Chapter II: Part 2

A few days after this meeting, Warren was appointed Major-General of the American forces in Massachusetts. The people had for some time looked up to him as their leader; and he had made constant exertions to maintain order and enforce discipline among the troops. He united so much coolness with so much true courage, and so much gentleness with so much decision, as to give him immense influence over them. He mingled in the ranks, talked with each soldier as if he was a brother, and thus succeeded most astonishingly in imparting to them his own ardour in the cause, and his confidence in its success. Before he was chosen as their General, he was requested to act as Surgeon-General to the army, but this post did not suit his heroic character. His wish was to lead on the soldiers to battle, rather than to take care of those who were unable to go, or of those who received wounds while there.

The charge he had now received of the army, he would not suffer in any degree to interfere with that he before sustained as President of Congress. He had from the first discovered as much talent in directing the counsels of the nation, as he had energy in animating the soldiers. Part of each day he would pass in Congress, which was now assembled at Watertown, deliberately weighing each subject that was discussed. He gave no opinion until fully convinced what was best to be done. When his opinion was formed, he bent every power of his mind and body, to have that which was resolved upon put into execution. When he had accomplished all he could in the Congress, he would jump on his horse, ride as quickly as possible to the camp at Cambridge, and enter with equal ardor into every thing to be done there.

It was on the 14th of June, that Joseph Warren was elected Major-General of the Massachusetts forces.

The British had four thousand well disciplined soldiers in Boston at this time, under the command of Gen. Gage. Now I dare say you know that four thousand men used to fighting, and commanded by a general whom they know they must obey, are more powerful than double that number who are not used to warfare, and who are not obliged to fight unless they choose.

WILLIAM. Yes, mamma, I should think they must be; but were not our men at all used to fighting? and were they not willing to fight?

MRS. M. They had never been engaged in a regular battle, and, although most of them were very willing to fight, yet they were much more easily intimidated than regular soldiers. This gave the British a great advantage over them; besides this, many of our people did not like to be thought _rebels_, which the British took every opportunity to convince them they were. They did not feel quite sure that they did right to fight against their king, as they had always considered the king of England to be, and they knew, too, that if we were unsuccessful, they should be hung as rebels.

But for all this there were a great many willing to risk every thing in the cause of liberty; and so eager were these for an engagement, that it was extremely difficult to restrain them until they had acquired a little more military knowledge.

The British were also anxious to do something. They had, to be sure, the command of Boston, but all the hills around were guarded by us, and they felt rather foolish in suffering themselves to be cooped up there, and not have the power to leave it, without risking a battle. They finally determined to make a bold push, and obtain possession of the highest parts of Charlestown and Dorchester, and thus give themselves a little more liberty to go in and out of the town.

The 18th of June, 1775, was the day on which they had determined to make this attempt.

The Americans, however, gave them something to do a little sooner than this. They had contemplated making some attack on the British, or at least to endeavor to destroy their shipping. Gen. Warren, ardent and enterprising as he was, was not in favor of this plan. He thought it would be hazarding too much to begin warfare again in our situation; that if it was once begun, it would lead to a general engagement, in which our untrained men would not be able to maintain their ground; and he thought if beaten now they might be entirely discouraged. Gen. Putnam, who at that time commanded the troops in Cambridge, was of a different opinion. He said they need only take two thousand men, nor would he risk any more. Gen. Warren walked back and forth the room in which they were debating several times, he then leaned on a chair, and, after a few moments silence, exclaimed, "almost thou persuadest me, Gen. Putnam, still I must think the project rash, but if you execute it, you will not be surprised to find me at your side." "I hope you will not be there," said Putnam, "you are young, and your country has much to hope from you, both in their councils and in the field of battle; let us, who are old and can be better spared begin the affray, there will be time enough for you hereafter; it will not soon be over."

The more this step was deliberated upon, the more difficulties seemed to arise, and Gen. Warren felt it his duty again to oppose it before the committee of safety, of which he was chairman, and before the council of war, assembled on purpose to decide upon it. When, after much discussion, both these bodies resolved on its execution, he gave up his own opinion and joined with his whole heart to promote its success. It was finally voted by the committee, on the 15th of June, that Dorchester heights and Bunker hill should be occupied and fortified by our troops. The intelligence now received, that the British were themselves preparing to leave their entrenchments to take possession of these heights, no doubt decided this measure. The soldiers, you recollect, were encamped in Cambridge. They were quartered, or stationed, in the colleges and in all the houses for a mile or two about; wherever they could find shelter, there they were placed.

