Bunker Hill and Breed’s Hill were so nearly connected as to be almost one. The lines, for the fortifications were marked out on Breed’s Hill, and the American farmers, accustomed to the spade, went to work with a will. It was a warm summer night, and the serene, cloudless sky was brilliantly illumined with stars. From the shores of Boston the sentinel’s cry of “All’s well,” floated over the silent waters. As the day dawned, some sailors, on board one of the ships, espied the rising ramparts. The alarm was given. The ships promptly commenced their fire. Such thunders of war had never before been heard in that peaceful bay. All Boston was roused by the terrific cannonade. But the intrenchments were already so far advanced, as to afford the men protection from the iron storm with which they were assailed. Gage called a council of war. From these heights, the Americans, should they hold them, could bombard Boston and the shipping. It was deemed necessary to dislodge them, at whatever cost. Twenty-eight large barges were crowded with the best of British troops, in their best equipments. Major-General Howe led them. It was not yet noon-day. The spectacle was sublime, as these veteran soldiers, in their scarlet uniforms, and with the brilliant sun of a June morning reflected from polished muskets and bayonets and brass field-pieces, were rowed across the placid waters in parallel lines. They landed at Moulton’s Point, a little north of Breed’s Hill. Immediately every British ship in the harbor, and every battery which could bring its guns to bear upon the American works, opened fire. Not a cannon, not a musket, was discharged in return. Silence, as of the tomb, reigned behind the American intrenchments. The British soldiers, in military array, which they deemed irresistible, and which was truly appalling, commenced the ascent of the hill. The Americans, crouched behind their earthworks, took deliberate aim, and impatiently awaited the order to fire.