The arrival of the vast fleet, the subsequent landing of an army of nearly twenty-five thousand men, and the warlike preparations which the British were feverishly making looking to the capture of the city, did not alarm Old Put, with his total force of scarcely seventeen thousand. He went on as calmly and as determinedly as though himself commander of the larger army, for the hero of Bunker Hill never anticipated defeat. He always fought to the last, after making every needful preparation for whatever event, and at New York, although the chances were all against him, he did his utmost to bring about success. He had fortified Governor's Island and Red Hook in order to prevent the enemy's ships of war from ascending the Hudson; he now sank several old hulks in the channel for the same purpose; but, notwithstanding, two war-vessels succeeded in getting up the North River, which they afterward descended, without injury to themselves.

It having been recommended by Congress that "fire-rafts be prepared and sent among the enemy's shipping," Putnam acted in accordance with the suggestion by fitting out fourteen fire-ships for the purpose, though nothing was accomplished with them. Still persistent in his endeavors to drive off the enemy, he adopted the invention of David Bushnell, a native of his own State, which the inventor called the "great American Turtle," and which, in fact, was a submarine torpedo, probably the first one thus used in warfare. It was to be guided by one man, and that man was to have been Bushnell himself; but, unfortunately, he fell sick, and the "turtle" boat with its infernal machine was entrusted to a Connecticut sergeant named "Bije" Shipman, who promised to row the "submarine"—diminutive prototype of all those which have committed such destruction since—down the bay and attach the torpedo to the bottom of the British admiral's ship. He reached the ship without being observed—strange to say—and attempted to attach the torpedo; but the attaching screw struck against an iron plate and caused great delay. Coming up to get a breath of fresh air, "Bije" was seen and fired upon by a sentinel, and at once rowed away as fast as his oars could carry him. The torpedo, the explosion of which was regulated by clockwork operating on a gun-lock, actually exploded about half an hour after, sending up a great geyser of water, which frightened the British admiral so that he gave orders to up anchor and seek another mooring-place.

The Yankee navigator of the submarine declared that when he struck the iron plate he got "narvous," and couldn't affix the screw properly; but that if he had had a fresh "cud of terbacker," he would have been all right and the admiral's ship would have gone "a-kiting" into the air. The attempt was not repeated, for some reason or other, probably because the British got wary and kept farther away from shore. The next year, however, inventor Bushnell succeeded in blowing up a British schooner with his torpedo; but neither he nor quaint "Bije" Shipman ever received the credit that was their due, the latter being one of the forgotten heroes of the Revolution.

About this time the Putnam family entertained as guest the pretty daughter of a British officer, Major James Moncrieffe, the same one to whom, at the siege of Boston, "Old Put" had sent a present of provisions, even though they were opposed as enemies. This young lady was received by the family with affection, presented to General and Mrs. Washington, and afterward provided with a pass through the lines and sent to her father, accompanied by a letter of which (as she wittily said to a friend) "the bad orthography was amply compensated for by the magnanimity of the man who wrote it." Here is the letter: "Ginrale Putnam's compliments to Major Moncrieffe, has made him a present of a fine daughter, if he don't lick [like] her he must send her back again, and he will provide her with a good twig [Whig] husband."

General Putnam's humor, like his generosity, was never-failing; but, as "Josh Billings" once remarked of himself, "he was a bad speller" to the end of his life. But he could spell f-i-g-h-t as well as anybody; and what is more, he could forgive his enemies, not only after the fight was over, but while it was going on—as witness his generous actions on many occasions.

Though kept busy as a bee from morning to night, yet General Putnam found life in New York irksome, and was glad enough when ordered by Washington over to Long Island, to command at Brooklyn Heights and to supersede Sullivan, who had superseded Greene, then sick with fever, who had planned and erected the fortifications on the island. It was perhaps this "lightning change" of commanders that was responsible for the bitter defeat of the Americans in that encounter known as the "Battle of Long Island." By the third week of August, when this battle took place, the British were near New York with more than three hundred ships and thirty thousand troops, including those of Clinton, Cornwallis, and Howe. The last named was in command, and on the 22d of August he landed twenty thousand troops, including five thousand hireling Hessians, at Gravesend Bay, with the intention of flanking the Americans out of their positions at Flatbush and the Heights and then advancing across the island to East River and New York.

