tice of his cause. Hence he was persevering, leaving nothing unfinished; devoid of all taint of obstinacy in his firmness; seeking and gladly receiving advice, but immovable in his devotedness to right.

Of a "retiring modesty and habitual reserve," his ambition was no more than the consciousness of power, and was subordinate to his sense of duty; he took the foremost place, for he knew from inborn magnanimity that it belonged to him, and he dared not withhold the service required of him; so that, with all his humility, he was by necessity the first, though never for himself or for private ends. He loved fame, the approval of coming generations, the good opinion of his fellow-men of his own time, and he desired to make his conduct coincide with their wishes; but not fear of censure, not the prospect of applause, could tempt him to swerve from rectitude, and the praise which he coveted was the sympathy of that moral sentiment which delights in uprightness.

There have been soldiers who have achieved mightier victories in the field, and made conquests more nearly corresponding to the boundlessness of selfish ambition; statesmen who have been connected with more startling upheavals of society; but it is the greatness of Washington that in public trusts he used power solely for the public good; that he was the life and moderator and stay of the most momentous revolution in human affairs, its moving impulse and its restraining power. Combining the centripetal and the centrifugal forces in their utmost strength and in perfect relations, with creative grandeur of instinct he held ruin in check, and renewed and perfected the institutions of his country. Finding the colonies disconnected and dependent, he left them such a united and well-ordered commonwealth as no visionary had believed to be possible. So that it has been truly said: "He was as fortunate as great and good."

This also is the praise of Washington: that never in the tide of time has any man lived who had in so great a degree the almost divine faculty to command the trust of his fellowmen and rule the willing. Wherever he became known, in his family, his neighborhood, his county, his native state, the continent, the camp, civil life, among the common people, in for

eign courts, throughout the civilized world, and even among the savages, he beyond all other men had the confidence of his kind.

Washington saw at a glance the difficulties of the position to which he had been chosen. He was appointed by a government which, in its form, was one of the worst of all possible governments in time of peace, and was sure to reveal its defects still more plainly in time of war. It was inchoate and without an executive head; the several branches of administration, if to be conducted at all, were to be conducted by separate, ever-changing, and irresponsible committees; and all questions of legislation and of action ultimately decided by the one ill-organized body of men, to whom there had hardly been granted power even to originate advice. They were not the representatives of a union; they alone constituted the union of which, as yet, there was no other bond. One whole department of government, the judicial, was entirely wanting. So was, in truth, the executive. The congress had no ability whatever to enforce a decree of their own; they had no revenue, and no authority to collect a revenue; they had none of the materials of war; they did not own a cannon, nor a pound of powder, nor a tent, nor a musket; they had no regularly enlisted army, and had even a jealousy of forming an army, and depended on the zeal of volunteers, or of men to be enlisted for less than seven months. There were no experienced officers, and no methods projected for obtaining them. Washington saw it all. He was in the enjoyment of fame; he wished not to forfeit the esteem of his fellow-men; and his eye glistened with a tear as he said in confidence to Patrick Henry on occasion of his appointment: "This day will be the commencement of the decline of my reputation."

But this consideration did not make him waver. On the sixteenth of June he appeared in his place in congress, and, after refusing all pay beyond his expenses, he spoke with unfeigned modesty: "As the congress desire it, I will enter upon the momentous duty, and exert every power I possess in their service, and for the support of the glorious cause. But I beg it may be remembered by every gentleman in the room that I this day declare, with the utmost sincerity, I do not think myself equal to the command I am honored with."

The next day the delegates of all the colonies resolved unanimously in congress "to maintain and assist him, and adhere to him, the said George Washington, Esquire, with their lives and fortunes in the same cause."

By his commission he was invested with the command over all forces raised or to be raised by the United Colonies, and with full power and authority to order the army as he should think for the good and welfare of the service, "in unforeseen emergencies using his best circumspection, and advising with his council of war;" and he was instructed to take "special care that the liberties of America receive no detriment."

