Chapter Twenty

Breed’s Hill June 17, 1775

The sun shone brightly on this perfect day in June. It had been almost two months since the colonists had snatched a victory over the British in Lexington and Concord. Jacqueline Paige sat on the lawn mindlessly pulling blades of grass. Her eyes were puffy and red from tears. Her father, Isaiah, sat on the porch whittling on a piece of wood and humming “Yankee Doodle.” Her brothers wrestled a few feet away. Her neighbor in Boston, the famous silversmith, Paul Revere, lumbered past and waved at her. She smiled but did not return the wave. Colin paced in front of her.

“I am going back to Boston, and that’s final,” he said sternly.

“But you have enemies that will kill you on sight,” Jacqueline pleaded.

“I tend to agree with her,” Isaiah said without looking up. “And then I tend to agree with you.”

“You’re not helping, Daddy,” snapped fifteen-year-old Jacqueline.

“You’re both right. Colin has some powerful enemies in Boston. Guess that’s what happens when you change partners ‘afore the dance is through.’ On the other hand, Colin has no choice but to go back to Boston. Me and the boys are going with him.”

She compressed her lips. “Why are the hills in Charlestown so blasted important? That’s just across Boston on the Charles River, right?”

Colin stopped pacing and smiled at his young friend, “The high points have always been important in any campaign. Those that control the high ground control their fate.”

Isaiah stuck the knife in the wood he was carving and dusted off his hands. “That’s right. Prescott got word that the British plan to occupy Bunker Hill very soon. We plan to occupy the hill first. Prescott asked volunteers to march to Boston to fortify both Breed’s Hill and Bunker Hill ‘afore them Lobster-backs.”

Jacqueline absent-mindedly watched a robin land on the fence. “But why do you and Colin need to go? There are others willing.”

Colin gripped her hand and stroked her long auburn hair. He did love the young girl. Not in the way, she loved him, but still, the love was deep. Staring into her brown eyes, he said, “I’m going because it is the right thing to do. If Major Dunehirst wanted me dead, I’m sure he would have tried to kill me by now. I’m sure he is more bark than bite.”

Isaiah stepped out of the doorway, followed by his two sons. Isaiah carried two muskets and two knapsacks, handing one of each to Colin he said. “We need to be going. Cambridge is a bit of a hike, and we need to be there before the afternoon. Prescott means to leave for Charlestown before nightfall. We will be up to our asses in the dirt before we know it.”

Jacqueline sprang up from the lawn, nearly knocking Colin over, and embraced him. “Be safe,” she said. “I will wait for your return,” she whispered in his ear.

“Please don’t say that,” Colin whispered, his thoughts racing.

It was part of the curse. Colin had stayed too long with the Paige’s, but he couldn’t bear to leave them. He should have left when the family noticed he had not changed. Isaiah never mentioned Colin’s lack of aging, so he stayed. When Jacqueline stated she loved him, he knew the time had come. He pried her from his side, still enjoying the caress.

Jacqueline gazed into Colin’s eyes. “Why should I stop saying that? It’s the truth. I will wait for your return. You know I love you. I don’t care how much older you are than daddy.”

A gentle tap on his shoulder brought Colin back from his memories. “We need to go. We are running late. Girl, stop pestering my friend with your foolish notion of love.” Isaiah handed Colin his musket. Colin stood and patted Jacqueline on the shoulder and half-smiled.

“Go on ahead, Isaiah, I will catch up.” Colin looked into Jacqueline’s eyes. He wished there was another way, but she was so young.  “I’m sorry, but I have a curse. You will never be happy with me. You will find another someday, I promise.” Colin hugged her and kissed her on the cheek before running after Isaiah. Jacqueline gently stroked her cheek as tears rushed down them, washing the kiss away. Colin had decided earlier that day not to return to Lexington after Bunker Hill. There was nothing waiting for him there. He already knew he would survive. The cursed scarab always made sure he survived.

