InfamousPanda
December 9th, 2012, 10:42 PM
Im writing a paper for a history class im taking, and this is what i have so far. Im done for the night and wanted to get some oppinions on how good or bad it is. So tear it up k? Its a journal written by a man who was at the battle of bunker hill. Dont forget that im not finished >.>
June 17, 1775
Early Morning
We were huddled together, my fellow Patriots and I, mystified by the words General Putnam was shouting out. He walked back and forth with a slow and confident stride, across grass that was still wet with morning dew. The General looked into the eyes of each man that stood before him, including myself, before continuing his speech. “I have no fear of the British and neither shall you,” his voice echoed over Breed Hill and into the ears of every colonial soldier, “for what they gain in weapons and numbers, they lack in spirit and virtue. Us patriots, we possess a quality unfamiliar to the British Regulars, and that quality is passion. Our passion for freedom is stronger than any cannon or musket the redcoats drag onto the battlefield. So stay strong men, conserve your ammunition, and above all else,” Putnam paused briefly, and I felt my anticipation for the words to come grow unbearable, “don’t fire until you see the whites of their eyes!” Our cheers rang louder than the cannons that had been bombarding our makeshift fortifications since dusk.
I’ll never forget those words, whether my last breath is drawn today at the wrong end of a musket, or years from now. General Putnam’s speech inspired hope, a hope that one day we shall truly be free from the tyranny of the crown. I feel for the first time that I have a chance to survive this war.
Mid-day
Breed Hill has finally seen action. The Redcoats marched towards our position, and we replied with a hail of musket fire. I remember every gruesome detail. When the order came, I jumped up, aiming my rifle at the first unlucky blur of red that came into my field of vision. My finger squeezed the trigger, painting the grass with the dark color of a man’s fresh blood. My eyes never left him; I watched as he fell to the ground, clutching the gaping hole in his chest. His lifeless body was followed by those of his peers, redcoat after redcoat dropped as the guns beside me roared to life, spitting death at anything that lay before them. In the end, as smoke slowly drifted from the battlefield, we saw that we had won this battle. I suspect more to come before the day is out, but for now I am happy.
June 17, 1775
Early Morning
We were huddled together, my fellow Patriots and I, mystified by the words General Putnam was shouting out. He walked back and forth with a slow and confident stride, across grass that was still wet with morning dew. The General looked into the eyes of each man that stood before him, including myself, before continuing his speech. “I have no fear of the British and neither shall you,” his voice echoed over Breed Hill and into the ears of every colonial soldier, “for what they gain in weapons and numbers, they lack in spirit and virtue. Us patriots, we possess a quality unfamiliar to the British Regulars, and that quality is passion. Our passion for freedom is stronger than any cannon or musket the redcoats drag onto the battlefield. So stay strong men, conserve your ammunition, and above all else,” Putnam paused briefly, and I felt my anticipation for the words to come grow unbearable, “don’t fire until you see the whites of their eyes!” Our cheers rang louder than the cannons that had been bombarding our makeshift fortifications since dusk.
I’ll never forget those words, whether my last breath is drawn today at the wrong end of a musket, or years from now. General Putnam’s speech inspired hope, a hope that one day we shall truly be free from the tyranny of the crown. I feel for the first time that I have a chance to survive this war.
Mid-day
Breed Hill has finally seen action. The Redcoats marched towards our position, and we replied with a hail of musket fire. I remember every gruesome detail. When the order came, I jumped up, aiming my rifle at the first unlucky blur of red that came into my field of vision. My finger squeezed the trigger, painting the grass with the dark color of a man’s fresh blood. My eyes never left him; I watched as he fell to the ground, clutching the gaping hole in his chest. His lifeless body was followed by those of his peers, redcoat after redcoat dropped as the guns beside me roared to life, spitting death at anything that lay before them. In the end, as smoke slowly drifted from the battlefield, we saw that we had won this battle. I suspect more to come before the day is out, but for now I am happy.