The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1875-06-26 00:00:00

THE CENTENARY OF BUNKER'S
HILL.

The following extracts are from an interesting sketch—a
reminiscence of this memorable engagement, which played
so important a part in the future of the vast Contineut of
America—in The Times of the 17th inst

At break of day, June 17, 1775, just 100 years ago,
the watch on board the Lively sloop, in the waters of
Boston, saw what was justly described as nothing less
than a prodigy. Within the short summer's night the
height over their heads, commanding the city of
Boston, had been crowned by a strong redoubt and
intrenchments, evidently the work of a large body of
men, directed by first-rate engineers. The whole of
the position thus by magic converted into a fortress
appears to have the common name of Bunker's Kill.
The point actually occupied, however, was Breed's
Hill, over the old city of Charlestown, and within
a mile of Boston. In the darkness and haste the
American militia had selected the ridge from which
most mischief could be done, instead of the one more
capable of defence, named in their orders. Boston, it
should be observed, was then by far the largest city in
our American possessions. Whatever there was of
British Army, or British fleet, was assembled there.
It was our port, dockyard. and arsenal, But small as
these things were, they wanted room, for the peninsula
on which the city stood was not more than two miles
long and a mile wide, and across the narrow " neck " or
isthmus stood, confronting one another, two lines of
fortifications, the British and the American, or "Con-
tinental," as the latter preferred to be called. The
quarrel was between a small army and a few adherents,
constituting a mere fraction of the population on that
spot of ground, and the "Continent," as it justly
described itself. On the mainland, in exclusive posses-
sion?of all the material resources, all the rivers, posi-
tions, and communications, was a compact cordon,
ten miles long, of twenty thousand Americans, good
marksmen, well practised in hunting and in Indian
warfare, and the greater part of them formerly in our
own service and engaged in our own wars. Behind
them were several other armies within a day's march
of any point of the cordon that we might attempt to
break through. They commanded also the sea coast,
the islands, the fishing boats, the market boats, and
all that belongs to the life of a people. This state
of utter defiance and perfect defence was not the work
of long preparation, or of one master mind, or even
of any mature design. It was only eight weeks after
the first shot had been fired at Lexington. Wash-
ington had only been appointed two days, and had
not yet taken the command. In the course of this
year, he and others had protested strongly against the
threat of an appeal to arms. Yet the Continent
now stood in arms before Boston. The British forces
cooped up in the doomed peninsula had nothing but
salt meat and bad provisions from England, and what
was more unaccountable, they had to divide that store
with the population of Boston, whether well or ill-
affected. The beseiging forces had abundance of every-
thing except gunpowder, of which they had to be very
economical. Thus far our position was bad indeed.
But there was a circumstance which greatly aggra-
vated the difficulty and danger. Parallel to Boston,
and separated fromitby a river, the width of the Thames
at London-bridge, was a smaller peninsula, altogether
about half a square mile, and with a similar isthmus,
or" neck," containing the heights named above. On this
peninsula stood Charlestown, the oldest British city in
America, and the mother of Boston, though now far
outgrown by her daughter. Such was the spot which
now for many weeks had been watched with confident
expectation by one side and deep anxiety by the other.
Its military occupation would have more than doubled
the work of the small British Army, hardly equal to
what it had fodo already. Till the arrival of reinforce-
ments our ships of war and some floating batteries
watched the " neck " of the Charlestown peninsula,
and seemed to do that so effectually that no American
troops could be induced to run it. On the night of the
16th, however, a large body of Militia did—unper-
ceived, without light, without sound of foot, or of
voice, or of weapon—march along that isthmus,
bringing with them five pieces of artillery, and by day-
light dominate over the City Port, and waters at
Boston. Four American regiments did not arrive at
the neck before daylight, and finding it then swept by
our guns, stayed on the mainland. As soon as the
battle began, however, and our artillery was engaged
in covering the British advance, the Americans were
seen pouring in fresh troops by thousands, so says an
eye-witness, into the scene of action.
The guns of the Lively, quickly followed by those
on Copp's Hill, in Boston, roused the whole city, and
from that time our artillery, of which there seems to
have been no lack, kept up an incessant fire against
the earthworks, which, however, continued to rise in
spite of it, for the Americans were already well under
cover. As there was nothing now to prevent the rapid
formation of a fortress stronger than Boston, com-
manding it, and supplied from both land and sea,
whereas that city now depended almost entirely
on supplies from England, it was necessary to act
at once, and at any cost or risk. General Gage
had a most miscellaneous force, amounting to not
quite 10,000 men, against the 30,000 Americans now
concentrated upon Boston. He was daily expect-
ing more, but for the time he would not, at first,
spare more than a small division, having a disaf-
fected city about him, his own neck of land to de-
fend, and the navigation of Boston Bay to protect from
continual enterprises. Towards noon the British
troops crossed the Charles River in boats, and formed
on the other side. The hill they had to ascend was
very steep and rugged, covered with grass up to the
knees, and intersected with fences and enclosures.
The day was intensely hot, and as it was thought pos-
sible the force might only enter the earthworks to
change places with the defenders the soldiers carried
their knapsacks and three days' provisions. They
soon found themselves exposed to a galling fire from
a body of riflemen posted in the houses of Charles-
town, which lay directly between Boston aifel
Bunker's Hill. There was no help for it, and the old
town, nearly all wood, with a good many; handsome
public buildings, mansions, warehouseand reshi
on the stock, had to be set on fire, and was soon in a
blaze from one end to the other, several church
steeples emerging for a time, and then toppling down.
The British force found the work too much for its

