pitiable spectacle of the wounded, painfully crawling to the
rear, began to make the pulse of the bravest beat quicker. But the men
of Massachusetts, responsive to the voices of their officers,
re-formed their shattered ranks, and charged again and again, until at
last, with a mighty cheer, they swept over the ramparts, driving the
British out. Many of the enemy surrendered; more fled for shelter to
the fort on the hill. The smoke and din of battle died away. There
came a brief respite in the bloody strife. The Americans had won the
first trick in the bloody game of war.

Only a short pause followed; then the Americans moved upon the fort.
But here they found themselves overmatched. Against the towering
bastions of the fortress they might hurl themselves in vain. The
enemy, safe behind its heavy parapets, could mow down their advancing
ranks with a cool and deliberate fire. The assailants had already
sacrificed more than a hundred men. Was it wise now to order an
assault that might lead to the loss of twice that number?

The hotheads cried out for the immediate storming of the fort; but
cooler counsels prevailed, and a siege was decided upon. Trenches were
dug, the guns in the outlying batteries were turned upon the fort, and
the New Englanders sat down to wait until the enemy should be starved
out or until re-enforcements might be brought from Boston.

So for three weeks the combatants rested on their arms, glaring at
each other over the tops of their breastworks, and now and then
exchanging a shot or a casual volley, but doing little in the way of
actual hostilities. Provisions were failing the British, and they
began to feel that they were in a trap from which they could only
emerge through a surrender, when suddenly the situation was changed,
and the fortunes of war went against the Americans.

One morning the "Tyrannicide," which was stationed on the lookout down
the bay, was seen beating up the river, under a full press of sail.
Signals flying at her fore indicated that she had important news to
tell. Her anchor had not touched the bottom before a boat pushed off
from her side, and made straight for the commodore's flag-ship.
Reaching the "Warren," a lieutenant clambered over the side, and
saluted Commodore Saltonstall on the quarter-deck.

"Capt. Cathcart's compliments, sir," said he, "and five British
men-of-war are just entering the bay. The first one appears to be the
'Rainbow,' forty-four."

Here was