On the 16th of June, Col. Prescott was ordered to take a part of the men, stationed in Cambridge, about one thousand, march with them to Charlestown, and fortify Bunker Hill. Accordingly, in the evening they began their march as secretly as possible. It was very important they should get there without the knowledge of the British, for they had to go so near their lines, that it would have been perfectly in their power to prevent the success of their undertaking, had they known it. They took scarcely any refreshments, nothing which was not absolutely necessary. Their first object was to take possession of Bunker Hill, their own comforts were but a secondary consideration; when they had succeeded in that, then would be time enough, they thought, to think of themselves and to have provisions and other necessaries sent them. To insure secrecy, the soldiers were not informed of the object of their march, until they had crossed Charlestown neck. The plan was so well arranged and so well executed, that the British had not the slightest suspicion of it, until the rising sun, as it dispelled the mists of the morning, shone on their fortifications and revealed to the astonished gaze of the bewildered British, their daring enemy immediately above them, overlooking their camp, and entrenched in strong forts which seemed as if created by enchantment; so quietly and so suddenly had they been erected! Those who first beheld the alarming spectacle rubbed their eyes, thinking themselves in a dream, but, soon finding it was reality, they awoke their countrymen and immediately began firing on our men, almost expecting, even then, to find the fortifications vanish from before them. They killed one of our noble fellows, and these men who had done and dared so bravely the night preceding, were so appalled at the unusual sight of death, in so sudden a manner, that some of them quitted the works on which they had labored so hard, and returned no more to defend them.

This can hardly be wondered at. They had been up all night, had had no refreshment, from sleep or food, not even a drop of water to wet their parched lips. It is, therefore, more surprising that any of them should be able to make a stand against the experienced soldiers of Great Britain, than that some should fall back.

WILLIAM. Yes, mamma, I think it was more surprising. I should have thought they would have had no strength or resolution to do any thing. Why did they not have some men from Cambridge to aid them? some who had not worked so hard would surely have been better able to fight.

MRS. M. Perhaps they would; but those who had gained the post of danger with so much toil and through so much peril, were determined to maintain it as long as they were able to stand by it: besides there had yet been no time for reinforcements to arrive.

WILLIAM. Was Gen. Warren with them when they first went to Bunker Hill?

MRS. M. No, my dear, Congress met at Watertown the day preceding that eventful night. Gen. Warren was, you know, president of it; he was therefore obliged to be present when it met. He had been all day engaged with its members, discussing the most important business, and even the night was far spent before they had finished the necessary arrangements for the momentous crisis which had now arrived. The moment he could leave his friends there, he prepared to go immediately to the field of battle. These friends endeavored, with all the arguments they could use, to dissuade him from going. They told him that it was impossible for the troops there to maintain their ground; that they neither had a sufficient supply of powder and balls, nor of arms, and the probability was that all who persisted in fighting would be either killed or taken prisoners. One of them, in particular, entreated him, most earnestly, not to expose his invaluable life where his death was almost certain, for that thus he would injure rather than serve his country's cause. "I cannot help it," he replied, "I must share the fate of my countrymen." "To hear the sound of the cannon and remain inactive, is what I cannot do." "I should die to be at home, while my fellow citizens are shedding their blood for me." "As sure as you go, you will be slain," replied his friend. "It is sweet, it is honourable, to die for our country," was the last reply of the patriotic hero. By daylight of the next morning he was in Cambridge. The British had not made their appearance, and, sick with a nervous headache from his excessive exertions of mind and body, Warren threw himself on a bed, hoping for a few moments' repose. He was soon informed that the enemy were in motion. Their destination was at first uncertain. Many thought they intended to seize the scanty stock of ammunition and other stores, deposited at Watertown and Cambridge. It was all this part of the country contained; all on which the army here depended, to enable them to make any resistance against the well-furnished troops of Great Britain. If these were taken or destroyed, the struggle for liberty would, for a time, perhaps _forever_, be at an end.

On the other hand, the troops at Bunker Hill were very much exposed, and required immediate reinforcements. These considerations prevented the committee of safety from acting with so much decision, as they would otherwise have done. This committee was now sitting in the same house in which Gen. Warren had been seeking a little repose. The moment he received information that the British were on the move, he started from his bed, exclaiming, "my headache is gone." He then met with the committee, of which he was chairman. With his usual quickness of perception he saw that Bunker Hill was the spot destined to be attacked, and so soon as it was resolved to send reinforcements there, he mounted his horse, and, with his fusil and sword hastened to the post of danger. When he had arrived at Bunker, or Breed's Hill (for they had not yet been able to fortify Bunker Hill,) the enemy had landed at Charlestown, and thus made it clear that their intentions were to attack our forts.[3] Five thousand experienced British troops were already landed and prepared, under the command of Gen. Howe, to encounter our men. They had been through no fatigue, had plenty of arms, ammunition, and every thing necessary to render success almost certain. The Americans, on the contrary, were much exhausted, their arms were poor, their ammunition scanty, and no reinforcements of any importance had arrived. But, as I before mentioned, our men did not wish for aid, they wanted themselves to defend the forts they had themselves so ably constructed, and they were about to fight for their liberties, their homes, and every thing most dear to them. They were determined, too, to show the hired troops of Great Britain of what men were capable who had determined to die free, rather than to live under the tyranny of a foreign power. With such feelings, they did not hesitate a moment to face the enemy, and it was necessary to repress their ardor, so eager were they to begin.