“That was the last time I saw Jacqueline Paige. I went to Cambridge with her father and brothers. From there we marched to the hills overlooking Charlestown and the Charles River. Under cover of night, Colonel William Prescott and his twelve-hundred Massachusetts and Connecticut regulars dug in at Breed’s Hill. By early morning our ranks had risen to four-thousand men.”

“I can’t believe you left her like that,” Sally said stamping her feet.

“Sally, that isn’t important. Let Colin finish his story,” scolded her mother. Sally scrunched her face, folded her arms, and sat down, facing the opposite direction of Colin.

“Sorry, Sally.” Colin bent over and coaxed her to face them. “Sally, I didn’t mean to hurt Jacqueline. Sometimes hurt just happens, and it cannot be controlled.”

“Don’t worry about her. Please continue,” Sally’s mother said, glaring at Sally.

Colin regained composure, “We caught the British, needless to say. General Gage gave orders to his officers to reclaim the hills at all cost and gave Major General William Howe the task of securing the hills. We were fortunate that the British did not have enough boats available to cross from Boston to Charlestown. They had to ferry their troops across on small barges and to do that they had to wait for favorable tides. We used the time waiting wisely by adding more fortification and setting up snipers to pick off the enemy.” A tear formed on Colin’s face. He couldn’t tell the story of the Hill without getting emotional.

Colin shifted a make believe musket to his shoulder, closed one eye and fired. “By 3:30 P. M. the British had ferried enough men across the Charles, and more reinforcements were landing on the shore between Moulton’s Point and Charlestown. The first shot came from a Colonial sniper, followed by a barrage of shots into the ranks of the British standing on the shoreline.”

“Thus Saturday, June 17th, 1775, the Battle of Bunker’s Hill began on Breed’s Hill…”

“My God, they have started to bombard Charlestown,” Isaiah said in horror.

“Relax, Pa. They evacuated the town early this morning. The only ones there are the Tories, too damned stubborn to leave. Them damned red devils are dropping like flies,” Romulus said with a chuckle.

In the distance, Colin could see people sitting on rooftops in Boston. Looking through a spyglass, he had borrowed from the soldier to his left, “There he is. Major General William Howe dressed in all his finery as if he was attending a ball. I could only wish my musket could fire that distance.”

“We have smaller fish to fry,” a corporal from Connecticut said who had mysteriously appeared by Colin’s side. “Corporal William Olsen, Sir,” he said pointing down the hill to the advancing British assault. “Colonel Stark sent me, sir. Colonel Prescott has given orders not to fire until you see the whites of the enemies eyes, sir.”

“At ease, Olsen,” Colin said as a bullet whizzed past their head. “And keep your head down.” Colin could not stop thinking of days gone past. He remembered the day an arrow whizzed by the Duke of Normandy’s head during the crusades. The face of war had changed drastically, but not the outcome. Colin gently reached for the soldier behind William and closed his lifeless eyes.

“I am sorry, sir. I am not acquainted with battles. I am a grocer from Connecticut. I mainly fight carrots and beets,” William said his face paled from the sight of the dead soldier.

“The main thing to remember is to keep your fool head down and your wits calm,” Isaiah said, taking aim at a British soldier cresting the first small hill. The thunder of his musket recoiled, and his bullet struck home. The expressionless soldier fell to the ground while his comrades continued over the fallen combatant.

William grimaced at the sight. “I almost forgot they are seeking sure shot snipers on the left flank, wherever that is. I am anything but a sure shot.”

Without thinking, Remus jolted up. “Me and Romulus are about the surest shots arou—” a bright red splotch erupted in his chest. Remus glanced down at the spot and gave a weary smile before tumbling into Corporal Olsen’s unwilling arms. William’s face turned ashen white. Colin watched William struggle with the dead man in his arms. William then vomited on the dead soldier. 

Isaiah took another shot at a British soldier before he removed his son from Olsen’s arms. Isaiah wiped a tear from his cheek with the back of his dirty jacket. Crossing himself, he closed his son’s blank eyes shut. His brow furrowed. He couldn’t hold back more tears. He cried uncontrollably, his head buried in his trembling hands. He finally rose and with his hand tenderly pushed him to the side and out of the way. “Oh Remus, my loving son, I promise to revenge your death.” Tears continued to flow down his cheek. “There will be time for grieving after this bloody war is over.” Drying another wayward tear, he crouched next to Olson and fired into the British lines. “Welcome to the horrors of war, Olsen. You better learn the lesson quickly.” He turned to his remaining son.

