Bunker Hill (15 page)

He moved along the
sideboard, heaping his plate with eggs, sausage, ham, turnips, and parsnip.
“You have a talent for the best things in life, my dear,” he said to Mrs.
Loring, who was pouring tea. “I prefer my eggs boiled hard rather than coddled,
but these look delicious.”

It was
half-past seven in the morning, and the thunder of guns from the ships in the
bay shook the house. They were all gathered in the dining room of Howe’s
house—that is, the house which he had appropriated for himself, the largest and
best rebel house that Boston boasted—Sir Henry Clinton, Maj. Gen. John
Burgoyne, Gen. Thomas Gage, and Adm. Thomas Graves.

“All ships
firing
, ”
Admiral Graves said. He was a large man with
a protruding stomach and bright pink cheeks, hunched over a plate piled to
abundance. “The sweet rolls are delicious.
My compliments to
the cook, Mrs. Loring.”

“The rolls
are my doing. I thank you, Admiral.”

Burgoyne,
helping himself at the sideboard, opined that it was all noise and bluster.

“I beg to
differ,” the admiral said.

“Admiral,”
said Burgoyne, seating himself at the table, “if you had a mind to wager, I’d
say that all that storm and sound outside won’t kill half a dozen rebels.
Meanwhile, you’re shooting away your cannonballs as if they grew on trees.”

“I resent
that, sir.”

“My word,”
Clinton said, “you worry about cannonballs as if they came out of your pay,
Johnny. On the other hand, they built that damn redoubt up on the hill. That’s
an insolent piece of business. Do you think you can knock it down, Admiral?”

They
turned to Graves, who shrugged and shook his head. “It’s a piece of work. No.
We’re not having any real effect on the redoubt. I ordered Dexter on
Lively
to halt his fire. You know, he opened
up on his own. Then Gage here countermanded me. He ordered a bombardment of
Breed’s Hill by all ships. Goddamn it, gentleman,

who
is in command here?”

“I am
in command,” Sir William said flatly.

“Do
you want the bombardment stopped?” Graves demanded.

“No.”

“Sir
William,” Clinton said, “we are to attack tomorrow. Do you intend to go on
shooting for the next twenty-four hours?”

Sir
William finished chewing and washed his food down with a swallow of tea before
he replied. “No, Henry, we will attack today.”

There was
a long moment of silence, broken by Burgoyne, who clapped his hands with
pleasure.
“Absolutely.
From all I can learn, there’s
total chaos up there on the hills. The damn rebels are milling around like
cattle in a thunderstorm. We watch them crowding over the neck into
Charlestown, some going on to the peninsula, others running out of it. Dr.
Church says every militia commander has a different notion of what they should
do, defend the peninsula or abandon it. There’s a brigade from Jersey that
simply picked up and marched off. Old Artemus Ward is in agony over his stones,
and Church says his mind is addled. They’re tearing at each other over the
redoubt. Putnam and Prescott never wanted it, and Gridley and Warren, who were
the instigators, as I am given to understand, have fallen out with the others.
They go on arguing endlessly on how to defend the hills and Charlestown, and
Church says they’re all over the place in total confusion.”

“You want
some meat,” Howe said to Gage. “There’s no bloody life in eggs and sweet rolls.
Try the ham, sir. Betsy,” he called out to Mrs. Loring, who stood by the
sideboard, “put a slice of ham on General Gage’s plate.”

It was a
deliberate slight, as the others realized. Sir William had small liking for
Gage. “Thank you,” Gage said coldly. “I have had quite enough.”

“What I
don’t understand,” said Admiral
Graves,
“is why we
don’t simply cut off the Charlestown Neck and let their damn rebellion die on
the peninsula. They’d soon run out of food and water.”