WILLIAM. But, mamma, was it not on Bunker Hill the battle was fought? for you said just now it was Breed's Hill, and that they had not been able to fortify Bunker Hill. I thought they fortified that at first.

MRS. M. No, my dear, they did not. They were directed to do it, but they found it would not answer so well, as it was too far from the enemy for them to reach her fleet and shipping from it with their balls. They therefore fortified Breed's Hill in preference.

MARY. Why then, mamma, was the battle called the battle of Bunker Hill?

MRS. M. Because Bunker Hill was the only one which was distinguished by a name at that time; it was the one, too, which they had intended to occupy, and the battle was fought so near it that it was then designated by that name, which it has ever since retained, and it would be hardly worth while to alter it now.

WILLIAM. No, mamma, I should think not. I should not like to have the name changed, for ever since I can remember, I have heard about the battle of Bunker Hill, and the death of Gen. Warren on it, and I should not know what it meant if I now heard of the battle of Breed's Hill, and I do not think I should think at all of him when it was thus spoken of. But I have interrupted you at the most interesting part. Gen. Warren, I think you said, had joined the Americans just as the battle was beginning.

MRS. M. Yes, he had; the firing had already commenced. Among our commanders the only contention was, who should be foremost at the post of danger. Each was desirous himself to be placed where there was the greatest risk, and, therefore, the greatest honor. So soon as Gen. Warren reached the field of battle, he sought out Gen. Putnam, to request him to point out to him where he should find the most arduous service. As Putnam saw him approach, he exclaimed, "Gen. Warren, I am sorry to see you here: I wish you had left the day to us, as I advised you. From appearances we shall have a sharp time of it, but since you are here, I will receive your commands with pleasure." Warren replied, "I come as a volunteer, I know nothing of your arrangements, and will not interfere with them; only tell me where I can be most useful, and there I will go." Putnam, still earnest, if possible, to preserve him from danger, directed him to a particular spot, observing at the same time, "there you will be covered." But this was not what Warren wanted. "Do not think," he earnestly exclaimed, "I come here to seek a place of safety, tell me where the onset will be most furious, it is there I wish to be." Putnam then told him that the post he had pointed out was a most important one. That it was the first wish of the enemy to drive our soldiers from it; that Col. Prescott was there, determined to defend it as long as possible, for upon retaining it depended the fate of the battle. He added, that the probability was, the British would at last gain possession of it, but when it could be defended no longer, it would require great coolness and skill to bring off as many of our soldiers as possible, and retreat with order and regularity. Warren assented to the truth of this, said he would be governed by his opinions, and instantly went to the redoubt or post that was to be defended.

So soon as the soldiers saw him, they welcomed him with loud huzzas. Col. Prescott, as Putnam had before, asked him to take the command; he again refused it, and offered his services as a volunteer, saying, "I am happy to learn service from a soldier of experience."

