ards. They waited calmly for the attack, although most of them had never before tasted battle. Prescott sent back to Cambridge for help; but the machinery of the American army was too new to move quickly. Little help came; so the brunt of the battle of Bunker Hill, as it was inaccurately called, was borne by the men who were worn by the toil of many hours. The day was hot, there was no water on the hilltop, and the Americans, suffering from thirst and hunger, had to see the British soldiers eating and drinking. Howe had seen that to reach the rebels meant a march uphill through high, thick grass, and before beginning the climb, he halted his troops for refreshment. Jugs of cool drink passed along the ranks, and the laughter and talk of the trained soldiers floated up to the white-faced volunteers above, who tried not to think of their hunger and their parched throats. At last an order was given by the British generals and the soldiers rose and moved up the hill with the precision of clockwork. When they were yet a long way from the top they opened a harmless fire of musketry; but it was not returned by the colonists, who, having no powder to waste, withheld their fire until the enemy was near enough for the officers to be distinguished from the men. Then all the muskets of the Americans spoke at once. The colonists could shoot straight and each man had taken careful aim, so that few of their bullets were wasted. The number of British to go down before that first volley was enormous. The regulars turned in confusion; but a remorseless fire followed them down the hill. Again they advanced, only to be turned a second time with terrible loss. Then, at the foot of the hill, the British laid down their knapsacks and stripped off their heavy coats. An alarming number of officers had fallen, but where no officer was left, the oldest private soldier took command. A third time the British charged up the hill where now the trampled grass was slippery with blood. There were brave men on both sides that day! Crowded onto the house-tops of Boston, breathless throngs watched the progress of the battle. Charlestown had caught fire and the wooden houses going up to the sky in smoke and flame made a background of awful grandeur for the scene. General Gage, as he gazed through his glasses, changed his opinion of the Americans, so that he wrote later to the Secretary of State in England: "The rebels are shown not to be the disorderly rabble too many have supposed." How the battle would have ended if the Americans had not run short of ammunition it is impossible to tell. As it was, the third attack of the British could not be repulsed. The little store of powder and the few bullets were exhausted. The colonists had neither bayonets nor the skill to use them. The British swarmed over the low wall of the redoubt and drove the Americans back with practiced thrusts of steel. The colonists fought with the butts of their guns and with stones; but they were driven out and forced to retreat down the hill and across the Neck to Cambridge, the English ships raking them with shot as they went. The Americans were beaten and driven from the field, but theirs was a glorious defeat. When Washington heard of it he exclaimed, "Thank God the liberties of the country are safe!" And that was the feeling of every patriot, because it was proved that it was possible for untrained Americans to fight the best troops of England. With training and the proper facilities for war, victory was certain. King George, however, was not convinced of this unwelcome truth. Eleven hundred English and nearly five hundred Americans lay dead after the battle of Bunker Hill; but there must be great suffering, more bloodshed, and the American colonies must pass out of his reach forever, before the prideblind monarch would believe that his will could be defied. Marie Louise Herdman RODNEY'S RIDE JULY 3, 1776 IN that soft midland where the breezes bear Burly and big, and bold and bluff, In his three-cornered hat and his suit of snuff, Into Dover village he rode apace, And his kinsfolk knew, from his anxious face, "Money and men we must have," he said, "Or the Congress fails and our cause is dead. Give us both and the king shall not work his will- Comes a rider swift on a panting bay; Answered Rodney then: "I will ride with speed; "Ho, saddle the black! I've but half a day, He is up! he is off! and the black horse flies It is two of the clock; and the fleet hoofs fling Four; and he spurs into Newcastle town. From his panting steed he gets him down "A fresh one quick; not a moment's wait!" And off sped Rodney, the delegate. It is five; and the beams of the western sun It is seven; the horse-boat, broad of beam, The Congress is met; the debate's begun, Not a moment late! And that half day's ride At Tyranny's feet was the gauntlet flung; "We are free!" all the bells through the colonies rung. And the sons of the free may recall with pride The day of Delegate Rodney's ride. Elbridge S. Brooks SIGNING THE DECLARATION JULY 4, 1776 THE bell on the Pennsylvania State House which was rung to announce that Congress had passed the measure, bore the words upon it: "Proclaim liberty throughout the land, unto all the inhabitants thereof" (Leviticus XXV, 10). It is a cloudless summer day; a clear blue sky arches and smiles above a quaint edifice rising among giant trees in the center of a wide city. That edifice is built of plain red brick, with heavy window frames and a massive hall door. Such is the State House of Philadelphia in the year of our Lord 1776. In yonder wooden steeple, which crowns the summit of that red-brick building, stands an old man with snow-white hair and sunburnt face. He is clad in humble attire, yet his eye gleams as it is fixed on the ponderous outline of the bell |