“Good enough,” said the doctor, and pursued his way. The advancing companies had spread out on the easy grade of Bunker Hill and were climbing rapidly. The doctor, not used to so much foot work, found himself breathing heavily. Finally he gained the summit to find himself among a few reserve companies. But what interested him most was the striking view that spread below him. On Breed’s Hill, forty feet lower, was the result of Prescott’s night surprise, an irregularly square redoubt commanding the crown of the hill. On the left flank of it was a breastworks and still far to the left and rear, as a sort of insurance against the redoubt’s being enfiladed, a stout line of men was stationed behind a rail fence. It was a formidable picture; a picture that needed but one stroke of the brush for completion. And that was forthcoming. As the doctor scanned the broken land farther toward the sea he caught the glint of bayonets and the bright red of British soldiery. There was a tapping of drums and the piping of fifes born faintly upward. Then one by one the battalions of the British army unrolled before him and started a steady march across the slope toward the provincial stronghold. “By Godfrey!” exclaimed the doctor. His heart pounded sluggishly and the ruddy cheeks flamed. Without further ado he started downward, through the scattered ranks of the reserves, aiming for the redoubt. There, he decided, would be the main focus of battle, for there was the key to defense. He broke into a dog trot, stumbled in the tall meadow grass and went the faster. “By Godfrey!” he repeated. The British ships were pouring their fire upon the hill and the thunder echoed and re-echoed across the bay. But on this prospective field of struggle only an occasional musket report reached the doctor. He crawled over a fence, arrived at the foot of the Bunker Hill slope and found himself inside the line of breastworks. He climbed a little way and presently arrived outside the tall parapets of the redoubt. He skirted the structure some distance, discovered the one narrow sallyport it boasted and squeezed his way through. He was, at last, in the cockpit of trouble. It was a small place, not more than fifty feet on a side, with parapets some six feet in height. At present those parapets were closely crowded with the provincials, each man with his piece leveled across the top and trained on the advancing British. At one place a marksman had coolly elected to stand on the parapet and waited for the command to fire. Some of the more eager anticipated this command, and Doctor Brent saw then the vigorous veteran Prescott leap up to the parapet and run around it with his sword drawn. Here and there he knocked up the gun muzzles. “----!” exclaimed Prescott. “Hold your fire! Watch for the quality of their clothes. Mind, the better the uniform the higher the rank. Watch for the officers and aim low to kick the dust in their eyes. Steady!”