Smiling at the praise of his favourite general, the veteran proceeded:—
"Knowlton, also, the commander of our little band, was a lion-hearted man, and his lieutenants did their duty bravely. Colonel Stark, with his New-Hampshire back-woodsmen, took deadly aim as if in their own forests. The British lines, partly wrapt in smoke, marched up with colours flying. At their head, came Generals Howe, and Pigot, with a contemptuous, yet noble demeanour. Three thousand well-disciplined men followed them, supported by field artillery. First marched the grenadiers, with their lofty caps, and glittering bayonets. We were commanded to reserve our fire, until they were within a few yards of us. When they reached that spot, it was wonderful how many plumed heads fell. Dismayed at our furious, and fatal discharge, they at length fled precipitately towards their boats.
"Their officers pursued, menacing them with drawn swords. With difficulty they were forced to rally. A second time they came forward, fought with great valour, suffered terrible slaughter, and retreated. The officers, who forced them a third time to the charge, said to each other, with melancholy countenances—
"It is butchery again to lead these brave fellows to that fatal spot."
"General Clinton stood with Burgoyne, upon Copp's-hill, gazing through his spy-glass to see the chastisement of the rebels. But, when he marked movements of dis-
