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Bunker Hill: The Death of Joseph Warren

from Legends of Liberty, Volume 2

Dramatis Personae

Joseph Warren – Physician, spymaster, and major general of the colonial militia
William Howe – Commander of the British Forces at Bunker Hill
Israel Putnam – Patriot veteran, popularly known as “Old Put”
Col. William Prescott – Commander of the patriot forces at Bunker Hill
John Pitcairn – British major who commanded the advance party that marched on Lexington and Concord

Context: Though sustaining high casualties, the British troops have succeeded in storming the patriot defenses during the third wave of their relentless uphill assault. General William Howe, leading his men personally, has been wounded in the foot. The colonial militiamen, entangled with the regulars in brutal hand-to-hand combat since running out of ammo, have realized the battle is lost and are now fleeing across the Charlestown Neck. Joseph Warren, though outranking the other patriot commanders, is fighting as a common soldier and has stayed behind to cover the retreat.

Warren was loathe to toss away his shield
As coward Horace did at Philippi—
For where was Mercury to veil this shelled
Defender? Then a cloud erupted. Spry
Warren, concealed inside it, moved through hostile
Ranks to where Prescott signaled the escape.
The last in the redoubt, he clutched the Gospel
Inside his coat as others crawled and scraped
Knees through a maze of carcasses and cries.
One bore his blown-off arm, a consolation prize.

Mounting the wall of the redoubt behind
The others, John Pitcairn expectorated:
“The day is ours!” Since leading redcoats lined
At Lexington and triggering that fated
Event, the shot heard round the universe,
He’d taken a back seat. The last to climb
The hill, his silver pistols cracked his voice,
Discharging victory to fuel his claim.
Perceiving wounded Howe, he helped the proud
Commander stand, who, fingering the hanging cloud,

Directed: “Shoot that man!” The major squinted:
A shadow lurched within the cannon-mist.
He sprinted forward, aimed. His pistol glinted.
Prescott and Putnam, staying to resist
The flood as browncoats crossed the isthmus, saw
Warren emerging from a cloud to meet
Them, dirty red. Prescott prepared to say
‘Here, Joseph!’—when a bullet’s welcome beat
Him to it, striking Warren in the head.
They watched him drop, eyes hardening to balls of lead.

As a small apple in an orchard long
Abandoned reaches toward the light amid
The jutting overgrowth of verdant prongs,
But, finding only shade, will fall in mud
And ripen on the ground before it molds,
So Joseph Warren, crying out for grace,
Held out his arm to touch the sky, then rolled
Away, face down, to clutch at crimson grass.
Jehovah heard his orison on high,
And Warren’s soul, called home, departed to comply.

While Prescott ran towards Warren’s body, brave
Old Putnam traced the bullet to its source
And saw John Pitcairn standing, smoking. They’ve
Not won just yet. Finding a sword of sorts
(Half broken—Warren’s), wading through the blood
Of the carcass labyrinth, he snuck the hilt
Through Pitcairn’s ribcage from behind. The blade
Embraced the heart; the major’s spirit spilt
As the old bear, respecting fortune, knelt
Beside to stuff the silver pistols in his belt.

The Lamb of Passover once sacrificed
Himself without a broken bone: he spilled
That grailful of blood which has sufficed
For our salvation. Joseph Warren, killed
In action, lay there with a punctured skull
As Prescott cradled him upon his lap,
No virgin in respect to death. The scale
Of grief was balanced: Pitcairn’s eldest wrapped
His arms around his dying father while
The waves of battle crashed around this tranquil isle.

The sunlight cast an aura on the robe
Of fallen Warren. Then a shadow’s form,
Obstructing his apotheosis, strode
Up—William Howe, sword drawn. Grabbing the arm
Of Prescott, Putnam yelled: “Come on!” Howe stabbed
Towards the colonel, piercing his waistcoat
That flailed as he flew. The marshal stubbed
His injured foot on Warren’s corpse. Uncaught,
Will Prescott ran, not once turning around
To see the sovereign hill that swarming soldiers crowned.

Howe pulled a captive forward, pointing: “Who
Was he?” The answer: Joseph Warren. “What?
Their spymaster? Impossible.” It’s true,
Another said. Lord Howe assessed his weight
In bones: “His death is worth five hundred men.”
Reports came in: the British were just shy
Of twice that number dead or maimed. So. When
Would they get paid? “Capital question.” —Why,
Howe? “Here’s your payment.” Where? “This field—your spoils!”
Men clustered over Warren’s features—raging boils.

His face, so dirty, dirty. (“This the guy?”)
His stockings brown, so brown. (“The colors match.”)
His wig, so grainy, grainy. (“It’s him, aye.”)
His eyes were cold, so cold. (“Don’t look like much.”)
His gentle hands, tightfisted. (“Where’s his purse?”)
His open lips bled secrets. (“Found a letter…”)
His worries were divided (“…filled with verse.”)
Among inquiring loved ones (“Nothing better?”)
Who sought his rumored whereabouts, (“Nope, squat.”)
Not knowing he was in a ditch. “There traitor—rot!”

.

