, already exhausted and sleep-deprived, with no one to support them.

Just as this terrifying realization began to settle in, they saw a bud of flame erupt from the side of one of those nearby warships, followed by a soul-shattering roar and the hissing smack of a cannonball as it buried itself in the dirt. It was the sloop-of-war Lively, and soon enough, another cannonball was flying through the air in their direction. It was mesmerizing, the way you could see the black dot arc lazily through the cloudless sky, all the while knowing that it was going to land somewhere near where you were standing. The officers a.s.sured the men that while the cannons made plenty of noise, they were, in actuality, surprisingly ineffective when it came to killing soldiers. It was time to get back to work and finish the fort.

On the third, perhaps the fourth, shot one of those black dots proved the officers wrong. Thirty-five-year-old Asa Pollard of Billerica was working in front of the redoubt when a four-inch-diameter cannonball weighing nine pounds divided his head from the rest of his body. This was more than many of these young recruits could stand. They asked Colonel Prescott what they should do with their friend's headless corpse. A minister offered to say a few words before Pollard was committed into the ground, but Prescott insisted that he be buried immediately and that they continue to work on the fort. The minister seems to have succeeded in conducting an impromptu service, but it was Prescott who soon had his men's attention.

He leaped onto the parapet of the redoubt, and as cannonb.a.l.l.s continued to sizzle through the air, he urged the men on. He had a three-cornered hat on his head, and "strutting backward and forward" with a long evening coat (known as a banyan) swirling about him like a colorful cape, he pulled the hat off his head and, waving it in the air, shouted at the British warships below them, "Hit me if you can." It was a most inspiring display of courage, and yet what one veteran later remembered was how all the hat-waving had somehow displaced Prescott's pigtail so that "it hung over his right shoulder, giving him a quite ludicrous appearance."

Prescott had fought with such distinction during the French and Indian War that he had been offered a commission in the British army-an offer he was quite happy to refuse. An anger smoldered inside Prescott, who appears to have had no patience with Israel Putnam's nostalgic fondness for the British officers with whom he had fought in Canada. A few months earlier, his brother-in-law Abijah Willard, a loyalist, had warned him "that his life and estate would be forfeited for treason" if he took up arms against Britain. "I have made up my mind on that subject," Prescott replied, "I think it probable I may be found in arms, but I will never be taken alive."

Prescott could see that they were dreadfully open to attack on the left. They needed to build an earthen wall that ran more than 150 feet to the east, where it would connect with a virtually impa.s.sable swamp. If men were posted behind that wall, the British would have a much harder time surrounding them.

By this point, Gridley, the engineer, had, in Prescott's words, "forsook me." A brief lull in the firing from the Lively gave Prescott the chance to draw out the dimensions of the wall in the dirt, and soon his men were at it once again-digging a deep ditch and piling up the dirt into what came to be known as "the breastwork."

But as the cannon fire resumed and the sun climbed in the sky and exhaustion and thirst began to erode what little enthusiasm Prescott had been able to muster, the men started to wonder once again about what they'd gotten themselves into. In addition to artillery fire from the Lively and the other men-of-war, the battery on Copp's Hill, less than a mile away and with cannons that fired b.a.l.l.s that, at twenty-five pounds, were more than twice as heavy as those from the Lively, now had its big guns trained on Prescott's redoubt. "Some of our country people [started to] desert," Peter Brown wrote, "apprehending the danger in a clearer manner than the rest, who were more diligent in digging and fortifying ourselves against the [enemy]. We began to be almost beat out, being tired by our labor and having no sleep the night before, but little victuals, no drink but rum."

Some of Prescott's officers insisted that it was time to request reinforcements. After building the fort, these men could not be expected to defend it. They must send a messenger to General Ward in Cambridge. But Prescott was adamant. They were the ones who had built these walls, "and they should have the honor of defending them." No reinforcements were necessary.

There may have been more than a little defensiveness in Prescott's refusal to seek aid. If they had been where they were supposed to be-on Bunker Hill-there would have been no need for reinforcements. They would have been beyond the effective range of the British battery. They would have also been much closer to the relative safety of Cambridge. There would have been none of this drama and angst-just a lot of digging. That was why General Ward had made no apparent preparations for a possible battle on June 17. But Prescott had changed everything. Whether it was a result of, as Private Peter Brown wrote, "treachery, oversight, or presumption," Prescott had stirred up a hornet's nest by building this lonely redoubt, and he was reluctant to admit that he now needed help.