The battle now commenced most seriously. Our soldiers had, as yet, no time to fortify Bunker Hill, though, if they were beat back from their fort, it was of the utmost importance this should be done; nor had they been able to complete their other works as they wished. It was too late now, for the enemy were already firing on them, unfinished as they were. All that could be accomplished, before the firing began, was for part of the soldiers to take post behind a rail fence, about two hundred and fifty yards in length, which they slightly fortified by placing another fence at a little distance from the first, and filling the space between the two with new mown hay. So soon as the tremendous discharge of cannon from the British began, her troops advanced to attack those stationed at the redoubt and at this fence. Our men were eager instantly to return the fire, but were not permitted to, until the enemy were within eight rods of them. Powder, Putnam told them, must not be wasted. "Do not fire until commanded. You must not fire until you see the whites of the eyes of your enemy, then fire low, take aim at their waistbands. You are all marksmen, and can kill a squirrel at the distance of a hundred yards; reserve your fire and the enemy are all destroyed. Aim at the handsome coats; pick off the commanders." Such were the orders of many of the American officers besides Putnam, as they rode through the lines of the different divisions which were stationed at the fence, and at the redoubt. The redoubt was 150 yards in front of the rail fence. As you may suppose, these instructions came home to the men, and encouraged and animated them, and gave them more confidence in themselves than any thing else that could have been said. Some few, in their eagerness to fire, did not wait the word of command, Putnam drew his sword and declared he would himself cut down the first who should disobey. Gen. Warren was among the most active, cheering the men by his words and actions; he mingled in their ranks, shared all their dangers, and with his musket stood ready to aid them in firing, the moment the enemy were near enough to render it prudent to fire. That moment had come. The British had approached within eight rods of the redoubt. The command was given, they fired, and nearly the whole front rank of the advancing army was destroyed. Another line, and still another, presented itself, and each was in turn levelled with the ground. For a short time there was a pause. The British were retreating. Putnam seized the moment to bring up some reinforcements from Bunker Hill. Howe, the British commander, meanwhile brought his troops once more into order, and was joined by some others from Boston, under the command of Major Small. Again the firing commenced. Our men were obliged to wait until the British were still nearer than the first. Not until they were within _six_ rods were they now allowed to discharge their muskets. When they did, it was with still more deadly effect than before. The flames of Charlestown, to which the British had set fire, urged them on, and rank after rank of officers and men fell before them. The enemy could no longer stand their ground; they retreated once more, and left the field to our brave men. At this moment, Gen. Putnam saw one British officer standing alone, all around him had fallen. Many muskets were levelled at him; in a moment he would have shared the fate of his companions. At this eventful moment, Putnam perceived that it was an old friend and fellow soldier who was about to be destroyed: he rushed to the spot, knocked away the deadly weapons with his sword, and entreated the men to spare one whom he loved like a brother. They could not resist the appeal; the noble and daring generosity of the General excited their admiration and sympathy. His friend was permitted to retire unhurt.

Every thing now seemed to promise success to the cause of liberty. The field was our own. More than a thousand of the enemy had fallen, and a great number of their best officers were slain by our marksmen. But alas! at the very moment in which every thing seemed to smile upon our noble defenders, these defenders found the greatest reason to despair. So soon as they had leisure to look around them, they discovered that their ammunition was expended, their arms almost useless, and scarcely any thing to defend themselves from a renewed attack of the enemy, but the stones which partly formed their fort. Their only hope was, that as the loss of the British had been so great, they would not again make the hazardous attempt to drive them from their entrenchments. In this, _their last hope_, they were fatally disappointed. Some of the British officers were unwilling to lead their men again to an attack, where certain death seemed to await them, but the greater part of them were determined not to yield the victory to _rebels_, as they still called us. They collected all their strength, and once more advanced to the charge, resolved to take the redoubt which Gen. Putnam had pointed out to Gen. Warren as our most important point of defence, or perish in the attempt.

Every effort was made by our brave officers and soldiers to preserve this much contested spot; but the little ammunition they had been able to collect was soon exhausted. Even this little had not the effect their former discharges had. The British had learnt wisdom from experience, they approached with more caution, and kept their forces much closer together than before. When no more ammunition could be procured by our officers, stones were resorted to, as the last means of defence. This rather encouraged than repelled the enemy, as it showed they had nothing else to use. At last, in spite of every exertion it was in the power of men to make, who felt they were fighting for their country and their homes, the British gained possession of the redoubt. They were opposed at every step of their advance; the butt ends of the guns which the Americans could no longer fire, were made use of to keep them back; nothing was left undone. But it was all in vain. As fast as one party was beaten off, another would approach. All that our officers had now to do, was to endeavor to retreat with the men who yet remained, with as little loss as possible. This was done with the same bravery and skill they had displayed through the whole battle. Gen. Warren was the last to quit his post. He animated the men to the most desperate actions. With his own sword he cut down all who were around him. Every inch of ground which they relinquished, he considered as an indelible disgrace. To give up all they had toiled so hard to gain, to see the oppressors of his country in possession of a spot strewed with the bodies, and wet with the blood of those who had fought so nobly in her defence, was more than Warren could support. He felt that the liberties of that country had received their death blow, and life was now of no value to him. He slowly followed his countrymen, when he found they must yield, and disdained to quicken his steps, although the balls of the enemy were whizzing around him. There were some among his gallant opponents who would gladly have preserved his life, had it been in their power; among these was Major Small, the same officer who had been rescued by Putnam from a similar fate. He perceived Gen. Warren thus moving slowly on, regardless of, or rather seeming to court death. He called upon him for God's sake to stop, and take refuge with him from certain destruction. Warren turned and looked at him, but, too sick at heart to answer him, still kept on his perilous way, in full sight of his enemies. Small then ordered his men not to fire on him, but it was too late, they had seen him, and, before the command was heard, had fired. He was only about eighty rods from the redoubt he had defended so nobly, when the fatal ball reached him, passed through his head, and killed him instantly.