Romulus cowered in the rear of the trench looking at his lifeless brother. His teeth clenched together. He crawled to where Remus lay and cradled his head in his arms, rocking back and forth, and crying.

Colin watched Romulus as he cradled his brother, but a volley of bullets pinned him down, and Colin couldn’t comfort him. Isaiah couldn’t move either. The redoubt popped as bullets fell harmlessly into the dirt in front of William, Colin, and Isaiah.

“Report to the left flank as requested, and for God’s sake try not to get yourself killed.”

The tears stopped. He stared in disbelief at his father but reluctantly left the trench, wiping his brother’s blood from his tattered shirt. By now, more and more Colonial troops had taken position behind the redoubt. The fighting was fierce with heavy casualties on both sides, but finally the British retreated. Colin was thankful but worried about Isaiah and Romulus. He wondered if Romulus made it to safety.

“Looks like them Redcoats are forming up for another assault,” declared Corporal Olsen “Yup, we are ready for them,” a soldier in the rear said.

Isaiah wiped a clog of dirt from his face. He had narrowly missed meeting his maker. Spitting out more dirt, he pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “Colin, ain’t that your officer friend, major prancing around on his horse as if he owned the place?”

Colin was relieved to see the major in question was not Dunehirst, but it was his friend, Major Pitcairn, “That’s not him.”

“I thought I recognized the peacock from Lexington,” Isaiah said taking aim at the major with his musket. “How about I put one pesky major out of our hair for the duration?”

“No,” Colin screamed, but it was too late, Colin’s friend slumped in his saddle before falling off.

“Here they come again,” yelled a voice in the crowd.

The second British assault ended much like the first attack, with heavy casualties before a British retreat. A massive sigh of relief came upon the faces behind the redoubt. They had kept the mighty British forces from taking the hill. The Colonial Army was victorious.

“By gods, those damned Lobsterbacks don’t know when to give up,” Isaiah said in disbelief. “They are forming up for a third assault. I am completely out of ball and powder.”

“I am nearly out myself,” a soldier in the front confided. A quick consensus confirmed they didn’t have enough ammunition left for the third round of assaults.

Colin leaned out of the way from as a ball whizzed past, following Colin’s lead Isaiah leaned out of the way also. The ball shattered the face of the soldier standing behind them, splattering them with fragments of skull and pieces of brain matter.

Colin glanced at Isaiah, who had a sly smile on his face, “It’s about time you tell me about your ‘talent,’” Isaiah said to his friend.  “But first I suggest we retreat to Bunker’s Hill and hope for reinforcements.”

As a unit the colonists retreated to Bunker’s Hill, suffering heavy losses on the way. They soon realized that they could not defend Bunkers and fled to Cambridge to regroup.

Once in Cambridge, far away from the madness, Corporal Olsen sat by Colin’s side with his head cupped in his hands. “You did a splendid job, Olsen,” Colin confided. Olsen could only look at his blood-soaked shirt and stare into the void.

Colin patted Olsen on the shoulder and crawled over to his friend Isaiah who was looking intently down the road, checking stragglers and looking for his son. “I’m afraid, Colin, I’m afraid.”       

 

“Isaiah waited patiently for his son, but his son never materialized.”

“That’s terrible,” Sally, said, “I remember waiting for daddy to come home too, but he never came home.”

“I am sorry for your loss, Sally. Isaiah was not the same after that. He put on an act, but I could tell he had changed. Continental Congress assigned a new field General two weeks after the battle to preside over the army. On July 2nd, General George Washington took over as the Colonial’s commander-in-chief. On July 3rd, 1775, I was summoned to the general’s tent. I never saw Isaiah again.”

“What about Olsen?” Grant asked.

Colin smiled. “The answer will spoil the story; let’s just say we became good friends during the winter of '77.”