The right wing of the Americans was flanked by the houses of Charlestown, which they occupied; and the part of this wing, which was connected with the main body, was defended by the redoubt erected upon Breed's Hill. The centre, and the left wing, formed themselves behind the trench, which, following the declivity of the hill, extended towards, but without reaching, Mystic River.

The American officers, observing that the weakest part of their line was precisely this extremity of the left wing,for the trench not extending to the river, and the land in this place being smooth and nearly level, there was danger of that wing's being turned, and attacked in the rear,caused the passage, between the extreme left and the river, to be obstructed, by setting down two parallel palisades, or ranges of fence, and filling up the space between them with new-mown grass.

The troops of Massachusetts occupied Charlestown, the redoubt, and a part of the trench; those of Connecticut, commanded by Captain Nolten, and those of New Hampshire, under Colonel Starke, the rest of the trench. A few moments before the action commenced, Doctor Warren,-a man of great authority, and a zealous patriot,-who had been appointed general, arrived with some re-enforcements. General Pomeroy made his appearance at the same time. The first joined the troops of his own province, Massachusetts; the second took command of those from Connecticut. General Putnam directed in chief, and held himself ready to repair to any point where his presence should be most wanted.

The Americans had no cavalry. Their artillery, without being very numerous, was, nevertheless, competent. They wanted not for muskets; but the greater part of these were without bayonets. Their sharp-shooters, for want of rifles, were obliged to use common firelocks; but as marksmen they had no equals. Such were the means of the Americans; but their hope was great, and they were all impatient for the signal of combat.

Between mid-day and one o'clock, the heat being intense, all was in motion in the British camp. A multitude of sloops and boats, filled with soldiers, left the shore of Boston, and stood for Charlestown: they landed at Moreton's Point, about half a mile south-east of the summit of Breed's Hill, without meeting resistance; as the ships of war and armed vessels effectually protected the debarkation by the

fire of their artillery, which forced the enemy to keep within his intrenchments.

This corps consisted of ten companies of grenadiers, as many of light infantry, and a proportionate artillery; the whole under the command of Major-general Howe and Brigadier-general Pig'ot. The troops, on landing, began to display, the light infantry upon the right, the grenadiers upon the left-but, having observed the strength of the position, and the good countenance of the Americans, General Howe made a halt, and sent for a re-enforcement.

LESSON CXXVIII.

The same, concluded.

ON being re-enforced, the English formed themselves in two columns. Their plan was, that the left wing, under General Pigot, should attack the rebels in Charlestown, while the centre should assault the redoubt, and the right wing, consisting of light infantry, force the passage near the River Mystic, and thus assail the Americans in flank and rear; which would have given the English a complete victory. It appears, also, that General Gage had formed the design of setting fire to Charlestown, when evacuated by the enemy, in order that the corps destined to assail the redoubt, thus protected by the flame and smoke, might be less exposed to the fire of the provincials.

The dispositions having all been completed, the English put themselves in motion. The provincials that were stationed to defend Charlestown, fearing lest the assailants should penetrate between this town and the redoubt, and cut them off from the rest of the army, retreated. The left wing of the English army immediately entered the town, and fired the buildings: as they were of wood, in a moment the combustion became general.

The centre of the British force continued a slow march against the redoubt and trench; halting, from time to time, for the artillery to come up, and act with some effect, pre. vious to the assault. The flames and smoke of Charlestown were of no use to them, as the wind turned them in a contrary direction. Their gradual advance, and the extreme clearness of the air. permitted the Americans to level their

muskets. They, however, suffered the enemy to approach, before they commenced their fire; and waited for the assault in profound tranquillity.

It would be difficult to paint the scene of terror presented by the actual circumstances ;-a large town, all enveloped in flames, which, excited by a violent wind, rose to an immense height, and spread every moment more and more ;—an innumerable multitude, rushing from all parts, to witness so unusual a spectacle, and see the issue of the sanguinary conflict that was about to commence ;-the Bostonians, and soldiers of the garrison, not in actual service, mounted upon the spires, upon the roofs, and upon the heights;-and the hills, and circumjacent fields, from which the dread arēna could be viewed in safety, covered with swarms of spectators of every rank, and age, and sex; each agitated by fear or hope, according to the party he espoused.

The English having advanced within reach of musketry, the Americans showered upon them a volley of bullets. This terrible fire was so well supported, and so well directed, that the ranks of the assailants were soon thinned and broken: they retired in disorder to the place of their landing: some threw themselves precipitately into the boats.

