A Question for the Class

By the Kind Permission of our Most Gracious Sovereign Queen-Empress Christina of the Assorted States, I hereby Post and do most humbly Proffer for the delectation of Her multitudinous happy Subjects this following historical Query:

Yesterday at the office, over a lunch consisting of red leaf lettuce and a dash or two of Paul Newman's Sun-Dried Tomato Vinaigrette (Yeah, I know, he gives ba-jillions to Democrats and their assorted causes, but Cars somehow softened me) I read the last pages of Richard M. Ketchum's Decisive Day: The Battle for Bunker Hill. While bringing into focus the fight and its repercussions--the subtitle is no overstatement; many thanks to Old Dominion for the recommendation--the book fails to answer the question that has perplexed me for years.

Why, if the main Rebel work was constructed on Breed's Hill, the majority of the blood that was shed was shed on Breed's Hill and the British stopped advancing once they had pushed their opponents off Breed's Hill--why, in the name of everything red, white and blue do we still persist in calling this donnybrook "The Battle of Bunker Hill"?

Thanks to Mr. Ketchum, I know that, for all intents and purposes, it should have been The Battle of Bunker Hill. That's the eminence the Rebels ought to have fortified. It was out of range of the British land-based guns, it was higher and it was closer to the Charlestown Neck escape route if things went wrong. But even Mr. K calls the fight he so ably describes by what seems to me to be the wrong name.

The lovely Mrs. Peperium, when pressed, confessed that the Bunker Hill Monument is located--are you all sitting down?--on Breed's Hill. She should know; she used to walk a big loveable lummox of a sheep dog named Charlie around the thing every day to do her numbers one and two. So much, I guess, for hallowed ground.

"But why do they call it 'The Bunker Hill Monument'?" I wailed.

"Because" she said reasonably, like one who has led a life in total darkness and never heard of Thomas Edison, "that's what we've always called it."

And, of course and as always, she was right. On the evening after the fight Artemas Ward, the overall American commander had, with good reason, referred to it as "The battle of Charlestown". At least that place had sheltered Provincial snipers who worried the British left so badly the redcoats burned the place down. Bunker Hill had only been occupied by the American reserve, a timid bunch that mostly hung back and watched as Breed's Hill was overrun. But two days later the Massachusetts Provincial Congress was referring to the fight as "the late battle at Bunker's Hill" and the same has stuck. Surely, somewhere amidst the collective wisdom and scholarship of our readers, here lurks the answer to my question, "Why?"

Mr. Peperium

Comments

[Robert the Llama Butcher]

As in most things that make no sense, I strongly suspect that politicks were involved. Perhaps the historickal records would show that Mr. Bunker was a tongue-swallowing Jacobin dog, er, I mean, a staunch Patriot, whereas Mr. Breed was a solid Tory, er, I mean, a wallower in the oppressive gore of tyranny.

On the other hand, it may have had to do with who grabbed the rights to run the souvenir franchise.

[Christine]

Mr. P,
What an interesting question. Defensive positions were originally established on Bunker Hill, but the battle moved over to Breed's Hill. Didn't they rename Breed's Hill Bunker Hill to clear away any confusion?

[mario mandingo]

Oh no Mr. P!

"and a dash or two of Paul Newman's Sun-Dried Tomato Vinaigrette"

THE HORROR! You must de-tox right away! I hope you crossed yourself before eating it.

Like Ben and Jerry's ice cream , Newman reads and almost bought "The Nation" magazine. God knows where that money goes to! I suspect 3rd world revolutionaries...

[Old Dominion Tory]

Mr. Peperium, the answer to your question about this New England battle is a Burkean one: "Because it is what it always has been called."
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I recall that the reason the redoubt was built on Breed's Hill is that because the proper feature was misidentified in the darkness.
One thing. If anyone ever doubts the courage and tenacity of the British regular, tell them of the third assault at Bunker Hill.

[Old Dominion Tory]

I made a hash of the first sentence of my post (Sorry!). Of course, it should read: ". . . this New England battle is, of course, Mrs. Peperium's Burkean one. . . ."
The endurance of the apparent misnomer also might have something to do with the fact that the Marquis de Lafayette laid the cornerstone for the Bunker Hill Monument during his triumphal tour of the United States in the 1820s.

[Jacobite]

Mrs. P, please do comment on the deeds of certain Windsors over this past weekend. I need your Catholic perspective on it all.

[Mrs. Peperium]

Well...now that you've asked...I have one that I wrote back in February about a hunch I have. If I were British subject, I do think I would receive an invitation to the Tower of London for it....

[Mr. Peperium]

Thanks, all, for your input.

Yes Old Domion, I forgot that the position of Breed's Hill was mistakenly taken up in the darkness. The intention was to fortify Bunker Hill, so maybe a bit of retrospective re-writing was thought appropriate. Though it's kind of like Meade christening Gettysburg the Battle of Pipe Creek...

And no doubt the sainted LaFayette, the Great Washington's adoptive son, laying the stone on the wrong hill would only intensify--nay, fortify--this Yankee stubborness about admitting a bone-headed error.

I just thought I should get my two cents in before this post degenerated into a shouting match with the Royal family.

[Mr. Peperium]

And yes, Mr. Mandingo, I am seriously reconsidering my choice of bottled salad-joy. Thanks you for the warning.

The Nation, forsooth! Remind me to tell you of the time I attended a poetry reading sponsored by that predictable rag.

[Mrs. Peperium]

That would have been before me and yes, he wore his sandals to the event....