“Yes,”
Clinton said, “but in spite of Johnny’s enthusiasm with Church’s intelligence,
his word is not gospel for me. Who has counted the number of farmers around
Boston?
Ten thousand?
Fifteen
thousand?
If we muster the Forty-seventh Marine Brigade along with
everything else we have, it adds up to three thousand and two hundred men. If
we place ourselves on the Charlestown Neck, we are between two armies, the men
on the peninsula and the damn mob outside of Boston. It’s a position no army
should ever be in.”

“Thirty-two
hundred of the best troops in the world,” Burgoyne said. “Church says there
can’t be much more than a thousand of them on Breed’s Hill and Bunker Hill.
I’ll hold that neck with a corporal’s guard.”

“What
nonsense!” Gage cried. “Sir Henry is absolutely right.”

“Oh, I
wish I possessed your military acumen,” Burgoyne muttered.

“I will
not continue to take your sneers and insults,” Gage cried angrily.

“Enough.”
Sir William roared. “You will not fight across Mrs. Loring’s breakfast table.
We will do what honor and England demands of us.”

“And what
is that, sir?”

“We will
attack and clear the peninsula and end this insufferable rebellion.” And
turning to Mrs. Loring: “Betsy, bring me my map case.” While she went upstairs
for the maps, Sir William ate with energy. Breakfast was his favorite meal, and
he saw no reason to forgo it simply because a battle was in the offing. Clinton
nibbled at his food and voiced his doubts.

He said,
“If they should put the cannon they have, even two guns, along the shore, they
could blow us to pieces before we set foot on land.”

“But they
are not defending the shoreline,” Burgoyne argued. “There is not a man or a gun
on the meadows. It’s not their style. They won’t face up to our infantry. I had
my glass on the shoreline. It’s empty. They’re up on the hills. The beggars
learned one thing: to pot us from behind their cursed stone walls. From what I
could see, they’re digging a trench from that redoubt all across the ridge.
Face ’em with a line of grenadiers and they’ll run like rabbits.”

“Admiral
Graves,” Howe said, “how long will it take to put our entire force on the
peninsula?”

“What part
of the peninsula?”

Mrs.
Loring appeared with the map case, and Howe pushed the dishes aside and
unrolled one of the maps. “All of you, gentlemen, gather around. According to
what Dr. Church tells us, the main force of the farmers will take a position at
the redoubt and alongside it, stretching over to here, I suppose. Prescott
commands them. You know Prescott, Sir Henry?”

“He’s a
brave man.”

“Is he smart?”

Clinton
shrugged. “He’s determined.”

Burgoyne
traced a line on the map. “Church says that John Stark holds this position,
down to the river. He’s there with a few hundred rifles.”

“Only a few hundred?”

“Church
says there are about three hundred of them, riflemen out of New Hampshire. No
order, no discipline. They have the range for the first volley.
Twice the distance of a musket.
But then they have to pound
the charge into their guns.”

“Admiral
Graves, I asked you a question,” Howe said impatiently.

“I have
been thinking and calculating. It’s no simple matter. You’ll want guns to back
them.”

“Of course
I want guns.”

“Johnny,” Clinton said to Burgoyne, “Church is a piece
of shit, and you take his word as gospel. He told me there are five hundred of
the New Hampshire men.”

Gage shook
his head unhappily. “I listen to you,” he said, “and you talk of facing a mob.
I have been here longer than any of you. They are no mob. They are hellishly
dangerous.”

“My dear
General Gage,” Howe said soothingly. “I respect the knowledge you have of these
people. Any man with a gun is dangerous. I accept the fact that they outnumber
us five to one, but not on the peninsula. They are spread out from Roxbury to
Cambridge to Chelsea. They don’t dare risk their whole army on the peninsula.
Or even a substantial part of it. As much as I can make out, they have their
best men there, Prescott and Stark and Putnam, but no more than a thousand
troops. So in that sense, we outnumber them.”

“Then why
not take them from the rear?” Clinton demanded. “We can land a thousand men on
the Charlestown Neck, and then they’re bottled up like rats in a trap.”