WILLIAM. Oh how sorry I am! Why could not Major Small have spoken a little quicker, and kept his men from firing, as Putnam did when our men were about to fire on him?

MRS. M. He no doubt did all he could to preserve him, but a higher power than his directed the ball which thus deprived our country of one of her most enthusiastic defenders, and in one of her darkest moments. He was taken, too, before his eyes were allowed a glimpse of that brilliant light of liberty which afterwards shone so brightly upon his country, and for whose first rays he had so anxiously watched. He fell in the prime of life, a glorious sacrifice for his beloved country.

MARY. How old was he, dear mother?

MRS. M. He was only thirty-four years of age.

WILLIAM. What became of his body, mamma? I hope the British did not have it.

MRS. M. His body lay, with a great many others, all night on the field of battle. In the morning a young man, by the name of Winslow, saw it, and, disfigured as it was, knew it; he went immediately and told Gen. Howe that Gen. Warren was among the slain on Bunker Hill. Howe would not at first believe it. He said it was impossible that the President of Congress should have been suffered to expose himself in such a perilous encounter. Dr. Jeffries, who was afterwards for many years a physician in Boston, and whose son now practises here, was then a surgeon in the British service. He was at this time on the field, dressing the wounded among the English, and those among the American prisoners. Howe inquired if he knew Warren; he said he did, and, so soon as he saw the body, declared it to be his. He told Gen. Howe that Gen. Warren had, only five days previous, with his accustomed fearlessness of danger, ventured in a small canoe to Boston, that he might himself gather information of the designs of the enemy; and that he had at the same time urged him (Dr. Jeffries) to return with him, and act as surgeon to the Americans. Howe no longer doubted that his formidable adversary was extended powerless at his feet. Though too noble himself not to lament the early fate of such a mind, yet he declared that this one victim was worth five hundred of their own men, in which he was joined by all who heard him. In the pocket of Gen. Warren was found a prayer book with his name in it, which would from the first have decided, beyond doubt, that it was indeed Gen. Warren who lay there among friends and foes; but it was not seen at that time. The probability is, that it was plundered from his pocket by some of those wretches who generally remain on the field where a battle has been fought, in order to get what they can from the dying and the dead.

MARY. How was it known that it had been taken from him, dear mother?

MRS. M. Some time after, when the war was over, and the British officers and soldiers had gone back to England, one of these soldiers showed this book to an English minister, whose name was Samuel Wilton. This gentleman knew that a book of this kind, found on the body of so eminent a man as Warren, would be highly valued by every American, and that it would be more especially gratifying to his immediate relatives to have such a relic of him; one which showed that when he went forth to fight for his country, his trust was not in his own arm alone, but that he looked up to a higher power for support. Mr. Wilton, therefore, offered the man a great price for it, who very gladly sold it to him. He then sent it to America, and had it put into the hands of a minister of Roxbury, the Rev. Dr. Gordon--with a request that it might be given to his nearest relative. It was accordingly given to his youngest brother, Dr. John Warren, March 15th, 1778. This was about three years after Gen. Warren's death.

MARY. I think it was very kind in that English minister to take so much trouble. Was not the book almost worn out by the man who had it all that time?

MRS. M. No, it was in very good preservation. I suppose the man took good care of it, thinking he might sometime get a great price for it. It is even now a handsome book, the binding is as nice as ever. The type is so clear, that is, it was so well printed, that it can be read with great ease, although printed so long ago as the year 1559; which was but a little more than an hundred years after the art of printing was discovered: so that it is valuable for its antiquity, as well as from having belonged to a departed hero.

WILLIAM. Where is it now, mamma?

MRS. M. Gen. Warren's nephew, the present Dr. John C. Warren, has it. He also has the oration which Gen. Warren delivered on the 5th of March, in the orator's own hand-writing.

WILLIAM. You have not yet told us, mamma, what became of the body of the general?

MRS. M. It was buried near where he fell, with many other bodies, both English and American. Some time after, his friends took it up and placed it in a tomb in the Tremont burying-ground, and finally the bones were removed to the family tomb under St. Paul's church.

WILLIAM. Would not the British let his friends have it to bury at first, dear mother?

