On the night of June 16, 1775, an earthen redoubt was to be constructed under the cover of darkness on a prominence on a peninsula in the town of Charlestown known as Bunker Hill. In earlier discussions of occupying this hill, Warren was skeptical. Now, there was no choice. On the morning of June 17, Warren discovered that the redoubt was not constructed on Bunker Hill, as planned, but instead on the vulnerable, smaller elevation known as Breeds Hill.
The details of this battle have been thoroughly researched and written about by military historians and scholars (Professor Bob Allison gave a detailed account of the first attack on the left flank and rail fence at yesterday’s annual meeting of the Bunker Hill Monument Association). My post today is to honor Warren’s presence throughout the three attacks made by the British that fateful day.
On the afternoon of June 17, Warren made his way to the redoubt – regardless of the danger of cannon fire from the British Men-of-War. A shout of greeting and relief was raised by the men throughout the redoubt upon Warren’s arrival. Since 1768, he educated and inspired them not only by example, but with newspaper articles, stirring orations regardless of the danger, and leadership of the various groups which opposed British oppression mete out on the colonies – and more specifically Massachusetts. As president of the Massachusetts Provincial Congress and chairman of the Committee of Safety, he saw to the basic needs of the Provincial Army after the Battles of Lexington and Concord. And though not yet commissioned as a major general, he was determined to stand alongside these brave men for which he expressed love and respect in a letter to Samuel Adams.
The horrors of that day cannot be properly related with mere words. Can we even imagine the thirst of these unlikely warriors from the oppressive heat and choking smoke as the dwellings in Charlestown crashed to the ground in flames along with the silting dust clogging their throats as their furious movements stirred the dry earth beneath their feet. Hundreds of British lay dead and dying just beyond the redoubt wall, their wails of agony were accompanied by the frantic shouts of those observing the battle from the roof-tops of Boston and booming of cannon fire. The relentless, searing sun roasted the dead and wounded emitting the wretched smell of dead flesh, freshly let blood, and eviscerated bowel.
No doubt Dr. Warren attended the American wounded and those suffering from heat exhaustion as best he could. Yet this compassionate doctor could do nothing for the dying beyond the redoubt wall. He carried his treasured, well-worn book of the Psalms with him to the hill. Very likely he turned to the familiar, marked and dog-eared pages to read to those about him or for his own comfort as he waited for the British attacks. The American colonists – now baptized by fire – courageously – miraculously withstood two British attacks.
With the arrival of fresh British troops, a third attack was quickly underway. Little lead or powder was left in the redoubt. A plan was made to hold the British back for as long as possible to provide precious time for the retreat of the bulk of the American warriors. The last of the lead and powder would be used to slow the British onslaught of the redoubt, then, those willing to take to the sword would engage the British forces in a perilous act of hand-to-hand combat. Warren asked for a sword.
Witnesses said that Warren finally exited the redout bleeding from his side. Two testified that they went to his aid but were quickly ordered by Warren to leave – for he was a dead man – and head for safety to fight another day for their country. A British major and friend claimed that he spotted Warren and cried out for him to surrender – stating that Warren turned to face this friend and smiled.
His death, mercifully, was not to be that of putrefying, thick yellow-green pus exudating from the wound or the lingering agony of infection with the familiar red streaks radiating outward and the burning, swollen, dull and dusky hue of his skin which he had seen and attempted to treat so often as a physician. As he stood outside the redoubt, holding his wound in a vain attempt to lessen the agony, someone positioned himself in front of Warren, carefully pointing a loaded pistol at his face. In that brief moment Warren looked at and perhaps recognized the man that took his life.
“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends” from John 15:13
Next: The grief of the Warren family
(Picture: The Death of General Warren by John Trumbull)
