Prescott, the colonel of one of the Middlesex regiments, was the officer, who, on the 16th of June, received the orders of the commander-in-chief to occupy and fortify the heights of Charlestown, and who commanded in the redoubt on the day of the battle. He was a native of Pepperell, in the county of Middlesex, where his family, one of the most distinguished and respected in the State, still reside during a part of the year. Prescott inherited an ample fortune from his father; but he seems to have possessed a natural aptitude for military pursuits, and, at the opening of the war of 1756, he, with so many others of the noble spirits of New England, joined the expedition against Nova Scotia, under General Winslow, with a provincial commission. He served with such distinction, that, after the close of the war, he was urged to accept a commission in the British line; but he declined the honor, and preferred returning to the paternal estate. Here he resided, occupied in the peaceful pursuits of agriculture, and in dispensing a frank and liberal hospitality to his neighbors, many of whom were his old companions in arms, until the opening of the Revolution called him, already a veteran, to the council and the field. During the progress of the battle of Bunker’s Hill, he was frequently seen on the top of the parapet, attired in a calico frock, with his bald head uncovered to the sun, observing the enemy, or encouraging his men to action. Governor Gage, who, at one of these moments, was reconnoitering the American works through a telescope, remarked the singular appearance of Prescott, and inquired of Willard, one of the council, who he was. “My brother-in-law Colonel Prescott,” was the reply. “Will he fight?” returned the governor. “Ay,” said Willard, “to the last drop of his blood.” Putnam, another veteran of the French wars, was not less bold in action, and equally regardless of unnecessary show and ceremony. In the war of 1756 he commanded a company of provincial rangers, and, in this capacity, rendered the most essential services; passing through a series of adventures, the details of which, though resting on unquestionable evidence, seem like a wild and extravagant fable. After the close of the seven years’ war, Putnam returned to the plough, and was in the act of guiding it, when he heard the news of the battle of Lexington. Like Cincinnatus of old, he left it in the furrow, and repaired at once to Cambridge, though now more than sixty years of age. He was particularly earnest, in the council of war, in recommending the measure of fortifying Bunker’s Hill; a part of his regiment was detached for the service, and he was present and active himself on the field, through the night of the battle, and during the action.