Evacuation Day

Invasion de la Ville de Québec en 1775
F.H. Wellington (PD)

Quebec, January 1776

Seamus was helping carry a wounded officer and kept looking back towards the city. It was evident that the enemy was not going to pursue Arnold's force into the teeth of the snowstorm.

"Hey!" hissed the man helping carry the wounded captain, a man Seamus didn't know.

"What is it?"

"We can put this lad down, he's dead."

The two men shuffled off the path they were following back to their bivouac. Seamus knelt down to look at the man he had been carrying. For the second time that night, Seamus looked into the glazed eyes of a corpse. The man was indeed dead.

"You two! Get a move on!" came a voice from the path.

Before Seamus could say a word, the man he was with spoke, "Cap'n's dead, Major. Probably bled out."

"Very well, Sotheby, get back to camp. It seems that General Arnold is determined to lay siege to the city."

"I thought the General was wounded? Was it minor?"

"No, wasn't minor, but the man is determined. The doctors have patched him up as well as they could, but for now the General is determined to stay in place."

The man then turned to Seamus and held his hand out, "Hiram Sotheby, from Norfolk, down in Virginia."

Seamus took the man's hand and introduced himself, "Seamus McTeague, Sergeant, from Acton in Massachusetts."

"Stay well, Sergeant. I've got to find my boys, you should find your own lot. I fear it's going to be a long winter."

Seamus nodded as the man continued down the path. He looked down at the form of the dead officer, the body already being covered by the snow. He wondered what the man's name had been.

"Should have asked," Seamus said to the storm. Then began his own trek back to camp.

The evacuation of Boston
William James Aylward (PD)

Boston, March 1776

Sergeant Andrews and Corporal Thomas Holloway were herding their men and others down to the docks. The orders had come down, both men were still in shock. General Howe had ordered the evacuation of Boston. The navy would endeavor to take away as many loyalists as they could. Those colonials remaining behind had been ordered to turn over to the Crown anything which might be of use to the rebels.

Andrews and Holloway had helped supervise that effort, much was stored in the many empty buildings around Boston, empty because their owners had fled to the besieging army outside of Boston.

"Damned waste of time, Sarge." Holloway groused as another wagon load was unceremoniously emptied onto the floor of a warehouse.

"I know, Tommy, I know. We should be burning all of this, at the very least dump it into the harbor. Leaving it here will just delay the rebels getting ahold of it."

"Critical of the General's plan are we, Sergeant?"

Andrews came to attention as his company commander walked into the vast, mostly empty, space.

"Well, Sir, I ..."

"It's alright, Sarn't. I happen to agree with you. But if we fire this lot, the rebels will think we're burning the town and may start shelling us. Then we'll probably all perish here."

The rebel army had mounted cannon on the Dorchester Heights to the south of the town. Those guns commanded the town and most of the harbor. The Royal Navy had attempted to shell those works, but to no avail. The rebel position was too close and too high to bring effective fire to bear.

Messages had been exchanged, General Howe had offered to evacuate the town, no damage would be done to civilian property as long as they were allowed to leave unmolested. The colonials had agreed.

Although a plan had been hatched to launch an attack up onto Dorchester Heights, which most of the men were willing to try, a nor'easter had blown up the very night the attack had been planned. General Howe had called the attack off entirely. Seems his memories of the slaughter at Breed's Hill were still fresh in his mind.

Now the regulars were taking to their boats again, this time to row out to the fleet and be taken away, no one knew where. Some speculated Halifax in Canada, others New York, as that city held far more loyalists than rebels.

At any rate, they were leaving Boston, perhaps never to return. Andrews had been depressed ever since the orders had come down. As they waited on the dock for their turn to board the boats, Holloway had spoken.

Whispering so that the men wouldn't hear him, Holloway whispered, "There's that lass you fancy, Allen. Just down the way."

Andrews looked, yes, it was Lizzie Arnold, looking for someone among the crowd on the pier.

"Miss Arnold!" Andrews called out.

She heard him and turned, a smile lighting her face as she rushed to him.

"Allen, I'm so glad I found you. We're leaving the city, Canada from what Mr. Hamilton says."

"Are you sailing with us?" Andrews asked, his hopes rising at the thought of her going to the same place she would go.

"Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton have papers from General Clinton, granting them passage to Canada."

"Just them?" Andrews asked playfully.

