It was the intention of the British, in setting fire to Charlestown, to veil their movements as they marched up the hill; but this was frustrated by the rising wind, which carried the smoke aloft and away.
In the second advance, as in the first, the soldiers were led by General Howe, who seemed, like Putnam, to bear a charmed life, at this time having all his staff officers killed or wounded but one.

For the Provincials had strictly obeyed Putnam's orders, to pick off the men in handsome coats.

He himself was touched to the heart.
"Oh, my God, what carnage!" he cried, as he saw his former friends and comrades fall before the withering blast.

Seeing several of his men aiming their pieces at the only officer remaining unhurt, he darted forward and struck up their muskets, exclaiming: "For God's sake, lads, don't fire at that man! I love him as I do my brother." It was Major Small, a former companion of the Indian wars, who owed his life to Putnam's intervention, and who afterward tried to requite the favor--though vainly--when brave Warren fell, by entreating him to surrender.
The sword with which Old Put struck up the muskets of his men was always visible in the thickest of the fight, waving in air, descending with resounding whacks--the flat of it--upon recreant soldiers' shoulders; held threateningly against the breast of cowardly artillerymen, when, their cartridges proving inadequate, they were about abandoning their guns.
The little field-pieces were too puny to do much harm, but they counted for something, Putnam said, as he tore a cartridge in pieces and, ladling the powder and canister into the gun, aimed and discharged it into the advancing ranks of the foe, with effect.

But all was of no avail.