MRS. M. I presume they would, had any of them demanded it in time: but these friends could not ascertain where he was, nor did they know for a certainty of his death, until after he was buried. The youngest brother, of whom I have spoken so often, Dr. John Warren, was at the time of the battle, in full practice, as a physician, in Salem. So soon as he heard there was likely to be an engagement in Charlestown, he armed himself, and set out on foot for that place. He went on as rapidly as he could, he saw the town of Charlestown in flames, and was lighted on his way by its burning glare, but could not ascertain, for some time, if there had yet been any fighting. At last he was informed that there had been a severe engagement. His impatience to be on the spot, and his anxiety to know where his brother Joseph was, became now almost insupportable. He had studied his profession with that brother, and knew his ardent character so well, that he felt confident he would be among the combatants; he felt, too, that no danger, no thought for himself, would keep him back from the hottest of the fray; he was eager to be with him, to share his danger if he could not guard him from it. Notwithstanding his impatience, he could learn nothing certain about him; he determined to penetrate to the field of battle at all risks. As he attempted to pass a sentinel, on his way, he was repulsed by him with the point of a bayonet, which gave him so deep a wound, that he carried the scar from it as long as he lived. Still he pushed on, and at last ascertained that his brother was in the engagement, and that he was either killed or taken prisoner. His character was quite as enthusiastic as that of his brother, and he now earnestly entreated to be allowed to join the army as a volunteer: to avenge his brother's death, or, if he was not killed, to effect his release, was now his most fervent wish. This request was refused. His services were needed elsewhere. The poor fellows who had been wounded in the battle were even now suffering from the want of surgical assistance. Dr. John Warren, although then only twenty-four years of age, had already acted as surgeon at the battle of Lexington. His skill, therefore, as a surgeon, was too well known to allow Congress to accept his services in any other way. With a heart aching at the uncertainty attending a beloved brother's fate, he had to fulfil the duties of the office assigned him. This post, of hospital surgeon, he retained during the rest of the war.

His mother was almost distracted with the suspense in which she was kept respecting her first-born son. Although from the first she had said she was sure he would fall a sacrifice to the cause he had espoused so warmly, yet now she could not believe that such had been his fate. It was three days after the battle, before certain intelligence was obtained of his death. When his mother first realized that she should see him no more, she was entirely overwhelmed with her affliction. He was her eldest son; after the death of her husband, she had looked to him as her principal solace and support. He was all her fondest hopes could wish. Honor, respect and love, had attended him in every step of his career; and now, just as he had attained to all the honors his country could bestow, he was taken away, and she had not even the melancholy satisfaction of embalming his body with her tears. For a time she refused to be comforted; but ere long, that religion which had comforted her in all her former afflictions, exerted its healing power over her wounded spirit, and though she still sorrowed, it was not without hope. The memory of this much loved son was fondly cherished by her to the end of her life. Every anniversary of his death was kept by her as a day of fasting and prayer, and her hospitable house was closed to all but the poor.

His eldest and youngest brothers were present when his body was disinterred. So soon as the youngest brother, Dr. John Warren, saw that it was indeed the body of his respected preceptor and much loved friend and brother, that was thus taken from the recesses of the grave to receive the last tribute of affection, his emotion was so great as to entirely overpower him, he dropped motionless by the side of him he so deeply mourned, and it was some time before consciousness was restored again.

WILLIAM. How did his brothers know it was his body, mamma? I should think, if it had been buried some time, it would not have been possible for them to have been sure it was his.

MRS. M. They knew his clothes, for he was buried just as he fell; besides this, he had lost a finger nail and wore an artificial tooth, so that he was identified beyond doubt.

His country also deeply mourned his untimely loss. In the official account of the battle, drawn up by the Massachusetts Congress, it is stated; "Among the dead was Maj. Gen. Joseph Warren, a man whose memory will be endeared to his countrymen, and to the worthy in every part and age of the world, as long as valor shall be esteemed among mankind."

Within a year after his death, it was resolved by Congress that there should be a monument erected to his memory, "as an acknowledgment of his virtues and distinguished services." Congress also resolved, that from that time his eldest son should be educated at the expense of the United States. Two or three years after, it was determined that the three younger children should likewise be supported and educated at the public expense, until the youngest child should be of age.

MARY. Indeed, mamma, did Gen. Warren have four children? I did not know he was married.

MRS. M. Yes, my dear, he left four orphans. His wife, who was a very excellent, amiable woman, died three years before his death, so that when he was killed, the poor children were left without father or mother.

WILLIAM. Who took care of them, dear mother?

MRS. M. Dr. John Warren took them home soon after he himself was married, and they lived with him many years.

MARY. Did the United States support them, as was resolved?