“Because
like rats in a trap, they’ll run,” Burgoyne declared. “The Charlestown Neck is
four or five hundred paces wide. They’re not going to try to break out. We’ll
have to climb the hills. If they decide not to fight, they’ll go into the
river, into the town. Meanwhile, the main army attacks us from the mainland.
No, sir,” he exclaimed. “I am with Sir William. We attack.”

“If we
break through here,” Sir William said, pointing to a spot between the redoubt
and Bunker Hill, “and turn their flank here on the river side—then it’s over!”
He was decisive now, filled with the excitement of a mighty coup that would end
the rebellion, performing for Mrs. Loring.

“Follow me
now,” he commanded them. “If Stark is here on the right, we go up against him
with my grenadiers in the center. The light infantry takes the right flank. The
Forty-third and the Fifty-second will cover my left. The marines will go up
against the redoubt, and on their right flank, the guards and the
Forty-seventh. The Thirty-eighth will assault the redoubt from the right—” He
broke off and turned to Graves. “For God’s sake, Admiral, give me a time!”

Breakfast
or not, Admiral Graves was in full-dress uniform—gold epaulets, white wig,
sword by his side. Being at the head of the table, he had managed to continue
with his breakfast while he, as he put it, cogitated. He swallowed a mouthful
of sausage and complimented Mrs. Loring. “One doesn’t eat like this aboard
ship, not even an admiral, Mrs. Loring.”

Turning to Howe: “Well, Sir William, it’s almost eight o’clock.
I’ll have the marines on shore to secure the landing
by ten, and if you’ll have your men ready within the hour, I’ll put your army
on the Charleston shore no later than an hour past noon. Meanwhile, having
listened to your discussion, I might be well advised to open a bombardment on
the troops the rebels have in Roxbury and Dorchester.

“That
should keep them busy and make them think twice about reinforcing the lot on
the Charlestown hills. What do you say to that, sir?”

“Splendid, Admiral Graves!”
Sir William said. “And now I think a toast is in order.”

Anticipating
his wish, Mrs. Loring had two bottles of wine ready for pouring. Sir William
raised his massive bulk, offered his glass, and said, “To our victory!”

The
generals and the admiral drank.

“To His Majesty, the king!” Admiral Graves said
,
not to be outdone.

“Hear!
Hear!” Sir William cried.

In the
year 1770, Capt. Evan Feversham was court-martialed for his behavior in a small
skirmish on shore on the coast of Landes in France. It was a contest of no
importance, with only a few hundred men involved. When he appeared before the
officers of the court-martial, the charge was read as follows “…that he gave
aid and comfort to the enemy, namely, going to the assistance of a French
combatant, when the wounded of his own brigade lay within sight, sorely in need
of his surgical ministering, and deliberately ignoring the command of his
superior officer.” The charge was read by Col. Stephan Woodbury of the
Seventeenth Marine Brigade, who then asked Feversham how he pleaded.

The
barrister assigned to his defense had advised him to plead not guilty and argue
that in the heat of battle, his confusion was reasonable. Feversham rejected
his advice and pleaded guilty.

“Are you
aware of what your plea entails?” Colonel Woodbury asked him.

“I am,
sir.”

“You will not reconsider it?”

“No, sir, I will not.”

“Do you
have anything to offer in the way of mitigation?”

“Only that
I considered that I was doing my duty in terms of my pledge and oath as a
physician.”

“Do you,
sir, consider that pledge a higher duty than your duty as an officer in His
Majesty’s
forces.
”

Feversham
considered the question for a moment or two before replying. He was thirty-six
years old at the time, and he had spent the last nine years in the British army.
Even the mildest sentence by the court-martial would amount to a dishonorable
discharge and possibly a prison term; in any case,
a mark
black
enough to end his career as a doctor. At the other end of the
stick, he could be sentenced to death by hanging or punishment by whipping, a
conclusion so ignominious that for a gentleman of honor, death was preferable;
although in his case, he had never thought of himself as a gentleman of honor,
the very term offensive to him, considering the usual circumstances in which it
was earned and prized.