"No, silly, I'm going as well. My contract is over next month. They offered to let me stay here, but I don't know anyone but them and you and Thomas, of course."

"Sarn't Andrews! Get the men in the boats!" Captain Marston shouted from the edge of the pier.

"I must go, I will look for you in Canada." Andrews said as he turned to go, before he got far, Lizzie had wrapped her arms around him.

"And I for you."

The next day¹ the British army sailed away from Boston.

Never to return.

¹ And that day, 17 March 1776, is still celebrated as a holiday in Suffolk County, Massachusetts. Evacuation Day, we remember such things in New England.

Blood on the Snow

The Death of General Montgomery in the Attack on Quebec
John Trumbull (PD)

Quebec, 28 December 1775

"I tell you what boys, when Monday rolls around, this old boy is heading south."

Seamus McTeague stared at the man, "So that's it? All of this then, for nothing?"

"Well, I don't know about calling it nothing, Sarge. We marched through that damned wilderness, hauled all those bateaux up here to Canada and, as it turns out, the Canadians don't seem all that interested in being free of King George. My enlistment is up on New Year's Day and that's it for me. I'm going home."

"The rest of you fellows feel that way?" McTeague asked, as he surveyed the men huddled around the campfire, just to the north of the walls of Quebec.

"Word has it, we're going in as soon as this storm hits. Sneaking in the back way so to speak. Heck, if Colonel Arnold can pull this off, I might sign up for another hitch. But if it fails, I dunno, Sarge. I'm worried about my wife and the children, ain't much I can do for 'em up here in Canada. If we fail, I'm gone."

Ensign Thompson had showed him a rough sketch of the plan, McTeague thought it was possible to pull this off. If the regulars and the Canadian militia inside the town couldn't see them coming on, they might get into the city and take it. With Montgomery's men included, they had outnumbered the defenders when they arrived earlier in the month. Now? Rumor had it that the defenders now outnumbered the attackers.

"Sergeant McTeague?"

"Sir?"

"You do know that it's General Montgomery and General Arnold, right?" Ensign Thompson was something of a stickler for titles.

"Sorry, Sir, I'm just not used to them being generals now. Hell, Sir, beggin' your pardon, I'm not used to being a sergeant just yet."

Thompson grinned, "Just do your job Sergeant, I'm going to need you when the attack goes in. You've seen action, this will be my first."

Seamus took no comfort in that thought, he'd rather have sat this one out.

Troop movements during the attack
Source

Quebec, Montgomery's Force, 31 December 1775

The descent from the Plains of Abraham had gone smoothly enough. Corporal Keith Adams was near General Montgomery when he heard the general hiss, "We've been spotted, I think." Adams heard church bells from within the city, though it was the Sabbath, he knew that the bells weren't calling the faithful to Mass.

They came up on a palisade, part of the outer defenses, men who were carpenters before the war pitched in to tear an opening in the wall. Once they cut through that, they came upon another. More bells were sounding within the city now. The general himself helped cut a hole in the second wall. Now they were through onto a narrow city street. A two story building lay ahead.

Montgomery drew his sword, "All right lads, stay close. We need to get on them before they know ..."

A blast of canister from a concealed cannon showered the men in the street. General Montgomery was killed instantly, a number of officers were down. Corporal Adams looked to rally the men when a volley of musket fire ripped into them.

Keith Adams was down, he felt like he'd had the wind knocked out of him. As he lay there, trying to catch his breath, the remainder of Montgomery's party fled, living the general's body in the street, where he had died.

Corporal Adams of Albany, tried to drag himself out of the street. He was beginning to shiver from what he thought was the cold. He managed to make it only five feet before his life ended, there in the snow of a Canadian winter.

Quebec, Arnolds Force, 31 December 1775

Seamus had seen many a snowstorm in his day, but this one seemed the worst of the lot. The wind was howling, the snow was driving into their faces almost horizontally. The men were all bent over, moving into the driving snow. All wondering what lay ahead.

Seamus thought, for a moment, that he heard musket fire to what he presumed was the south. It was hard to tell as they were below the northern facing walls of the town, in what was essentially a cul-de-sac. He was praying fervently that they were proceeding unnoticed. If a defending force showed up to their front, they could scarcely miss, the men were so packed together.