It was not until two days later that (in the words of a soldier writing to his wife at that time) "General Putnam was made happy by obtaining leave to go over—the brave old man was quite miserable at being kept here," in New York. Only three days after his arrival the battle was fought, which (in brief) was brought about by the British surprising an outpost at one of the three passes to the American rear, on the night of the 26th of August and thus turning the patriots' position. With more than three times the numerical strength of the Americans, the British were successful, and the former lost more than a thousand men, most of them made prisoners, including Generals Sullivan and Stirling.

Washington hurried over reenforcements, until there were nearly ten thousand men at the Heights; but Putnam soon found it impossible to conduct its defense against twenty thousand of the enemy, with ten thousand more in reserve, and, with Washington's sanction and cooperation, he withdrew his men from their perilous position by a night retreat across the river, which was a triumph of military sagacity and achievement. The more than nine thousand men, with their ammunition, arms, provisions, etc., were safely over the river before the British became aware of what was going on. Then it was too late, and notwithstanding that the Americans had been outflanked and defeated by the most skilful strategy, the British lost the chief fruits of their victory by procrastination.

The loss of Long Island meant, of course, the evacuation of New York, since the city could now be commanded by the enemy's guns on the Heights. This movement was decided upon by Washington and his generals at a council of war; the garrison was withdrawn from Governor's Island, and after the surplus ammunition and military stores had been forwarded to a point of safety, the troops leisurely followed after toward the north. Putnam, Heath, and Spencer were placed in command of the three grand divisions into which the army was divided preparatory for retreat and stationed along the East River, Putnam, as usual, having the most perilous situation, at the lower end of the city. To him was committed the removal of the troops and military stores, so that he had no more time at command than formerly.

Yet the British did not move upon the city with precipitation. Commander-in-Chief Howe had learned his lesson by heart at Bunker Hill, and was no longer in haste to attack his brave opponents unless with overwhelming numbers, whether entrenched or otherwise. He had resolved upon a series of flank movements, for the purpose of cutting off the American retreat northward, and on the 15th of September put the first in execution. Washington was at his new headquarters, the Jumel mansion, at Harlem Heights, and Old Put was busy hurrying off the last of the detachments down in the city, when both heard the booming of cannon at Kip's Bay. They met at Murray Hill, and together galloped toward the sound of firing, but before they reached East River were met by their own troops fleeing before the British advance.



CHAPTER XV

WASHINGTON'S CHIEF RELIANCE

It was at the retreat of the Americans before the British, who had landed at Kip's Bay, that the unique spectacle was afforded of both Washington and Putnam acting in unison, both in a towering rage, and both attempting with all their might to turn their cowardly soldiers face-about to stand against the foe. But all their efforts were in vain, though Washington, in his endeavors to stem the tide of retreat, came near being made prisoner, and would have been, probably, if one of the soldiers had not taken his horse by the bridle and turned him in another direction.

In the actual retreat to Harlem Heights that then followed, brave Putnam took the post of danger again, and, while nearly everybody else was heading northward, he himself went the other way in search of his detachment, which, fortunately, his aide-de-camp, Major Burr, had taken the liberty of setting on the move. He and his men were the last to gain the Heights, barely escaping the British as they tried to hem them in, and reaching the rendezvous long after dark.

It was a current rumor in camp, later, that his escape was not altogether due to celerity of movement, nimble as he was, but to the clever ruse of a fair Quakeress, Mrs. Murray (mother of Lindley Murray, the renowned grammarian), who, being known to the British officers, invited them in, as they filed past her door, to refresh themselves with cake and wine. Being fatigued with their labors, and considering the Americans as good as captured by their clever flanking movement, they accepted the invitation gladly and remained enjoying her hospitality about two hours, or just long enough for Putnam and his men to slip out of the trap and scamper along the North River roads to the rendezvous.

