A Doctor Goes to War

Joseph Warren could have stayed behind the lines. At thirty-four, he held a general's commission in the Massachusetts militia. He had been the organizing intelligence of Boston's resistance, the man who sent Revere riding. He had a practice, four children, and every reason to live.

On June 17, 1775, he went to Bunker Hill anyway. Not as a general—he refused to pull rank on officers already in command—but as a volunteer, a man with a musket.

The British assault came in waves. The first two failed, breaking against disciplined colonial fire. Warren was there, encouraging men to hold until the redcoats reached thirty yards before firing. The third assault came after the Americans had exhausted their ammunition.

In the retreat, Warren was shot in the head, killed instantly. The British buried him in an unmarked grave, stripping his fine clothing. He was later disinterred for proper burial, identified by the false teeth Paul Revere had made for him.

Why did he go? Perhaps he believed leaders should share the risks they asked others to take. Perhaps he wanted to prove something to himself. Perhaps, after years of organizing resistance, he needed to fight.

Joseph Warren chose his death. That choice haunted and inspired the men who survived.