He looked back at the single six-pounder cannon they had brought with them, the artillerymen had rigged a sled for it. To his front were a number of Virginians, riflemen led by their own officer, fellow named Morgan as McTeague recalled.

Ensign Thompson came up beside him, "What do you suppose all those bells are ringing for?"

"Well, Sir, my guess is that the other party, the lads with Montgomery, have been spotted. Did you hear that musket fire before?"

Before the Ensign could speak, a spatter of musketry hit the street around them, the defenders were on the walls above them. One ball found Ensign Thompson, who fell in a heap right next to Seamus.

As chaos erupted around him, Seamus dropped to one knee to check on his officer. He pulled him over onto his back and was going to pull his overcoat open when he realized that Thompson was dead, a ball in his brain.

"Come on, lads! Attack, attack!"

Seamus, recognizing the voice as Arnold's, jumped to his feet. There was a barricade ahead, becoming wreathed in smoke as the defenders gave them a volley. As General Arnold tried to rally the men to rush the barricade, he went down, badly wounded in the leg.

Captain Morgan of the Virginia riflemen led an assault on the barricade, carrying a ladder himself, he was quickly pushed back off the wall. Recovering himself he was over on the second attempt, Seamus McTeague wasn't far behind him.

Once inside, the Canadian militiamen quickly surrendered.

"All right, fellas, someone take ahold of these prisoners and herd 'em after us. We need to get deeper into the city before the British wake up!"

Advancing down the narrow streets, they met more opposition. Raising his musket to fire, Seamus pulled his trigger, the lock snapped but nothing happened. Checking his pan in the dim light, he realized his powder was wet.

Pulling his horn out to recharge his pan, he heard a shout, "Fall back, boys! There be too damned many of 'em."

With that, the remainder of Arnold's force fled back the way they came.

Arnold's column is shattered in fierce street fighting during the Battle of Quebec
Charles William Jefferys (PD)

Near Cambridge, Massachusetts - Late January 1776

Will Hensley recognized the road they were on, it wasn't all that far to Cambridge where the Continental Army had its headquarters. He wondered if he'd catch a glimpse of the famous General Washington.

"Backs to it lads! We're almost home!"

Will looked up as Colonel Knox himself came down the road. Again, he felt sorry for the general's horse, but he realized, as he stared, that like the rest of them, the colonel had lost some weight on their long trek from Ticonderoga.

Now at last, they were back from the wilds of upper New York.

Source

First thing he wanted, after a hot meal, was to get leave to go to New Hampshire and see his family. He'd been gone far too long from them. But for now, they had succeeded, he wondered what the British in Boston might think of these guns they'd brought down through so much forest and field. Will believed it spelled their doom.

The quicker an end to this war the better, he thought.

1775 Nears Its End ...

Source

Boston Harbor, November 1775

Though the grenadiers under Captain Marston had moved quickly, by the time they had reached the other shore of the small island the colonials were already well outside of musket range. Marston wondered if the Royal Navy would be as flexible as these New England fishermen. Every time they sought to bring the colonials to battle, they were gone as quickly as they had arrived.

"Give 'em a volley, Sir?" Sergeant Andrews suggested to his commander.

"They're out of range but, what the hell. Lads, make ready!"

The company fell into a ragged line, on command, they fired a volley at the retiring whale boat. It felt somewhat satisfying, as long as one ignored the jeers from the colonials in the whale boat, who knew they were indeed out of range.

Andrews looked at the men, they were champing at the bit, they wanted to fight but the colonials were a will-o'-the-wisp. They'd land on an island to confront a British foraging party but never stand long enough for a proper fight. Often the foraging parties would come away empty handed which, Andrews supposed, was their goal all along.

As they fell in to march back to their own boats, Corporal Tom Holloway remarked to Andrews, "The lads are tiring of all this, Sarge."

"I know, Tommy, but you've seen it, the bastards won't stand unless they're behind a wall. It's almost as bad as fighting the natives."

"Almost?"

"As far as I know, the Americans don't torture their captives."

As the siege wore on, British morale continued to plummet.

South of Lake George, New York, November 1775

Will Hensley, much like other men laying siege to Boston, had volunteered for Colonel Knox's expedition to Ticonderoga out of boredom. As he put his back into pushing the heavy sledge up yet another small rise, he wondered at his own stupidity. He could be sitting in the lines around Boston, watching the British, instead he was out in the wilderness, helping to bring cannon, shot, and powder to Boston.