The field of battle was covered with the slain. The officers were seen running hither and thither, with promises, with exhortations, and with menaces, attempting to rally the soldiers, and inspirit them for a second attack. Finally, after the most painful efforts, they resumed their ranks, and marched up to the enemy. The Americans reserved their fire, as before, until their approach, and received them with the same deluge of balls. The English, overwhelmed and routed, again fled to the shore.

In this perilous moment, General Howe remained for some time alone upon the field of battle: all the officers who surrounded him were killed or wounded. It is related, that, at this critical conjuncture, upon which depended the issue of the day, General Clinton, who, from Copp's Hill, examined all the movements, on seeing the destruction of his troops, immediately resolved to fly to their succour.

This experienced commander, by an able movement, reestablished order; and, seconded by the officers, who felt all the importance of success, to English honour and the course of events, he led the troops to a third attack. It was directed

against the redoubt, at three several points.

The artillery of the ships not only prevented all re-enforce

ments from coming to the Americans by the isthmus of Charlestown, but even uncovered and swept the interior of the trench, which was battered in front at the same time. The ammunition of the Americans was nearly exhausted, and they could have no hopes of a recruit. Their fire must, of necessity, languish.

Meanwhile, the English had advanced to the foot of the redoubt. The provincials, destitute of bayonets, defended themselves valiantly with the butt-ends of their muskets. But, the redoubt being already full of enemies, the American general gave the signal of retreat, and drew off his men.

While the left wing and centre of the English army were thus engaged, the light infantry had impetuously attacked the palisades, which the provincials had erected, in haste, upon the bank of the River Mystic. On each side the combat was obstinate; and, if the assault was furious, the resistance was not feeble.

In spite of all the efforts of the royal troops, the provincials, still maintained the battle in this part; and had no thoughts of retiring, until they saw the redoubt and upper part of the trench in the power of the enemy. Their retreat was executed with an order not to have been expected from new-levied soldiers.

This strenuous resistance of the left wing of the American army, was, in effect, the salvation of the rest; for, if it had given ground but a few instants sooner, the enemy's light infantry would have taken the main body and right wing in the rear, and their situation would have been hopeless. But the Americans had not yet reached the term of their toils and dangers. The only way that remained of retreat, was by the isthmus of Charlestown, and the English had placed there a ship of war and two floating batteries, the balls of which raked every part of it. The Ame ricans, however, issued from the peninsula without any considerable loss. * * * *

The possession of the peninsula of Charlestown was much less useful than prejudicial to the royalists. Their army was not sufficiently numerous to guard, conveniently, all the posts of the city and of the peninsula. The fatigues of the soldiers multiplied in an excessive manner; and, added to the heat of the season, which was extreme, they generated numerous and severe maladies, which paralyzed the movements of the army, and enfeebled it from day to day. The greater part of the wounds became mortal, from the influence of the climate, and the want of proper food.

Thus, besides the honour of having conquered the field of battle, the victors gathered no real fruit from this action, and, if its effects be considered, upon the opinion of other nations, and even of their own, as also upon the force of the army, it was even of serious detriment.

In the American camp, on the contrary, provisions of every sort were in abundance, and, the troops being accustomed to the climate, the greater part of the wounded were eventually cured: their minds were animated with the new ardour of vengeance, and the blood they had lost exacted a plenary expiation. These dispositions were fortified not a little by the firing of Charlestown, which, from a flourishing town, of signal commercial importance, was thus reduced to a heap of ashes and of ruins. The Americans could never turn their eyes in this direction, without a thrill of indignation, and without execrating the European soldiers.

But the loss they felt the most sensibly was that of General Warren. He was one of those men, who are more attached to liberty than to existence; but not more ardently the friend of freedom, than a foe to avarice and ambition. He was endowed with a solid judgement, a happy genius, and a brilliant eloquence. In all private affairs, his opinion was reputed authority, and in all public counsels, a decision.

Friends and enemies, equally knowing his fidelity and rectitude in all things, reposed in him a confidence without limits. Opposed to the wicked, without hatred; propitious to the good, without adulation; affable, courteous, and humane, towards each; he was beloved, with reverence, by all, and respected by envy itself.

Though in his person somewhat spare, his figure was peculiarly agreeable. He mourned, at this epoch, the recent less of a wife, by whom he was tenderly beloved, and whom he cherished with reciprocal affection. In dying so gloriously for his country, on this memorable day, he left several orphans still in childhood; but a grateful country

assumed the care of their education.

Thus was lost to the state, and to his family, in so important a crisis, and in the vigour of his days, a man equally qualified to excel in council or in the field. As for ourselves, faithful to the purpose of history, which dispenses praise to the good and blame to the perverse, we have not been willing that this virtuous and valiant American should be deprived, among posterity, of that honourable remembrance so rightfully due to his eminent qualities.