numbers, and asked for reinforcements. They were sent
for, for the case was almost desperate, and from first to
last 2,500 men marched up that fatal hill side. They
had to halt and form several times to recover their
strength, always under the fire of sharpshooters,
steadily picking off the officers. Since the event
it has often been said that this front attack was
only an old English blunder, and that the position
ought to have been taken in tne flank • but it
is by no means certain that this could have
been done, especially as the Americans held the ridge
immediately behind the one intrenched. A letter
written by General Burgoyne a few days afterwards
describes it as in all respects the most awful spectacle
of war that could be conceived, and the one most cal-
culated to impress the heart as well as the imagi-
nation. Artillery and musketry, land, river, and
sea all joining hi the combat; the most ancient
city of America in flames, and crashing, a street at a
time; a vast amphitheatre of spectators, and, more
than all, the certainty that the fate of a great
empire was trembling in the balance, made every one
feel it was the most awful day he could live to see.
The exhausted and diminishing force went on,
and, as they approached the earthworks, found a com-
parative lull, in which was heard from many mouths
the taunting question whether they now found the
Yankees cowards. At the distance of eighty or a hun-
dred yards whole companies were mowed down by a
reserved fire. The survivors had to retire, and wait
for fresh reinforcements, and it was not till a third
formation, advance, and attack under continual fire
that General Clinton carried the redoubt at the point
of the bayonet. BY this time, on the one hand, our
artillery had become unserviceable, from being served
with the wrong ball; and, on the other hand, the
enemy's ammunition had begun to fail. The Ameri-
cans fought to the last with the butt ends of their
muskets, and though compelled to retreat, did so with
little diliculty or diserder. The British troops stool
the conquerors of the day, but at the cost of more than
a thousand killed and wounded (220 of the former, and
above 820 of the latter) against less than half that
number of casualities on the American side. Old sol-
diers who had known war on no trifling scale in both
worlds had never seen so hot a conflict, or so many
losses in proportion to the force engaged. The Ameri-
, cans withdrew to the mainland, leaving to Gpneral
Gage a greatly diminished force, a double work to be
done, for there were two peninsulas now to be de-
fended, and the care of more than eight hundred
wounded men, in addition to the number of sick al-
ready in the hospitals.

If it be a question of courage, of endurance, of duty
at its sorest trial, or a question of mere victory, then
it is hard to say why the palm should not be
adjudged to the British force which remained
in possession of the ground, and only gave it
up when Boston itself was finally evacuated.
Whatever the success, whatever the loss, and however
fruitless that sacrifice, there never was a braver deed
of arms, never any more heroic and meritorious; and
if that be the point, then has England much more
claim to celebrate the centenary of Bunker's Hill than
they who reaped the eventual harvest of the seed then
sown and who now hold the soil. American writers
have dealt freely with the figures and put it as if a
handful of " Continental " Militia had almost destroyed
an army of European Regulars. But it is beyond dis-
pute that the force which established itself in those
earthworks exceeded that which reached to make the
assault; that the men themselves were good marks-
men, accustomed to such warfare, and commanded lay
experienced officers; that the earthworks were most
skilfully made; and that nothing whatever but the
extreme urgency of the circumstances, and the fact
that empire was hanging in the balance could
justify an attack under the immense difficulties
and against the terrible odds. Whether it was an
error ofj udgment it is vain to ask, not because
it was involved in the larger question then actually
pending whether Boston should be evacuated, nor
yet because all had to be decided and done between
sunrise and sunset, but still more because the state
of opinion at home did not admit even of a day's
hesitation. There was war, bloodless, though it was,
at home as well as across the Atlantic. While the
great majority of the British people, as represented
in public opinion and in literature, was on the Ame-
rican side, the Government and the majority in both
Houses of Parliament were absolutely proof against
every consideration of humanity,i prudence, or com-
mon sense. . . . If any method sto be found in the
madness of the British Government, it is that they
thought it just possible to frighten bully, and cajole
the Americans into submission. .A.ll the loud talk
about the invincibility of the British soldier, and the
inevitable cowardice of men accustomed only to take
shots from behind trees at game or Red Indians,
pointed to this. They dared the Americans to prove
themselves men, and they had to accept the issue of
that wager. The Americans proved themselves not
only brave men, but sensible men, with a proper value
for the lives they were ready to stake, and a deter-
mination to sell those lives dear. At the present hour,
with the experience of a century, England would be
not only disposed, but even compelled, to rate more
highly the scientific audacity shown on the American
side than the bulldog courage and obstinacy which
was all the British brought to the encounter. . . .
Not oily the Americans, however, but England, and
the world, have far more substantial reasons for a
grateful remembrance of the day. The gain to all sides
is great and unquestionable. The greater part of the
American contention in that war was equally shared
by the British people. The principles of popular
representation, and no taxation, without it, self-
government by popular municipal institutions, the
independence of the judicial bench, and complete
responsibility in the exercise of all power and pat-
ronage, were equally at stake on both sides of the
Atlantic. No doubt the sense of this added to the
reckless and inhuman obstinacy with which the British
Government persisted in the struggle, long after
every man at liberty to use his senses and reason
on the question saw that it was hopeless. . . .
The triumph of American Independence inaugurated
a great but bloodless work at home in the shape of
popular reforms, or, rather, in the fuller development
of these Democratic institutions by which it has been
said the British Throne is surrounded. Whatever the
Americans have gained, we have gained also, and now
possess substantially all that they fought for. France
has not been in all respects so fortunate; for though
she shared the victory, and in almost an equal degree
the results, she has, upon the whole, less reason than
England to be satisfied with the consequences, asso-
ciated though they be in England's case with the
natural pangs of separation and the humiliation of
defeat.