MRS. M. Yes. Their uncle, Dr. Warren, was just getting into business in Boston, for he left Salem soon after the war commenced; he was at that time not able to do more than support his own family, and unless the board of his brother's children had been paid, he could not have kept them. The eldest son was fitted for, and carried through college, but he died a few years after he came out. The second son, too, died soon after he became of age. The other two children were daughters. The eldest married Gen. Arnold Welles, of whom you have often heard me speak; he was a man beloved and respected by all who knew him. This eldest daughter of Gen. Warren's, was a very beautiful woman, but she has been dead many years. The second daughter, who was also a very handsome woman, was twice married. Her last husband was Judge Newcombe, of Greenfield. She has been dead some years, and has left one son, Warren Newcombe, who is practising law in this State. He is the only immediate descendant of Gen. Warren. I believe, my children, I have now told you all I can about our friend Joseph Warren. Are you not tired of hearing about him?

MARY. Oh, no, dear mother, I am not, I wish you could tell us a great deal more.

WILLIAM. So do I, mamma. We are much obliged to you for telling us so much. How long did the war last after Gen. Warren was killed?

MRS. M. It lasted about six years, but peace was not finally concluded until the year 1783; that was eight years after his death. Parley's Geography tells you the time when the fighting ceased, and when a treaty of peace was signed between Great Britain and our country. Do you not recollect it?

WILLIAM. Yes, mamma, I do now, but I cannot remember dates very well.

MRS. M. You must soon read larger books about the Revolution, and then you will remember better. There are a great many anecdotes of things which took place during the war, which are quite as interesting as any books of tales you can find. In the Appendix to Dr. Thacher's Journal of the Revolution, there are some very interesting facts related; but you ought to read the whole book so soon as you are old enough to take an interest in it. There are, too, a great many other books you ought to read, to make you acquainted with the many great and good men, who fought and bled in their country's cause. It is not possible to know how much we owe them, and especially how much we owe to Gen. Washington, unless we read books which enter into all the particulars of what was done and suffered by them, and by him through the whole of the war.

ORATION,

_DELIVERED IN BOSTON, MARCH 6, 1775_,

BY

DR. JOSEPH WARREN,

IN COMMEMORATION OF THE EVENING OF THE FIFTH OF MARCH, 1770; WHEN A NUMBER OF CITIZENS WERE KILLED BY A PARTY OF BRITISH TROOPS, QUARTERED AMONG THEM IN A TIME OF PEACE.

MY EVER HONORED FELLOW CITIZENS,

It is not without the most humiliating conviction of my want of ability that I now appear before you; but the sense I have of the obligation I am under to obey the calls of my country at all times, together with an animating recollection of your indulgence, exhibited upon so many occasions, has induced me, once more, undeserving as I am, to throw myself upon that candor which looks with kindness on the feeblest efforts of an honest mind.

You will not now expect the elegance, the learning, the fire, the enrapturing strains of eloquence which charmed you when a LOVELL, a CHURCH, or a HANCOCK spake; but you will permit me to say, that with a sincerity, equal to theirs, I mourn over my bleeding country: with them I weep at her distress, and with them deeply resent the many injuries she has received from the hands of cruel and unreasonable men.

That personal freedom is the natural right of every man; and that property, or an exclusive right to dispose of what he has honestly acquired by his own labor, necessarily arises therefrom, are truths which common sense has placed beyond the reach of contradiction. And no man, or body of men can, without being guilty of flagrant injustice, claim a right to dispose of the persons or acquisitions of any other man, or body of men, unless it can be proved that such a right has arisen from some compact between the parties in which it has been explicitly and freely granted.

If I may be indulged in taking a retrospective view of the first settlement of our country, it will be easy to determine with what degree of justice the late Parliament of Great Britain have assumed the power of giving away that property which the Americans have earned by their labor.

Our fathers having nobly resolved never to wear the yoke of despotism, and seeing the European world, at that time, through indolence and cowardice, falling a prey to tyranny, bravely threw themselves upon the bosom of the ocean, determined to find a place in which they might enjoy their freedom, or perish in the glorious attempt. Approving Heaven beheld the favorite ark dancing upon the waves, and graciously preserved it until the chosen families were brought in safety to these western regions. They found the land swarming with savages, who threatened death with every kind of torture. But savages, and death with torture, were far less terrible than slavery: nothing was so much the object of their abhorrence as a tyrant's power: they knew that it was more safe to dwell with man in his most unpolished state, than in a country where arbitrary power prevails. Even anarchy itself, that bugbear held up by the tools of power, (though truly to be deprecated) is infinitely less dangerous to mankind than arbitrary government. Anarchy can be but of short duration; for when men are at liberty to pursue that course which is most conducive to their own happiness, they will soon come into it, and from the rudest state of nature, order and good government must soon arise. But tyranny, when once established, entails its curses on a nation to the latest period of time; unless some daring genius, inspired by Heaven, shall, unappalled by danger, bravely form and execute the arduous design of restoring liberty and life to his enslaved, murdered country.