He was beginning to wonder if they would ever get there. The weather had been harsh, which froze everything over, making it easier to move the guns on their sleds, even though each rise brought the men in to assist the oxen and horses, further straining aching backs. Then the temperature would rise, turning everything to mud.

Will had seen the colonel once, sitting on horseback. The man was big, Will almost felt sorry for the horse, and seemed to be everywhere up and down the column. He would occasionally dismount and throw his own considerable bulk behind a stubborn sleigh. Will had been impressed by the man.

Everyone knew, that if they could get these guns to the new commander of the army around Boston, they might drive the British away for good. He was wondering what the new general from Virginia was like, fellow name of Washington he'd heard.

The sled he was pushing made it to the top of the rise, then men quickly worked to belay it with ropes before it slid down the other side, out of control. In many cases, they had to unhitch the team pulling the sled, then hook them up to pull in the opposite direction if the slope was steep enough.

Will had seen the Berkshires, he was starting to wonder how they'd ever get through those hills!

Before Quebec, November 1775

Colonel Benedict Arnold's half of the expedition, down to no more than 600 men of his original 1,100, had arrived at the St. Lawrence, across from the city. In the terrible weather, the men had seen the British ships on patrol in the river, there to prevent a crossing. A number had wondered just how they were going to get across, then attack the fortified town.

Seamus McTeague was still with his company, he was now a sergeant, much to his surprise. The company had started the trip through the wilderness of Maine with forty men, they were down to sixteen. Some had died on the trip, some had been left behind as too weak to carry on, and some had gone back the way they'd come. Those that were left were the toughest of the lot. Seamus didn't consider himself tough, just lucky.

Word had come down that Colonel Arnold was waiting for the other prong of the Canadian expedition, under Colonel Montgomery, to arrive before proceeding to attack the city. A messenger had arrived, Montgomery was on his way, Montreal had been captured. Arnold had been hoping for Canadian support on the expedition. Outside the kindness of the few Canadians they had encountered so far, supplying the men with shelter and provisions, few of the inhabitants of the region were ready to take up arms against the Crown.

Ensign Thompson was circulating among the few survivors of his company, when he saw Will, he gestured him to come over by the fire.

"Sir?"

"We'll be moving across the river soon. We're marching down to a mill on a tributary of the St. Lawrence, it's actually owned by a fellow from New Jersey. The army is gathering canoes and other boats to make the crossing. Have the lads be ready to move in about an hour. One of the locals says a storm is brewing, which will reduce visibility on the river."

"We're to cross in the face of the Royal Navy?" Seamus asked, a worried tone in his voice.

"There are only the two ships, right now they're riding at anchor. Local fellow says that the gap between the two is large enough that once the storm comes up, we should be able to slip on over between them without being seen."

"Should be?"

Ensign Thompson grinned and said, "There are no guarantees in life, Seamus. But if I was a praying man, that's what I'd be doing while waiting for the boats."

Seamus shivered, and not because the temperature was dropping.

Source

Into the Berkshires, December 1775

They had crossed from New York into Massachusetts, many of the teamsters from New York, wishing to return home, had been replaced by new men, and teams, from Massachusetts, hired by Colonel Knox. Will was annoyed at that.

"What, these fellows have to return home?" he had grumbled.

"Not everyone wants to sacrifice, lad." his sergeant had said.

"We're how far from our homes in New Hampshire? And this lot can't proceed on to Boston?" Will was still angry.

"Complaining about it ain't going to get these cannon over the Berkshires, Will. That lot will no doubt rejoice once we've driven the redcoats out of Boston, but sacrifice to make it happen? Nah, they'll collect their pay and go home for now."

As the column began to move again, Will Hensley shook his head. The continent would never be free of that English king if everyone needed to be paid to fight. It didn't cross his mind, being single and free of any responsibility, that families needed to be fed, many men couldn't just up and leave to go fight the English. There was also the risk of repercussions from the Crown should this rebellion fail.

All that fled from Will's mind as another slope was upon them, time to help the oxen. As he bent his back to the task, Will's thoughts turned to getting through another day.

The Boredom of the Siege

Source

Somewhere in Maine, along the Kennebec River, October 1775

The boats had been carried for what felt like hundreds of miles, at least it felt that way to young Seamus McTeague. They had just completed yet another portage, this time well over ten miles. The men were exhausted, wet, and hungry.

