Howe ordered a third attack. Many of the British officers remonstrated, saying that it would be downright butchery. General Clinton, who had been watching the action from Copp’s Hill, hurriedly crowded some boats with reinforcements, and crossed the water to aid in a renewal of the battle. Accidentally it was discovered that the ammunition of the Americans was nearly expended. The neck of the peninsula was so swept by the cannonade from the ships, that no fresh supply of powder could be sent to them. Preparations were accordingly made by the British to carry the works by the bayonet. The soldiers were exceedingly reluctant again to ascend the hill, in the face of the deadly fire which they knew awaited them. They were goaded on by the swords of the officers. Again the Americans reserved their fire till the assailants were within a few feet of the ramparts. A numerous volley of leaden hail fell upon them. Officers and men were alike struck down by wounds and death. General Howe was struck by a bullet on the foot. But alas! the Americans had fired their last round. Their ammunition was exhausted. The British veterans, with fixed bayonets, rushed over the earthworks. A desperate fight now took place, hand to hand. Stones were hurled. Muskets were clubbed. Men clenched each other in the frenzied, deadly strife. The Americans, greatly outnumbered by their assailants, who had ammunition in abundance, were now compelled to retire. They cut their way through two divisions of the British, who were in their rear to intercept their retreat. As they were slowly retiring, disputing the ground inch by inch, they were assailed by a constant fire from the British. It was here that the patriot Warren fell. A musket ball passed through his head, and he dropped dead upon the spot. The retreating Americans crossed the neck, still exposed to a raging fire from ships and batteries. The bleeding, exhausted foe, did not venture to pursue. The victors took possession of Bunker Hill, promptly threw up additional intrenchments, and hurried across, from Boston, that they might firmly hold the works. The British admitted, in their returns of the battle, that out of a detachment of two thousand men they lost, in killed and wounded, one thousand and fifty four. This amounts to the astonishing proportion of more than one-half of the number engaged. The loss of the Americans did not exceed four hundred and fifty. Coolly the historian writes these numbers. Calmly the reader peruses them. But who can imagine the anguish which penetrated these American homes and those distant homes in England, where widows and orphans wept in grief which could not be allayed![86] The Americans were defeated. But it was a defeat which exercised, over the public mind, the effect of a victory. The British were victors. But Britain admitted, that a few more such victories would bring the British empire in America to a close.