Notes:

1. Coward Horace…Mercury. Horace gives an account of his miraculous escape from Philippi in Odes: II, 7.
2. One bore his blown-off arm… Eleazer French reputedly “had an arm shot off during the action, and picking it up, bore it as a trophy from the bloody field” (Nason, History of Dunstable, 114).
3. In his book Founding Martyr: The Life and Death of Dr. Joseph Warren (Crown: New York, 2018), Christian Di Spigna writes that after the battle

…a small group of seething redcoats circled the body of the “murdered worthy…Doctr. Warren,”…Warren had been the hallmark of everything the British soldiers despised, and now they vented their fury upon him. They removed his clothing and looted his personal items, including his cherished Bible, his sword, and the letters containing sensitive information tucked in the fold of his waistcoat. As his body lay sprawled upon the ground, his ashen complexion stained by a stream of blood, His Majesty’s soldiers repeatedly bayoneted his corpse in a violent butchering. … What was left of Warren remained on the field overnight. “He was buried hastily in trenches, on the morning after the battle,” his mutilated corpse tossed unceremoniously into a shallow ditch in a mass grave of slain and murdered patriots (187-88).

.

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Andrew Benson Brown has had poems and reviews published in a few journals. His epic-in-progress, Legends of Liberty, will chronicle the major events of the American Revolution if he lives to complete it. Though he writes history articles for American Essence magazine, he lists his primary occupation on official forms as ‘poet.’ He is, in other words, a vagabond.

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14 Responses

  1. Stephen M. Dickey

    Bravo, Andrew.
    You’ve pulled off a very dynamic battle scene here that to my mind captures the chaotic death of a battlefield, and the final stanza comes off as cinematic for me—almost like jump cutting. I particularly liked the simile (“As a small apple…”). Similes tend to take a back seat to metaphor, but Frost liked them.
    Looking forward to the rest.

    Reply
    • ABB

      Thanks, Stephen. Warren was from a family of apple farmers, so the simile seemed apt.

      Reply
  2. Roy Eugene Peterson

    Ah, the gilded words from the golden pen! You are undoubtedly among the greatest classical poets of all time. This is an amazingly told story that comes alive with your vivid retelling skillfully using enjambment, great rhyming words, and flowing meter. I can taste the words and phrases as I ingest the cleverly concocted lines.

    Reply
    • ABB

      This is high praise indeed, Roy. Greatest of all time is a very large claim, and one that only posterity will be fit to judge. But it’s nice to have a fan in this life! Especially in a world where there are so many writers and everyone is screaming for recognition.

      Reply
  3. C.B. Anderson

    You might be, as Roy states, “among the greatest classical poets of all time,” but I am certain you would be happy just to be known as someone who writes engaging verse. I find Roy’s claim that he “can taste the words and phrases” totally believable.

    Reply
    • ABB

      Yes, perfectly happy to be engaging. Just have to do the best we can and let the future sort us out. I am confident we stand a good chance of outlasting the current Pulitzer winners. Thanks for giving your attention to this, Kip.

      Reply
      • Michael Pietrack

        Please pay me not in accolades, for still
        no attaboy has ever paid a bill.

        Let’s sell some books ABB!!!

  4. James Sale

    I think it is true to say that ABB is a major poet. Sometimes it is difficult to appreciate this in that our modern world has conditioned us to only read novels as a form of ‘long’ writing and we become habituated to the sound bites that are lyrics. Now, don’t get me wrong – there are plenty of great poets who are lyricists, but the point is, reading long poems, extracts from long poems, is a habit largely fallen into desuetude. But if one considers the level of this writing, alongside Legends of Liberty 1, the sheer scale of it – its imaginative verve and yet telling details – is pretty awesome. What I find most impressive, over and above the other excellent points that have been made, is the fluency of syntax and his ability to turn – as it were – on a dime! Truly remarkable and I am a big fan. When you consider how talented ABB is, it is also worth noting how much he does to promote other SCP poets – he has a selflessness about him which is also highly admirable. As it happens I have just encountered a review of LoL2 by a non-SCP poet. It’s so good, I have to share it: check this out to find out why ABB is so powerful in poetry: http://themindflayer.com/review-of-legends-of-liberty-volume-2-by-andrew-benson-brown/

    Reply
    • ABB

      Thanks for the many kind words, James. I am always worried my excerpts will fall flat because they do lose something by being lifted out of the surrounding narrative and don’t have the same force of self-contained lyrics. I feel like we have even gone beyond pure novel-reading today to the point where most people only read a novel—if they read anything at all—because they want to compare it with the film version. But despite the varieties of decline, we will still keep bucking the general trends.

      Much thanks to the Mindflayer for taking the time to write his generous review, and to you for promoting.

      Reply
  5. Michael Pietrack

    In LOL V1 and V2, what stands out to me is the power of your Heroic Couplets. I especially liked this one:

    His arms around his dying father while
    The waves of battle crashed around this tranquil isle.

    Thanks for all you’ve done to promote other poets, myself included. I hope that the world recognizes your brilliance.

    Reply
    • ABB

      Thanks Michael. Am happy to promote your work of course.

      And yes, in addition to being engaging, selling copies would be really nice. The LoL video campaign will soon commence!

      Reply
  6. Margaret Coats

    Andrew, this episode seems closer to classic epic than some of the excerpts you’ve presented. Maybe the influence of Tasso? I don’t see hints of mock epic here; you’ve turned your humor to the gritty soldier type in this last stanza, where you have to imagine what Di Spigna recorded as happening on the field. The style is more elevated, and the line more flowing, though the frequency of odd enjambments is still high. And the story comes across as both transcendent and appalling, as suits an epic battle scene. The similes and brief insets are well done. They actually demonstrate the onward roll of the narrative, so necessary for consistency in the large topic you deal with.

    Reply
  7. Sally Cook

    Dear ABB,

    Many kudos on your award !
    Yours is a versatile and many-faceted talent. As you know, I have a particular interest in this battle, by virtue of the fact that two of my ancestors, father and son, fought in it. In this poem you exceeded my hopes ! Fine poem.

    Reply

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