Finally it was decided; they must seek a.s.sistance. But there was a problem. No one had a horse. And so, just after 9:00 a.m., Major John Brooks, a twenty-three-year-old doctor from Medford, began the three-and-a-half-mile walk to Cambridge.

By that time the British had a plan. Soon after daybreak, Gage had conducted a meeting with Clinton, Howe, and Burgoyne in Province House to discuss the best way to deal with the new patriot fort. Clinton was for mounting a two-p.r.o.nged attack. While Howe led a frontal a.s.sault against the redoubt, he would venture up the Mystic River by boat with five hundred regulars, and after landing at Charlestown Neck, attack from the rear. If Gage had agreed to this plan, Clinton would have, a fellow officer later claimed, "shut them up in the peninsula as in a bag... . They must have surrendered instantly or been blown to pieces." But as Gage pointed out, this would have placed Clinton in an exceedingly risky position. All it would take was a provincial a.s.sault from Cambridge to trap him and his small force between two armies.

Howe had what Gage considered to be a far less risky plan. As they could all plainly see, the redoubt was almost totally exposed to an a.s.sault from the American left. By capitalizing on this glaring vulnerability, Howe proposed to envelop the redoubt and attack it from several sides simultaneously. With the exception of Clinton (who lamented that "my advice was not attended to"), the other officers agreed that Howe's plan was a sound one.

Before it could be put in place, the regulars had to be a.s.sembled at Long Wharf and the North Battery for transportation across the harbor to Morton's Point on the eastern tip of the peninsula. With high tide scheduled for around three in the afternoon, they would aim to coordinate the a.s.sault with the tide.

At some point that morning, Howe met with Admiral Graves. It was essential that the ships' cannons provide the troops with an effective covering fire; they also wanted to be sure to pound the redoubt as unmercifully as possible, even as they did everything in their power to prevent provincial reinforcements from crossing the Neck onto the Charlestown peninsula. Graves's largest vessels, the Boyne and Somerset, could not elevate their guns high enough to fire on the heights of Breed's Hill, and they were too big to approach Charlestown Neck. This left the Lively, whose guns had begun the fighting, the Glasgow, the Symmetry, and the much smaller Falcon and Spitfire, which were all positioned around the southern and western sides of the peninsula. The causeway of a milldam provided a barrier to the vessels approaching the Neck from the Charles River, but with the aid of two raftlike gondolas, each equipped with a twelve-pound cannon, they should be able to make the Neck a very hot place for any provincial reinforcements.

Gage would spend most of the day in Province House, but that morning he ventured out to inspect the American fort for himself. With the help of his spygla.s.s he could see a man standing on the parapet of the redoubt, about a thousand yards away as the cannonball flies. Beside Gage was the loyalist Abijah Willard. Handing Willard his telescope, Gage asked if could recognize the man standing so promiscuously on the fort. The distance was probably too great to see his face, but the banyan may have tipped Willard off. By G.o.d, it was his brother-in-law, William Prescott.

"Will he fight?" Gage asked.

"Yes, sir," Willard replied. "He is an old soldier and will fight as long as a drop of blood remains in his veins."

Around 10:00 a.m. Major John Brooks arrived in Cambridge after the long walk from Charlestown. He immediately reported to General Ward at Hastings House. The ever-cautious commander in chief found himself in an impossible position. Prescott had disobeyed orders and built a fort within easy cannon shot of the British, and now he needed reinforcements in antic.i.p.ation of a British attack. But who was to say the British were not going to stay with their original plan and move on Dorchester and Roxbury on the other side of Boston? And then there was the possibility of an amphibious a.s.sault not on Charlestown but on Cambridge. He must wait to see what the British were up to before he could send a sizable force to support Prescott.

But no matter what the British did, the Americans had to face a most distressing reality. The army had very little gunpowder. The Committee of Safety was then in session at Hastings House, and they sent out a desperate plea to David Cheever on the Committee of Supplies. Although they had just received thirty-six half barrels of powder from Connecticut, there were only twenty-seven half barrels in the provincial magazine. There was apparently no more powder available from the towns. And as John Brooks had recently discovered, horses were also very difficult to come by. The Committee of Safety (the ent.i.ty that functioned as the province's executive body) was without the express riders required to communicate effectively with its own army, which was scattered across a ten-mile perimeter around Boston.

