how he took bandages
from his pockets, and bound up the wounds of those disabled at the
beginning; how a Britisher shot him down and stabbed him with a
bayonet. As for himself, he hardly knew what he did, except to fight
till almost the last of his comrades left the redoubt, when he leaped
over the breastwork, and walked towards the British, approaching the
western side as if to give himself up, then turned and ran as fast as
he could, with the bullets whizzing past him.[73] He wondered if
Lieutenant Walden had escaped unharmed. He walked a little way to
Colonel Stark's regiment to inquire.

[Footnote 73: The experience of Tom Brandon was that of Eliakim Walker
of Tewksbury, Mass., as narrated by him to the author:--

"I had fired away nearly all my powder before the last attack. I fired
and was reloading my gun, when I heard a hurrah behind me. I looked
round and saw the redcoats leaping over the breastwork. I saw a man
beat out the brains of a Britisher with the butt of his gun; the next
moment they stabbed him. Seeing I couldn't get out that way, I jumped
over the breastwork and ran towards Pigot's men, a rod or two, then
turned and ran as fast as I could the other way. The bullets whizzed
past me, or struck the ground around me. I reached a rail fence, and
pitched over it. A bullet struck a rail at the moment. I fell on the
other side, laid still till I got my breath, then up and legged it
again, and got away."]

"I fear," said Captain Daniel Moore, "that Lieutenant Walden has been
killed. During the day he took a conspicuous part. He was sent by
General Ward to summon us from Medford. He carried several messages
from Colonel Stark to Prescott and Putnam, and was with the men of his
company at times. He was with us just before the last assault, and
hastened towards the redoubt a moment before the redcoats swarmed over
it. I fear the worst, for he was very brave."

The people of Boston never had beheld such a scene as that of the day
following the battle. The sun shone from a cloudless sky, but its rays
fell upon the smouldering ruins of once happy homes; upon dying and
dead soldiers; upon men groaning in agony as they were transported
across the Charles to houses taken for hospitals. The wounded
rebels--thirty-six in number--were laid upon the bare floor of the
jail. They were to be treated as felons, and given prison fare.

Although the genial rays of the sun shone into the spacious apartments
of the Provinc