Cambridge
June 17^th, 1775

My dearest Fruition—
& my dearest Mother —

I will not hesitate: Our Commands came last Evening, when they were least expected.

There was no word of Destination or Purpose. There was a great Motion in the Camp & we all fell out & our Company was placed beside a line of Wagons.

The Wagons had in them empty Barrels; occasioning my Thought, that it would be a Paltry Thing, to die for empty Barrels, both for the Futility of the Prize, & the sobering Likeness, for the Dead are always empty Barrels, the Casks being unbunged & the Soul released.

We were led along Roads in the wake of Troops that marched with Shovels on their Shoulders. We came to Cobble Hill & proceeded down to the Charlestown Mill Pond, where we filled the Barrels with Fresh Water, & brought it to the Hill above the Town.

The Moon was near Full, & by its Light, I could see Figures laboring all around us on the Crest of Breed’s Hill. There was a Huffing & the Chip of Blades on Dirt & also the Smell of wet Soil afreshening the Night. Men were heaving at their Work & I could see their Faces caught against the Moon-Track on the Bay.

We were fortifying the Hill in one Night.

It was a Labor like those old Pagan Gods used to delight in, throwing up a Palace out of Dew, but performed here with Spades & Logs & the Stones of old Walls. Men were laboring with Mattocks & Axes & Picks & rustic Grubbing Hoes — & together they digged out & built up the Breastworks & Redoubts at the Eminence of the Hill. This all was executed with utmost Silence; orders being given in a Rasp; even Grunts muffled.

There, at the Base of the Hill, was Charlestown, & the Channel beyond that was crowded with Parliament’s Ships of the Line, a-bristling with Cannon & still a-slumber; & across the Channel was Boston, & the Common lined with sleeping Soldiers who would soon be roused from their Hives — and hence our Silence.

My Company carried Water from the Mill-Pond to the Work Details. Some had Canteens, but most had not thought of those Useful Objects, & drank from their Hands.

Once, in the Midst of it, I saw Prince; he was engaged in digging. I did not call to him because the Silence was so great. He and his Brethren labored at the Command of a white Man in dark Duck who pointed with a Cane.

All Night, Men built their Works on the Hill.

In the early Morning, armed Regiments began to take up Muskets & move about the Fortification; & many who had labored all Night now prepared to defend their Works all Day. We brought them Water, too; sensible that soon, they would be engaged in Mortal Battle, & would greatly desire even one Drop of what now flowed in Profusion. The Men were but half finished with the Entrenchments when the first Light trembled upon the Horizon — and they paused — their Shovels in their Hands. . . . Men leaning above the Trenches were sensible of Visibility spreading across their Backs. . . . They stood, uncertain. . . .

And then, the DAWN, Fruition — the miraculous Dawn — when the Sun rose above the Eastern Sea, & our Fortifications were REVEALED.

Below us in the Bay, the Waters were still & yellow; & in the Channel, Parliament’s Warships rode at Anchor, their Masts all calm in the rising Light: the Somerset, the Falcon, the Lively, the dreadful Symmetry: all stupefied with Sleep. Beyond them stood the Town of Boston, emerging out of the Gloom, with the Smoke of the first Cook-Fires pulling away from the Alleys & Steeples.

As the Sun rose above the Harbor, we could see figures onboard the Ships — a desperate Call — the Watch first scrying us upon Bunker Hill.

For there they saw us — a Fortification where None had been the Eve before — and now, Rank upon Rank, Company upon Company, standing in our Trenches, we faced them. We did not speak in the morning Wind which rose with the Sun. Staring down upon them, our hard Faces — silent — Shovels & Firelocks resting upon Shoulders — as the Seagulls cried above us — Tinkers, Cordwainers, Shopkeepers, Doctors, Farmhands, Coopers, Gooseboys, Innkeeps, Sawyers, Cobblers, Freemen & Slaves — we faced them — ranged about our native Hill, our Eyes clear in the Morning — looking down upon their Antics on the Bay, as if to say: This is our Homeland. We shall die, but you shall not take it from us.

And the King’s Cannons began to fire upon us.

Shun, there shall never be another Dawn like this one in all the History of the World — never another Morn like this.

The Adjutant commanded those of us who labored provisioning to pull back to Cambridge. As we passed along the Road, we heard the Battle commence in Earnest, the Field-Pieces answering Parliament’s Cannon.

On the Road, I passed Prince in his Detachment. He spied me & held out his Hands to me. They were blistered & red with his Blood; & for the first Time, Shun, he smiled full upon me; for he has finally found his Cause & his Work.

I held out my Hand, that we might Clasp, & he reached for me, but his Corporal ordered him back in Line.

I am back now in Camp, & it is well past Noon. We hear confused Word of the Battle. The Redcoats have landed in Charlestown, & we hear they attempt to storm the Hill.

No more, Shunny. Soon this all shall be decided.

O LORD — THE WORK OF OUR HANDS — ESTABLISH THOU IT.