[Mario (mandingo)]

Ah, but the question is, did Mr. P wear his sandals with black socks or au naturale?
Let me guess, this poetry reading, they served refreshments like vegan free range environmentally sound fair trade tofu dogs and soy cheese plates with chai green tea spritzers?

Please when you have a chance, do tell us about the reading...

[Old Dominion Tory]

A poetry reading sponsored by The Nation? What an utterly joyless event that must have been. Now, was this event during the "Decade of Greed" (the 1980s) or the other "Decade of Greed" (the 1990s)? I ask because the former would have featured poems praising the Sandinistas and the Communist guerri . . . oops, "freedom fighters" in El Salvador as well as a healthy dollop of anti-Reagan haiku, mainly on the topic of the deployment of the Pershing II.
The 1990s version probably featured earnestly grim works mourning the fallen revolution or bemoaning the rise of Newt Gingrich.

[Old Dominion Tory]

"Bone-headed error"? Come now, Mr. Peperium, enough of this.
Reminds me of the tale of the Englishman who travelled through Quebec, observing the life of "Les Habitants." Toward the end of his journey, he was telling one of the Habitants about the changes that could be--no, should be--made to raise the province's agriculture to the peak of efficiency. The man he addressed listened patiently, removed his pipe from his mouth, and quitely said, "Perhaps. But it would not be the ways of 'Les Habitants.'"
A lot of things began to go south when, instead of leaving well enough alone and generously attributing such apparent stubborness as an admirable allegiance to the tried-and-true--yes, to tradition--the likes of the English traveler became convinced that he knew better, much better, than this benighted peasant and that it was his duty, his obligation, to drag him and those of his ilk into the bright light of efficient, modern living.
So, Mr. Peperium, as much as this historical error might grate on you, I ask that you accept the events of June 17, 1775 as "The Battle of Bunker Hill" and not grudgingly either, but with a bountiful generosity of spirit that would gladden the heart of G.K. Chesterton (and probably get him to stand you a pint of good beer).

[Mr. Blandings]

Mr. P - I have a question for you.

Why was Mrs. P doing her number one and number two in public? And on Breed's Hill no less.

[Mr. Peperium]

There is so much here the deserves a response...I'll take you in rotation. Please form one line and take a number, someone will be with you shortly.

No, Mandingo, I was not wearing Greek fisherman's sandals. Mrs. P likes to say that whenever the subject of my life pre-Mrs. P crops up. Actually, I shouldn't complain. Usually she brings up the kafia I used to wear and associates it with implicit support for Yassir Arafat. This she considers funny, humorous, even drole, and in spite of the my horrified expression and arm gestures from the back of the room has held cocktail audiences spellbound with this slur on my aliegnence to Israel. Whatever footwear I had on, however, black socks very well mat have been part of th overall effect.

Yes, Mandingo, I will tell the story of that poetry reading--especially as you have requested it and I get so few requests that the few I do get deserve to be homored. Old Dominion, as far as your carbon-dating the tripe on display be political content, the binge in question happened just before I really started dating Mrs. P (this would be late 80's) but the rants were skewed more toward the...but no, I'm spoiling a post that deserves more attention than I can give it right at this moment.

And yes Old Dominion, I take your point right between the eyes. You do me a service by placing the obstinancy of the Bunker Hill gang in the proper context; a context I can appreciate, nay admire and hope to emulate. A very good anecdote, too. May I use it the next time the Dark Forces of Progress try assailing me about the face and neck?

And finally, Mr. Blandings (and welcome, by the way; I don't believe you've ever commented here before!) finally, I must explain about Mrs. P and her numbers one and two in public. No, she doesn't have some rare mental affliction soon to be exploited on Oprah. Cans will not be shaken on street corners nor paper poppies nor a new shade of ribbon distributed in the fevered search for a cure, as Mrs. P becomes the poster child for Doggie-Doo-Doo-Itis or the target of a movement to impose Human Leash Laws.

No, my good Mr. B, the problem is a confusion of ideas. Not mine, I rush to add, but Mrs. P's. When committing this little bit of wedded bliss to the blogosphere, I had intentionally used the pronoun "he" when referring to Charlie the Sheep Dog. I knew full well, of course, that Charlie was not so much a Charlie as a Charlene. Nevertheless, given the sentence construction, I opted for "he" in order to avoid the very pitfall you so rightly noticed. After posting I got a call at the office. "I like it" said Mrs. P, "but I changed 'he' to 'she'; after all, Charlie was a girl."

My mind taken up with the minutae of Direct Marketing, the significance of her words did not pepetrate until now. Yes, indeed, the sentence as written does have my future wife doing her duty on the self same spot where so many brave colonists did theirs. I picture Charlie, standing nearby, scooper in paw and ready to assist at the critical moment.

[Old Dominion Tory]

Mr. Peperium, please feel free to use the anecdote as often you'd like whenever you feel yourself pressed by the Dark Forces of Progress. As recompense, I ask only to borrow the Charles Peguy line.
Speaking of "les habitants," while she was in Boston, did Mrs. Peperium's accounts ever include Habitant soup? Just curious in a New England sort of way.

[Mrs. Peperium]

Old Dominion, I grew up on Snow's. During the hot summer months without air conditioning, I would often chill Peperidge Farm's tinned leek soup and have that for dinner. They also had one with wild rice that I enjoyed.

I have indeed partaken of Habitant and we can buy it here. Progresso's pasta fagoli is my favorite tinned soup and has been since art school days.

My old Gourmet magazines advertise a John Lusty soup with kangaroo tails for expats. As well as tinned kangaroo tails. I guess Britain's criminal class developed odd tastes while doing their stretch in Australia. Then they brought them here...