Making matters even worse, the committee's chairman, Dr. Joseph Warren, was nowhere to be found. The night before, Warren had frightened many of his colleagues with wild words about joining Prescott and his men on Bunker Hill. But that was before one of the headaches he had been known to suffer required him to retire to a darkened room and await the pa.s.sing of the incapacitating pain. Warren had done a heroic job of holding the province together over the last two months, but even he, apparently, had his limits. Delegating responsibility had never been his forte, and with Warren out of commission, no one seemed willing to act.

Finally, Committee of Safety member Richard Devens made a decision. They must reinforce Prescott. With Ward's reluctant approval, they would send all, not just some, of the New Hampshire regiments led by James Reed and John Stark to the Charlestown peninsula. Reed's men were housed near Charlestown Neck and Stark's were in Medford, and with luck they would reach Prescott by the middle of the afternoon.

One of the few provincials with a horse was General Israel Putnam. Already, he had ridden at least twice from Bunker Hill to Cambridge and back. Having partic.i.p.ated in the discussion the night before about where to build the redoubt, he was now obsessed with the need to build a fortification on Bunker Hill. Otherwise Prescott's men would have nowhere to fall back to in the event of a British attack. What Putnam did not have, however, were entrenching tools.

By about noon, it seemed as if Prescott had finally finished his redoubt and breastwork. Putnam decided it was time that he and some of Prescott's men carry the tools up to Bunker Hill. But Prescott would have none of it. Already, he had lost a significant number of men to desertion. The British cannon fire had been unremitting. In fact, one of his most trusted officers, Captain Ebenezer Bancroft, a fellow French and Indian War veteran, had been blinded in one eye by the shock wave of a cannonball that had narrowly missed his head. Prescott told Putnam that "if he sent any of the men away with the tools, not one of them would return." Putnam a.s.sured him that "every man [shall] return" and left with the tools and a considerable number of soldiers, none of whom, it turned out, ever made their way back to Breed's Hill.

Not long after Putnam's departure, an artillery captain belatedly arrived at the redoubt with several fieldpieces. Unfortunately, Colonel Gridley had made no provision for cannons in the redoubt. Normal procedure was to build embrasures-openings for cannons in the fort's earthen walls-but that had apparently escaped Gridley's attention during the tense discussions the night before. Making it even worse, they were now without any digging tools.

Prescott ordered Captain Bancroft and his men to dig an embrasure by hand. They went at it with a will, but soon realized that their bleeding fingers were not up to the task. But Bancroft had an idea. He ordered the artillery captain to load his fieldpiece and blast a hole through the wall of the redoubt, and soon enough a cannon could be seen protruding from the redoubt on Breed's Hill.

By 1:30 p.m., the first wave of British boats had been loaded with regulars at Long Wharf and the North Battery and had begun to row across the harbor toward the Charlestown peninsula. Generals Clinton and Burgoyne had positioned themselves at the battery on Copp's Hill. They were not the only spectators that day. All around them, on the top of every hill, roof, and steeple, the inhabitants of Boston looked to the north.

They were a community in the sky, their eyes trained across a quiet and, except for the warships, empty harbor in the boiling sun, looking toward a hilly peninsula and an unoccupied town that was almost the mirror image of their own. Cannons boomed from the battery and the surrounding ships, and now they could see the boats, twenty-eight of them, rowing across in two parallel lines of fourteen each, with bra.s.s fieldpieces in the forwardmost boats and between thirty and forty regulars in each one of the others, their musket barrels glittering in the sun.

The fighting at Lexington and Concord had been fierce, but one could claim, as Timothy Pickering Jr. had done, that April 19 amounted to nothing more than yet another misunderstanding between Britain and her American colonies that had gotten out of hand. The fighting at Lexington and Concord had occurred, by and large, offstage, only visible to the Bostonians as a distant cloud of dust and powder smoke moving across the countryside to Charlestown. But the fighting today was going to be different. Already the big guns of the warships and the battery on Copp's Hill had been filling the air with sound and smoke, but that was just a prelude. Much more than a skirmish, this was going to be a true battle, unfolding with a painstaking deliberation before their very eyes as Howe's red-clad army rowed slowly across the blue and sparkling harbor toward a green hill where the provincials were, the Reverend Andrew Eliot wrote, "up to their chins entrenched."