Their joy at their escape when (as Major Humphreys, who was with them, said) they had been given up for lost by their friends, was tempered next day by the death of Colonel Knowlton, who had been sent out with his rangers to reconnoiter the enemy. In the ensuing engagement, known as the Battle of Harlem Heights, the gallant Knowlton was killed, besides about one hundred and seventy of his men. Knowlton, who had taken a prominent part in the battle of Bunker Hill, was an old friend and comrade of Putnam in the Indian wars, as well as at Havana, and the latter felt his loss most keenly.

There was no time for vain regrets, since the enemy were pushing after the Americans, giving them no pause for a while. When at last there was a cessation in their endeavors at direct assault, Washington was more uneasy than before, and did not rest until he had discovered what it meant. In short, General Howe was about trying the second in his remarkable series of flanking movements, by which he hoped to get in the rear of the Americans, and, with his overwhelming force, "bottle them up" and compel a general engagement. But, with a force far inferior to the British, Washington not only succeeded in avoiding a pitched battle (for which he was wholly unprepared), but finally extricated his army from the net which his enemy had spread on two sides and was now attempting to sweep around to cut off his retreat.

Sending several war-vessels up the North River, or Hudson (which had no trouble in breaking through the barrier stretched across it), General Howe embarked the main body of his troops in flatboats for Westchester, landing at a point about nine miles above the Heights of Harlem. The enemy's object was then apparent, and Washington set about defeating it by one of the most complicated and ingenious military movements on record.

Leaving General Greene in command of Fort Washington, on the Hudson, not far from Kingsbridge and the Heights, Washington hastened northward toward White Plains, seizing upon every naturally strong position by the way, and establishing a chain of entrenchments on the hill-crests that commanded all the roads leading from the North River to the Sound. The last week in October the opposing forces came in collision at Chatterton Hill, where was fought the so-called Battle of White Plains, at which, wrote Rufus Putnam, who had planned the defensive works, "the wall and stone fence behind which our troops were posted proved as fatal to the British as the rail-fence with grass hung on it did at Charlestown, June 17, 1775."

General Putnam was ordered to reenforce General McDougall, who was in command at the hill; but before he arrived the British had flanked the Americans and driven them from their position. Putnam's men covered their retreat by firing at the British and Hessians from behind fences and trees, Indian and Ranger fashion, and that night Washington practically began his famous retrograde movement to Fort Washington and Manhattan Island. "By folding one brigade behind another," in rear of those ridges he had fortified, he "brought off all his artillery, stores, and sick, in the face of a superior foe." He took position, first, at North Castle Heights, which he deemed impregnable; but after a few days the British left for the Hudson, with the purpose (as was afterward ascertained, and at the time divined by Washington) of attacking forts Washington and Lee and invading New Jersey. In anticipation of this move Putnam was detached with about four thousand men and ordered into New Jersey. Crossing the Hudson, he penetrated inland as far as Hackensack, near which place he encamped and awaited developments.

General Lee was left at North Castle Heights with seven thousand men to watch the movements of the foe, while Washington followed after Putnam to Hackensack. He was shortly recalled to the Hudson by a despatch informing him that the British were before Fort Washington in overwhelming force, and had demanded a surrender. Brave Colonel Magaw, in command of the garrison, refused a reply until he had consulted his superior officers, and as General Greene, in charge of both forts, was of the opinion that they could be held, the result was the storming of the fort and the loss of more than two thousand men.

The assault of the British, who had threatened to put the garrison to the sword, was witnessed by Washington, Greene, and Putnam from the west bank of the Hudson. Their distress may be imagined at beholding the slaughter that ensued, and there must have been some searching self-questioning by the Commander-in-Chief as to the wisdom of his policy, by which his divided forces became such an easy prey to the foe.

