With an almost mystic sense of time Prescott caught the right moment. Sharp, clear, ringing, his voice went up:
Along the redoubt, and the full length of the breastwork, there was a level line of darting flame: like a shock of thunder the crash followed.
“Again!” rang the voice of Prescott as one line of his riflemen gave place to another. “Fire!”
Once more the flame points sprang outward; once more the crash followed; once more the bullets poured into the British.
The latter received the leaden hail with all the stoicism of the veterans that they were. Briskly they came on, sharply they answered, their ranks melting like wax all the time. But even they could not long face that awful rain; suddenly they wavered, furiously General Pigot sounded a retreat, and as the foe fell back a thunderous cheer went up from the colonials, behind the works.
“Good firing,” commented Gilbert Scarlett, as he looked to his smoking rifle. “These countrymen of yours,” he continued to Ezra, “need disciplining—yes; but no one need teach them how to shoot.”
While this was happening, the line of Stark and Knowlton at the rail fence was grimly facing Howe and his oncoming force. The frightful rifle fire littered the ground with the British veterans; they broke and fled in disorder.
When this was seen from the redoubt, a tempest of cheers went up. Ezra made out in the thick of the retreat the fine figure of General Howe, as that gallant officer strove with his men, trying to get them into some semblance of order.
“See,” said the boy, pointing, “he’s bringing them into shape. I have heard that this General Howe is a very able officer; and his men seem to believe in him.”
“His second attack will be warmer, I think,” said Nat Brewster. “He’ll know what to expect, and will no doubt make his plans accordingly.”
They watched, as did the entire American force, the reassembling of the British. And while this was going on the battery at Copp’s Hill began to throw shells into Charlestown; also a party of marines landed upon its easterly side from the “Somerset” to fire the town.
A pall of smoke was rising above the town; then a fierce burst of flame ascended.
“They have fired Charlestown,” said George Prentiss, his face paling. “They think to frighten us. But it will take more than that.”