Most of the provisions had been ruined early in the journey as the boats they were using leaked badly. Much of their powder had been ruined as well. Seamus had remarked to one of his comrades about that.

"When we get to Quebec City we'll have no powder, what are we expected to do, throw rocks at the garrison?"

Wesley Chatham, another Massachusetts militiaman who had volunteered for the expedition laughed, "You said 'when,' Seamus. More like 'if.' We'll probably starve to death out here in this dank, forgotten wilderness long before we get to Canada."

"Well, it would help if we didn't have to carry these damnable heavy boats ..." Seamus began before his sergeant cut him off.

"They're called bateaux, not boats."

"Boats, bateaux, useless leaking pieces of ..."

"Mind your language, lad. I know we're in the wilderness and there are no women or children present, but that sort of language becomes a habit. A bad habit."

Seamus wanted to glare at the sergeant but, realizing the man was right and knowing what his old Gran would say, he nodded and said, "Aye, I suppose yer right, Sarge."

The boredom of the siege of Boston had led many a militiaman to volunteer for Colonel Arnold's expedition to attack Canada. It was a two pronged expedition. One, led by a Colonel Montgomery, would follow the traditional route to Canada, up Lake George and Lake Champlain, traveling by water. Seamus McTeague was with Arnold's force, they had traveled by ship from Newburyport up to the mouth of the Kennebec River which they would follow through the Maine wilderness.

Colonel Arnold had set out with over a thousand men, Seamus doubted that many still remained with the column. Though, to his knowledge, only one man had died so far. While clearing timber a tree had fallen on one man, killing him outright. But as the weather got worse and worse and supplies ran lower and lower, Seamus fully expected that a lot more men would die long before reaching Canada.

Seamus was regretting his choice to leave the boredom of the siege for the peril of the wilderness. At this point, it was probably just as dangerous to go back as it was to go forward. He felt something cold on his hand as he thought about that, so he looked up from his revery.

It was snowing.

The British Lines, Boston, October 1775

"Salt pork again?" one of the grenadiers said with disgust as the company rations were distributed.

Sergeant Allen Andrews looked up from where he was seated, brushing his uniform tunic, and said, 'Look lads, it's all we've got at the moment. The Navy is supposed to be bringing in supplies any day now, but ..."

"When will that be, Sarge? When they can spare a moment from burning American towns?¹"

Private Jameson went quiet when he saw the man next to him look up and shake his head. 

"Perhaps, if the salt pork ain't to your liking, Private Jameson, a taste of the lash might be more to your taste." Captain Marston had heard the men grousing as he arrived at the company bivouac, so decided to take action.

Jameson went pale as a sheet, "No Sir, begging your pardon, Sir. I meant no disrespect ..."

The captain had had a man flogged only the week before for insubordination. Every one of the grenadiers remembered that, but their morale had been sagging for quite some time. Many still remembered their bloody "victory" some months ago at Breed's Hill. Now they were bottled up in Boston, surrounded by a rebel force which seemed to grow larger daily.

Meanwhile, their only contact with the outside world was via the sea, and they all felt that the Royal Navy could do more to succor them. Instead, the Navy brought more men in and spent a lot of time patrolling the coast.

Andrews knew all this, knew that the generals were probably doing their best, but in his considered opinion, their best wasn't very good.

Marston looked around at his men, then came to a decision. "I'm volunteering this company for a working party out on the islands.² The Navy will transport us out there where a party of men will be cutting hay for the animals within our lines. There's also the possibility of gathering some rebel sheep out there as well. Any of you lads fancy a bit of mutton to supplement your diets?"

Andrews saw the men's attitudes improve almost immediately as the lads gave a cheer for their captain. Andrews knew that the captain could be harsh, but he had a knack for motivating the men. A little expedition into the harbor would certainly relieve the boredom of the siege.

Source

The grenadiers had been landed in the early hours of a foggy October morning. They had secured a beach head on the small island and had watched as a group of men, loyalists Andrews assumed, had come ashore.

"Sergeant, post your line a bit further out, also send a couple of your best men ahead to scout the island. Can't see a damned thing in this bloody fog."

"Sir! Corporal Holloway, take Meade and Simpson, scout on ahead. Don't wander too far, stay in range of that ..." Andrews swept his hand over towards the civilian working party who were cutting hay and making an absurd amount of noise while doing so.