Lee could hardly be induced to leave his secure retreat, from which he departed only after repeated requests from Washington, whose great reliance at this time was sturdy Israel Putnam. He assisted at the evacuation of Fort Lee (now rendered useless by the loss of its sister fort across the river), and piloted the commander and his friends to his camp at Hackensack.

British troops under Lord Cornwallis had landed above Fort Lee at the base of the Palisades, and were now coming down to attempt to cut off the Americans before they could extricate themselves from the marshes lying between the Hudson and the Hackensack rivers. The latter left so precipitately that their fires were burning, with camp kettles over them, and tents still standing, when the British reached Fort Lee.

Parallel with the Hackensack River runs the Passaic, and across country between the two Washington was compelled to hasten, lest he be hemmed in again by the pursuing enemy. It was now late in November, the weather was cold, and gloomy were these "dark days of the Revolution," when the militia left the army by hundreds, their terms of enlistment having expired, and no others took their places. While the little army of less than four thousand men was constantly depleted, it seemed as if its foes increased, in that country of loyalists and British sympathizers. It was with only the "skeleton of an army" that Washington, on the eighth of December, crossed the Delaware at Trenton, less than three thousand troops remaining by him then. Cornwallis and his soldiers were not far behind, during a portion of that gloomy retreat, a few days measuring the distance between the rival armies; but they did not catch up with the Americans that time.

The very day after his arrival at Trenton Washington ordered Putnam to Philadelphia, where he was placed in absolute command, and where he displayed the same energy and integrity of purpose that had always animated him hitherto. He had been a sustaining force to the Commander-in-Chief on that march across New Jersey, and of the few generals who had stood by him, no one had endured with less complaint or performed with more alacrity than Old Put. He was one upon whom to rely in the proposed scheme of fortifying the city, and his long experience at entrenching made him peculiarly fit for the work.

His sturdy nature, good sense, and ready wit made him at once a favorite with the Continental Congress and the Committee of Safety; though the former, acting on his advice, soon left the city for the greater security of Baltimore. Putnam soon placed the city under martial law, drafted all the citizens, except the Quakers, into the military service, and put the place in the best posture for defense of which it was capable. "There were foes within the city as well as foes without," for the Tory element was strong in Philadelphia, and it was because of it that Putnam was unable to cooperate with Washington when he dealt the enemy the first of those telling blows at Trenton and Princeton. He dared not withdraw his men from the city, even for a short absence, in order to create a diversion while his Commander-in-Chief made the direct attack. Had he done so, and also the other generals to whom were entrusted the details of this affair, the Hessians might have been entirely cut off in their retreat from Trenton and practically destroyed. As it was, Putnam held to his command in Philadelphia, and soon had the pleasure of entertaining some of the Hessian captives, for whom he was obliged to provide quarters while passing through the city.

It must have fretted him vastly to be kept in Philadelphia while Washington was pursuing the very tactics he himself would have used against the enemy. After his first success Washington ordered Putnam out to Crosswicks, a small place southeast of Trenton, "a very advantageous post" for him to hold while his superior was planning his descent upon Princeton. On the 5th of January, after Washington had launched his thunderbolt at Princeton (of his intention to do which Putnam had been informed by a letter from his adjutant, written at midnight preceding that eventful third of January, 1777), he wrote at length to his trusty friend and General: "It is thought advisable for you to march the troops under your command to Crosswicks, and keep a strict watch upon the enemy in that quarter. If the enemy continue at Brunswick you must act with great circumspection, lest you meet with a surprise. As we have made two successful attacks upon the enemy by the way of surprise, they will be pointed with resentment, and if there is any possibility of retaliating they will attempt it. You will give out your strength to be twice as great as it is. Forward on all the baggage and scattered troops belonging to this division of the army as soon as may be."

