Rainbow! Thank you so much!
Just corrected the errors in the previous....
And there's more... (the attack on Bunker Hill, June 17, 1775)
.Just as they reached the tents under the oak trees of Boston Common, there was a deafening roar from the Copp’s Hill battery. The big guns had opened fire upon the fortifications on the Charlestown peninsula. That terrifying sound was followed by a further volley from each of the ships in the Charles and Mystic Rivers. Little Benjamin burst into tears, his little body quivering in fear. Robert had told Tom that when the big guns began to roar, he must not cry or show fear. He was the man of the house in his father’s absence and his job was to be brave and strong, as an Englishman should be. Tom did exactly as his father had told him. His lower lip quivered just a little, then he put his shoulders back, stuck out his chest as he had seen the soldiers do, and stood firm, refusing to react when the next thunder from Copp’s Hill caused much screaming and agitation among the people on the Common. Susanna looked on in pride at her little son, only six years old and already as stalwart as his father.
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When the inevitable attack of the British forces began, uphill against the defended position atop Breed's Hill, with the Copp’s Hill battery and ships’ guns still causing chaos and destruction in the redoubt, the sight was truly terrifying. Susanna kept the children quiet on the Common, playing little games and singing nursery songs, while Ellen and Mary took up a position to be able to view the scene. On their return, white and trembling, they described to Susanna what they had seen. They omitted the worst of the sickening sights, the lines of bravely marching redcoats mown down while caught in long grass and tripped by hidden holes in the ground, the man’s head detached by a cannonball and rolling down the hill. The sound of gunfire, the smell, like rotten eggs, of gunpowder, the coppery smell of blood, shit, smoke, and the screams of wounded men slipping on their own spilled guts created a vision from Dante’s Inferno. And then the wholesale slaughter of the provincials within the redoubt and the appalling screams as bayonet tore flesh and the bodies of men fell faster than autumn leaves. Kinship counted for naught then, as the red mist descended and civilised men panted for blood. The shout of “Conquer or die!” was heard from the throats of hundreds.