The tools of power, in every age, have racked their inventions to justify the few in sporting with the happiness of the many; and, having found their sophistry too weak to hold mankind in bondage, have impiously dared to force religion, the daughter of the king of heaven, to become a prostitute in the service of hell. They taught that princes, honored with the name of Christian, might bid defiance to the founder of their faith, might pillage Pagan countries and deluge them with blood, only because they boasted themselves to be the disciples of that teacher who strictly charged his followers to do to others as they would that others should do unto them.

This country, having been discovered by an English subject, in the year 1620, was (according to the system which the blind superstition of those times supported) deemed the property of the crown of England. Our ancestors, when they resolved to quit their native soil, obtained from king James, a grant of certain lands in North America. This they probably did to silence the cavils of their enemies, for it cannot be doubted, but they despised the pretended right which he claimed thereto. Certain it is, that he might, with equal propriety and justice, have made them a grant of the planet Jupiter. And their subsequent conduct plainly shows that they were too well acquainted with humanity, and the principles of natural equity, to suppose that the grant gave them any right to take possession; they, therefore, entered into a treaty with the natives, and bought from them the lands: nor have I ever yet obtained any information that our ancestors ever pleaded, or that the natives ever regarded the grant from the English crown: the business was transacted by the parties in the same independent manner that it would have been, had neither of them ever known or heard of the island of Great Britain.

Having become the honest proprietors of the soil, they immediately applied themselves to the cultivation of it; and they soon beheld the virgin earth teeming with richest fruits, a grateful recompense for their unwearied toil. The fields began to wave with ripening harvests, and the late barren wilderness was seen to blossom like the rose. The savage natives saw with wonder the delightful change, and quickly formed a scheme to obtain that by fraud or force, which nature meant as the reward of industry alone. But the illustrious emigrants soon convinced the rude invaders, that they were not less ready to take the field for battle than for labor: and the insidious foe was driven from their borders as often as he ventured to disturb them. The crown of England looked with indifference on the contest; our ancestors were left alone to combat with the natives. Nor is there any reason to believe, that it ever was intended by the one party, or expected by the other, that the grantor should defend and maintain the grantees in the peaceable possession of the lands named in the patents. And it appears plainly, from the history of those times, that neither the prince, nor the people of England, thought themselves much interested in the matter. They had not then any idea of a thousandth part of those advantages which they since have, and we are most heartily willing they should continue to reap from us.

But when, at an infinite expense of toil and blood, this widely extended continent had been cultivated and defended: when the hardy adventurers justly expected that they and their descendants should peaceably have enjoyed the harvest of those fields which they had sown, and the fruit of those vineyards which they had planted; this country was then thought worthy the attention of the British ministry; and the only justifiable and only successful means of rendering the Colonies serviceable to Britain were adopted. By an intercourse of friendly offices, the two countries became so united in affection, that they thought not of any distinct or separate interests, they found both countries flourishing and happy. Britain saw her commerce extended, and her wealth increased; her lands raised to an immense value; her fleets riding triumphant on the ocean; the terror of her arms spreading to every quarter of the globe. The Colonist found himself free, and thought himself secure; he dwelt under his own vine, and under his own fig-tree, and had none to make him afraid: he knew, indeed, that by purchasing the manufactures of Great Britain, he contributed to its greatness: he knew that all the wealth that his labor produced centered in Great Britain: but that, far from exciting his envy, filled him with the highest pleasure; that thought supported him in all his toils. When the business of the day was past, he solaced himself with the contemplation, or perhaps entertained his listening family with the recital of some great, some glorious transaction which shines conspicuous in the history of Britain: or, perhaps, his elevated fancy led him to foretell, with a kind of enthusiastic confidence, the glory, power, and duration of an empire which should extend from one end of the earth to the other: he saw, or thought he saw, the British nation risen to a pitch of grandeur which cast a veil over the Roman glory, and, ravished with the preview, boasted a race of British kings, whose names should echo through those realms where Cyrus, Alexander, and the C├Žsars were unknown; princes for whom millions of grateful subjects redeemed from slavery and Pagan ignorance, should, with thankful tongues, offer up their prayers and praises to that transcendently great and beneficent Being, by whom kings reign, and princes decree justice.

These pleasing connexions might have continued; these delightsome prospects might have been every day extended; and even the reveries of the most warm imagination might have been realized; but unhappily for us, unhappily for Britain, the madness of an avaricious minister of state, has drawn a sable curtain over the charming scene, and in its stead, has brought upon the stage, discord, envy, hatred, and revenge, with civil war close in their rear.