Washington knew that he must depend for success on a steady continuance of purpose in an imperfectly united continent, and on his personal influence over separate and halfformed governments, with most of which he was wholly unacquainted. He foresaw a long and arduous struggle; but a secret consciousness of his power bade him not to fear; and he never admitted the thought of sheathing his sword or resigning his command till the work of vindicating American liberty should be done. To his wife he unbosomed his inmost mind: "I hope my undertaking this service is designed to answer some good purpose. I rely confidently on that Providence which has heretofore preserved and been bountiful to me."

His acceptance changed the aspect of affairs. John Adams, looking with complacency upon "the modest and virtuous, the amiable, generous, and brave general," as the choice of Massachusetts, said: "This appointment will have a great effect in cementing the union of these colonies. The general is one of the most important characters of the world; upon him depend the liberties of America." All hearts turned with affection toward Washington. This is he who was raised up to be, not the head of a party, but the father of his country.

CHAPTER XIV.

BUNKER HILL.

JUNE 16-17, 1775.

THE army round Boston was "a mixed multitude," as yet "under very little discipline, order, or government." Ward was enjoined to obey the decisions of the committee of safety, whose directions reached him through the council of war. Of the private men, great numbers were able-bodied, active, and unquestionably brave, and there were officers worthy of leading such men. But a vicious system of granting commissions to those who raised companies or regiments had opened the way to officers without capacity, and the real strength of the army was inferior to the returns. From an insufficient supply of tents, troops were quartered in the colleges and private houses. There was a want of money, of clothing, of engineers, but, above all, of ammunition. "Confusion and disorder reigned in every department."

Each colony had its own militia laws, so that there was no uniformity in discipline. Of the soldiers from the other colonies, only the New Hampshire regiments had as yet been placed under the command of Ward. Of the men of Connecticut, a part were with Spencer at Roxbury; several hundred at Cambridge with Putnam, the second brigadier, who was distinguished for bold advice, alertness, and popular favor, and was seen constantly on horseback or on foot, working with his men or encouraging them. He repeatedly but vainly asked leave to advance the lines to Prospect Hill. Yet the army never doubted its superiority to its enemy; and danger and war were becoming attractive.

The British forces gave signs of shame at their confinement. The secretary of state frequently assured the French minister at London that they would take the field, and that the Americans would soon tire of the strife. The king of England, who had counted the days necessary for the voyage of the transports, was "trusting soon to hear that Gage had dispersed the rebels, destroyed their works, opened a communication with the country," and imprisoned the leading patriots of the colony.

The peninsula of Boston, at that time connected with the mainland only by a very low and narrow isthmus, had at its south a promontory then known as Dorchester neck, with three hills commanding the town. At the north lay the peninsula of Charlestown, in length not much exceeding a mile, in width a little more than half a mile, but gradually diminishing toward the causeway, which kept asunder the Mystic and the Charles. Near its north-eastern termination rose the round, smooth acclivity of Bunker Hill, one hundred and ten feet high, commanding both peninsulas. The high land then fell away by a gradual slope for about seven hundred yards, and just north by east of the town of Charlestown it reappeared with an elevation of about seventy-five feet, which bore the name of Breed's Hill. These heights of Dorchester and Charlestown commanded Boston.

About the middle of May a joint committee from the committee of safety and the council of war, after a careful examination, recommended that several eminences within the limits of the town of Charlestown should be occupied, and that a strong redoubt should be raised on Bunker Hill. A breastwork was thrown up across the road near Prospect Hill, and Bunker Hill was to have been fortified as soon as artillery and powder should be supplied; but delay would have rendered even the attempt impossible. Gage, with the three majorgenerals, was determined to extend his lines north and south, over Dorchester and Charlestown. The execution of the plan was fixed for the eighteenth of June.

This design became known in the American camp, and raised a desire to anticipate the movement. Accordingly, on the fifteenth of June, the Massachusetts committee of safety