Colonel Jones of the Fifty-Second Regiment appears to have been standing with Clinton and Burgoyne on Copp's Hill. "I have seen many actions," he wrote, "but the solemn procession preparative to this, in embarking the troops in the boats, the order in which they rowed across the harbor, their alertness in making good their landing, their instantly forming in front of the enemy and marching to action, was a grand sight to all concerned."

Hovering over the awful beauty of the scene was a most disturbing question. What if Howe and his regulars were defeated? The question would have seemed laughable just a few months before, but after the humiliation of April 19 and the equally embarra.s.sing loss of the Diana at the mouth of Chelsea Creek, the shade of a doubt had entered the minds of more than a few British officers. Despite his bold talk about "elbowroom" back in May, Burgoyne could not help but speculate that a loss today might mean "a final loss to the British Empire in America."

Somehow it had come to this: a battle that could very well determine the fate of the English-speaking world. And here they now were, on rooftops and on hills-a city of loyalists, patriots, soldiers, and refugees-awaiting the outcome.

CHAPTER TEN

The Battle

Captain John Chester of Wethersfield, Connecticut, had just finished his midday dinner in Cambridge. It was about 1:00 p.m. "I was walking out from my lodgings," he remembered, "quite calm and composed and all at once the drums beat to arms and bells rang and a great noise in Cambridge." Suddenly Putnam's son Israel Jr. rode up "in a full gallop." Chester asked, "What is the matter?" "Have you not heard?" Putnam cried. "Why the regulars are landing in Charlestown, and father says you must all meet and march immediately to Bunker Hill."

Amid the shouts and ringing bells and beating drums, Chester ran back to his quarters and retrieved his musket and ammunition. Then it was on to the Anglican church that served as a barracks for his men, who were "mainly ready to march." But they had a problem. Unlike virtually all the other provincial soldiers, Chester's company from Wethersfield had uniforms; in fact, they looked so good in their red-trimmed blue coats that a week before they'd been given the honor of accompanying Warren and Putnam on a prisoner exchange that had involved several convivial hours with a group of equally well-dressed British officers and their men. But now the uniforms were a liability. Wearing a bright blue coat amid an army of slovenly farmers was tantamount to having a target on your back. So before they headed for Bunker Hill, they put "our frocks and trousers on over our other clothes ... for we were loath to expose ourselves."

Provincial officials now knew that the British were about to attack the redoubt, but what about Roxbury and Cambridge? The Committee of Safety sent a desperate message to General Thomas. "The troops are now landing at Charlestown from Boston," it read. "You are to judge whether this is designed to deceive or not. In haste [we] leave you to judge of the necessity of your movements." Handwringing and paralysis had gripped the command center in Cambridge. Making this hesitancy all the more frustrating was the ambiguity of many of the orders issued from Hastings House. A series of three entrenchments had been built beginning at the Cambridge sh.o.r.e of the Charles River. For some reason, Putnam's second-in-command, Lieutenant Colonel Experience Storrs, was sent up the river to Fort No. 1, the farthest from the action at Charlestown. By the time Storrs realized where he was needed most, it was too late to be of any help. To the bafflement of the provincial soldiers already stationed there, Colonel James Scammon and his men from Maine ended up at Lechmere's Point. Not till three that afternoon would Captain John Chester and his soldiers, already overheated in their double-layered clothes, be on their way to Charlestown.

Howe had ordered his troops to land at the tip of Morton's Point, far to the east of Prescott's position atop Breed's Hill. There were only enough boats to transport half the regulars, and Howe and Brigadier Robert Pigot, who was to command the left wing, arrived with the second wave of troops, which brought the total to about sixteen hundred soldiers. Standing atop Morton's Hill, Howe could see the earthen redoubt and breastwork to his left, but there was also something else. To the right, back a bit from the American fort, was a new line of provincial soldiers.

It was as if they had read his mind. Antic.i.p.ating a British flanking movement from their own left, they were now busily constructing an obstruction of some sort that would extend their lines across the width of the peninsula to the Mystic River. This was disturbing. Howe decided to call up his seven-hundred-man reserve. The regulars already a.s.sembled on the Charlestown peninsula broke ranks, sat down to eat some dinner, and waited for the reserves.

Soon after Howe's troops set out by boat from Boston, Prescott decided to make an attempt, even if it was a halfhearted one, to oppose the enemy's landing-and the way to do that was with cannons. So far, however, the provincial artillery had proven to be shockingly ineffectual.