he had told his friends that he meant to take part in the impending
movement.

It was a burning hot summer's day. After his night of labor, Warren
threw himself on his bed, sick from a nervous headache. The booming of
the guns summoned him forth, and shortly before the first assault he was
on the field ready to serve.

"I am here," he said to General Putnam, "only as a volunteer. Tell me
where I can be most useful."

And to Colonel Prescott he said:

"I shall take no command here. I come as a volunteer, with my musket to
serve under you."

And there he fought during the three onsets, cheering the men by his
coolness and confidence. He was one of the the very last to leave the
redoubt. When he had retreated about sixty yards he was recognized by a
British officer, who snatched a musket from a soldier and shot him. The
bullet entered the back of his head. Warren placed his hands, as if
mechanically, to the wound, and fell dead upon the hot and dusty field.

The enemy buried him where he fell. Nine months after, when the British
finally retreated from New England, his body, recognized by two false
teeth, was disinterred and honorably buried. He left four children, of
whom the eldest was a girl six years of age. Congress adopted the eldest
son. Among those who contributed most liberally toward the education and
support of the other children was Benedict Arnold, who gave five hundred
dollars. A little psalm book found by a British soldier in Warren's