Holloway grinned, "Right away, Sarge. Come on you two, you heard the Sergeant."

The three men had been swallowed up by the fog within seconds of moving out. Andrews glanced at the captain, Marston was seemingly engaged with watching the men cutting hay. He had a grin on his face.

"That lot swears more than a group of tars³, wouldn't you say so, Sarn't Andrews?" Marston shook his head as he said that.

"They'd certainly give the Navy a run for their money, that's for sure, Sir."

The snow had turned to rain, and it was coming down so hard that Seamus could see that the river was rising, rapidly. They were now on the Dead River, so called because of its sluggish current, which was anything but sluggish now.

Their already dire situation became worse when one party ascended a branch of the river, only to discover their error only after a number of boats had overturned, spoiling what remained of their meager rations. Even Colonel Arnold considered turning back at that point.

The men were gathered under a tree, scant protection from the rain but better than sitting in the open, when the sergeant returned.

"Right lads, we're pushing on. Only the most fit though, any of you lads feel like you're done in, can stay here, or go back. I'm for pushing on. Any of you ladies feel like going back?"

What was left of the company, perhaps thirty men, decided that going back was no better than going forward. Seamus had shouldered his firelock and went to stand with his sergeant. "Might as well keep going, eh Sarge?"

"There's a good lad, now come on, boys, up and at 'em."

Canada was close, but so was starvation.

¹ The Royal Navy bombarded the town of Falmouth (now called Portland) in Maine, in October of 1775. Then Marines were sent ashore to burn the structures still standing.

² Boston harbor had many small islands back in 1775. Both sides used them to graze livestock and provide fodder for their horses and cattle. Many small battles were fought on those islands during the siege of Boston.

³ "Tar" was a Royal Navy slang term for a British sailor.

Too Dearly Bought¹ ...

Battle of Bunker Hill
Don Troiani
Source

Seamus looked down the slope once more, the regulars looked to be ready to come up the hill again. He was ready, his musket was loaded and though he was very thirsty, he felt that one more repulse like the first one and the redcoats might just call it a day.

From the top of Breed's Hill, he could just see the northern tip of Boston to his south. He could see Copp's Hill from where the British cannon had been firing earlier. They had ceased fire some time ago, no doubt to prevent hitting their own men.

Source

Billowing smoke from the fires in Charlestown occasionally obscured his view, but Seamus knew that the redcoats would be coming up again. He heard the drums begin anew, signaling yet another advance.

Though his mouth was parched, he suddenly had an overwhelming urge to urinate.

"Steady lads! Steady! Keep your dress, eyes to the front!"

Sergeant Andrews was theoretically in charge of the grenadier company, what was left of it at any rate. Rebuilt to a strength of 43 men after the battles of Lexington and Concord, the first assault had left 17 men of the regiment dead or dying in front of the rebel redoubt.

His company and another equally depleted company from the 5th Foot had been amalgamated for the second assault. They were now under the command of an officer Andrews had never seen before, a man named Marston. Andrews assumed he was the company commander of the men from the 5th they'd been grouped with for this second assault up the hill.

As he looked to the ranks, he sorely missed Corporal Holloway. He had no idea of his friend's fate. In the confused retreat down the hill, he had lost track of Thomas. He was sick to his stomach over that. God forbid his friend was still up on that bloody hill.

Corporal Tom Holloway groaned as he regained his senses, the smell of blood, burnt powder, and other things best not mentioned filled his nostrils. His head ached badly, he wasn't sure why.

He was lying some twenty yards down from the rebel earthwork, he could hear the colonials shouting encouragement to one another as he also heard the beat of the army's drums coming from down the hill towards the water.

He tried to think of how he'd gotten here, it had all happened so fast. Then it came to him in a blur. He remembered the billowing powder smoke of the first rebel volley and he vaguely remembered that the head of the man in front of him had seemed to explode, then his memory went blank.

Slowly, trying not to garner attention from the earthwork, Tom brought his hand up to his head. His thick hair felt gritty and slippery, when he brought his hand back down to examine it, he saw that it was bloody. Some jelly-like substance was on his fingers as well, then he saw the bits of bone amidst the blood. He'd been hit, and knocked silly, by a part of the man's skull, the man who had been hit to his front. He knew one could get killed just by flying bone and bits of shattered equipment on the battlefield. He knew how close he'd come to death.

As he lay there amidst the bodies of his slaughtered comrades, Corporal Tom Holloway emptied his stomach of that morning's breakfast. He began to shake uncontrollably.

The drums thumped and Andrews' company stepped off as they had before, the ranks were steady, unwavering, these men were trained to act as automatons, not as humans with free will. When the drums beat and the officers bellowed their commands, the line advanced. It was what they did, it was what they trained for, they knew no other way.

"Hawkins, dress your bloody line!" Andrews bellowed at one of his grenadiers.

"I'm doing my best ..."

"SILENCE IN THE RANKS!" Captain Marston barked from where he marched behind the men.

Andrews watched, Private Hawkins had probably stumbled in the long grass, or stepped on uneven ground, they weren't high enough on the hill yet to be stumbling over bodies and equipment, but they were getting close. Not ten yards to his front, Andrews saw a grenadier lying on his back, vacant gaze, glassy eyes, the man's chest torn open by musket fire.

Andrews shuddered.

On top of a building, Elizabeth Arnold couldn't see very much of what was going on across the Charles. Smoke from gunfire and the burning town of Charlestown were obscuring things enough so that even at a distance of less than a mile, details were nearly impossible to make out.

She and her employers had fled to Boston not long after the regulars had been to Concord. Ephraim and Rebecca Hamilton were loyal to the King and they were terrified of their fellow Americans now. There had been threats made after the battle which drove Mr. Hamilton to move his family and possessions to Boston.

"Bloody rebels can't get to us here, Mother. We're under the protection of the Royal Navy and the King's troops now."

Turning he had yelled at Lizzie to be gentle with a box of dishware she had been transferring from a wagon to the house they were renting not far from Boston Common.

"Damn it, lass! Those cost a fine penny, came all the way from London, they did!"

Rebecca Hamilton had chimed in immediately, "Mind your language, Father. What if the children were about?"

She had managed to slip away from the house under the pretense of discovering what was happening across the Charles. Many had seen the soldiers head down to the riverfront and board the boats to cross over to what the regulars called "Morton's Point." She was from the area and knew that the place was actually "Moulton's Point." She was a distant relation of the Moulton family.

She heard the rattle of drums from across the way and saw the red line of the soldiers begin to go back up the hill. She remembered the sergeant who had been kind to her, and his friend the corporal, whose name she couldn't remember. She hoped fervently that the two men, and their companions of course, were all right.

"Be careful over there, Allen, you and ..." then his name came to her, "... Tom. Be careful."

Will Hensley could hear the drums from across the way, from their position near the shingle they could see the left flank of the redoubt on the hill, but not the slope leading up to it. The light infantry had yet to make another attempt on their position, but the detritus of their first attack was still there to their front.

One of the soldiers had gotten very close to the improvised defenses before being cut down. Will dearly wished that he was still home in Derry as he studied the corpse sprawled not fifteen feet from him.

The man had been hit and had lived for a brief time. He had cried out for help, which his comrades couldn't provide and which his enemies cared not to provide. Will had been sickened by the death which lay before him, he had watched this English soldier die, so far from home.

Will was wondering if he would ever see New Hampshire again when his company commander cried out, "Here they come again, boys!"

Andrews was not forty paces from the rebel earthwork when he spotted Tom. He wondered if his friend yet lived when Tom had popped up and dashed down into the ranks.

"Was wondering if you fellows was gonna leave me up here!"

Captain Marston hadn't noticed Holloway rejoin the company but at that moment the rebels were up and leveling their muskets once more.

The shock of the volley staggered the company. More men went down, Marston was bent over, advancing as if walking into a gale-force wind. "Come on, lads! At them!"

Then another volley rippled down the line, more redcoated bodies littered the hill and the British Army once again reeled and fled back down the hill.

Seamus reached into his pouch, his hand came out with a single cartridge.

"Sergeant! I have no more ammunition!"

A number of men echoed that call up and down the line.

"Steady lads, I doubt they'll come back up this way. Load up what you have. If they come on again, one more volley should see the end of it."

Hensley and his company were falling back. He wasn't sure who had given the order nor did he care. Anything to get away from the stench of the dead lying on the field.

"Dinnae get yer hopes up, boys. We're just falling back to the neck, then we'll head back up to the earthwork to reinforce those lads. The light boys are done wi' us for the day, I'm thinking. Our fire was too hot for them!"

They hadn't reached Charlestown Neck when an officer, claiming to be from General Putnam² stopped them and redirected them up onto Bunker Hill proper.

"Old Put needs you boys up there," the officer had shouted, pointing up the slope, "in case the boys forwards on Breed's Hill need your help!"

So they had gone up the hill, and had no further participation in the struggle around the earthwork being assaulted by the soldiers of the Crown. Will Hensley didn't mind, he'd seen enough of war for one day.

Sergeant Andrews was angry, enraged that they were being fired upon by the colonials and enraged that his officers had no better plan than march straight into the colonials' massed musket fire.

"Jaysus, Allen, the bastards want to 'ave another go." Corporal Holloway had hissed at him.

"We can't just leave them there, Tommy, sittin' atop that hill, taunting the King like this. We take this hill, we take or kill as many of them as we can, then this war will die aborning. Leave them there and the bloody thing will drag on." Andrews hadn't meant to sound so angry, Tommy looked almost hurt at the tone.

"Sorry, Tommy, I didn't mean to bark at ye, but we can't let this defiance stand. Can we?"

"I suppose yer right, Sarge," Holloway paused in mid-sentence, something was afoot.

"Fall in, lads, one more thrust and we'll have them off yon damned hill!"

Captain Marston was bloodied, his hat was gone, his face was filthy, and the man was forcing the company to line up by sheer force of will.

It helped that the men were angry, they were embarrassed that they'd been forced down from the hill twice already, "by a damned mob of civilians," as one junior officer had said. All of Boston was watching it seemed to the men who looked back across the Charles, there was a very visible crowd along the river's edge and atop the roofs of Boston.

Andrews looked at Holloway and shrugged, "In for a penny ..."

"Battalion will ADVANCE!"

Battle of Bunker Hill
E. Percy Moran (PD)

Seamus fired his last round, the redcoats were within spitting distance now, more of them had fallen which seemed to only enrage the survivors. When the fire from the redoubt had sputtered out, the redcoats seemed to snarl and with guttural yells, came on at bayonet point.

"Better run, laddie, we've got nothing left."

Seamus' sergeant had tugged at Seamus' sleeve before taking off at a run himself. As the redcoats came over the parapet, American discipline had faltered, then collapsed. Everyone was trying to get out through the entrance to the rear of the redoubt when it was an easy enough climb over the walls of the earthwork itself. But the men remembered where they had entered the work, so they flowed to what they perceived as the only exit.

Many died because of that error.

The Redoubt, Battle of Bunker Hill, June 17, 1775
Don Troiani
Source

"What do ye think the butcher's bill will be, Sarge?" Holloway's left sleeve was bloody, a musket ball, probably fired by one of his comrades, had nicked his upper arm. It was bloody and rather painful but was, to be honest, a minor wound.

They were still in the redoubt, the colonials had been driven from the peninsula, even more falling as they crowded over the neck back to the mainland. Cannon fire from Royal Navy warships controlled access to the peninsula, they had been firing continuously as the Americans had scrambled to safety.

"I dunno, Tommy, I'd say over a thousand of our lads fell today. The hill is covered with the bodies of our regiments. What do we have left, maybe a dozen of the lads?"

"About that, of the lads who marched to Concord, not a handful are still with the colors."

Holloway looked into the sky, the stars were starting to appear, "Think this will be the end of it?"

Andrews looked into the gathering gloom, campfires could be seen in the distance, all around Boston. "There are a lot of those militiamen out there, Tommy. I think I was wrong when I said 'we take the hill and that'll be the end of it.' I don't think that lot out there are ready to quit. Not just yet anyway. Certain as the sun will come up tomorrow, we're in the middle of a war now, Tommy."

Holloway shook his head, "Damned nuisance, that, I'd rather fight the Frenchies than folks who were, up until a few months ago, fellow subjects of our good old King George."

Andrews looked at the ground beneath his feet, "Aye, but for now this is still English soil."

"But for how long, Sarge? For how long?"

¹ "The General’s returns will give you the particulars of what I call this unhappy day—I freely confess to you, when I look to the consequences of it, in the loss of so many brave Officers, I do it with horror—The success is too dearly bought." General Sir William Howe,  commanding the regulars, after the Battle of Bunker Hill.

² General Israel Putnam, nominally in command of the American troops during the battle.