In accordance with Washington's suggestion as to the augmenting of the number of his men, Putnam availed himself of the request of a wounded British officer, who was his prisoner, that a friend in Cornwallis's army might be sent for to make his will, to practise a ruse. It was in Princeton, whither he had been ordered from Crosswicks. As he had but a few hundred men, in order to prevent his weakness from being known to the military visitor he was brought in after dark, all the windows in the college buildings and private houses were lighted up, "and the handful of troops paraded about to such effect during the night that the visitor, on his return to the British camp, reported the force under the old general to be at least five thousand strong!" In this manner the shrewd but kind-hearted Putnam complied with his prisoner's request, and at the same time turned it to his own and his soldiers' advantage.

Having failed in his attempt to "bag that old fox" (Washington), Lord Cornwallis had scurried back to protect his baggage and communications at New Brunswick, while Washington ensconced himself in the rugged country about Morristown, and Putnam was left to protect the lowlands and harass the enemy. So effectually did he perform the latter that his aggregate of prisoners taken during the winter exceeded the number captured by Washington at Trenton, and his captures of wagons laden with provisions for the enemy were highly important.



CHAPTER XVI

DEFENDING THE HUDSON HIGHLANDS

Snugly and safely entrenched in the Morristown hill-country, Washington left to Putnam the post he so dearly loved, that of real danger, within fifteen miles of New Brunswick, where the enemy lay in strength. At Princeton, thirty miles from headquarters, Putnam remained until May, when he was detached and sent into the Hudson Highlands. The British had lost fewer men at Trenton and Princeton than the Americans had lost at Fort Washington, yet the former were singularly dispirited. With the Commander-in-Chief withdrawn to the hills, the road to Philadelphia lay open to the enemy, and only Old Put opposing them, like a lion in the path; but for some reason they did not avail themselves of the situation.

Putnam's division formed the right wing of the American army in cantonment that winter, with the center at Morristown and the left wing on the Hudson. At the opening of the spring campaign of 1777 Washington was uncertain whether the British would leave their winter quarters in New York for New England, the Hudson Highlands, or for Philadelphia. He was inclined to believe that Philadelphia would be the first and chief objective, and wished to hold himself in readiness for marching thither at a moment's warning; but again there were rumors of an invasion from Canada by way of the lakes and the Hudson, so this region must be protected.

Existing forts must be strengthened, others erected, a boom stretched across the Hudson to impede the passage of British ships, and obstacles of all kinds placed in the path of the British, should they advance northward. Needing a reliable man in this emergency, Washington sent Putnam to Peekskill, on the Hudson, preceded by a letter to General McDougall, then in command there, which was, to say the least, not very flattering to the gallant soldier who had been his right-hand man in the various retreats through the Jerseys. "You are acquainted with the old gentleman's temper," he wrote; "he is active, disinterested, and open to conviction," etc.

Washington would have been more fortunate if all his officers had been as "active, disinterested, and open to conviction" as Old Put—for instance, Lee, Arnold, Gates, and others—but he had allowed his prejudices to warp his former opinion of Putnam's sterling qualities.

Hardly had Putnam begun his work on the Hudson before there was a mighty movement in the port of New York, and, fearing there might be an attempt upon Philadelphia, Washington drew upon the old soldier's command until he had scarcely a thousand men at call. Then followed the commander's magnificent strategy at Middlebrook, whereby he finally defeated the British plans and brought about the complete evacuation of New Jersey, after which Putnam was strengthened in his position; only to be weakened again, the process being repeated until he felt called upon to protest.

Putnam was later accused by Hamilton, Washington's aide-de-camp, of making a "hobby-horse" out of his desire to march upon New York, and of riding it on all occasions; but it was no less a hobby-horse with him than the defense of Philadelphia was with his Commander-in-Chief, who many times imperiled the safety of other sections by withdrawing troops in hot haste and flying to the succor of a city which was captured and occupied by the British notwithstanding.

Washington rode his hobby-horse full-tilt at the unfortunate Putnam and threw him to the ground. With one hand, as it were, he wrote him to keep an eye on the movements of the enemy and be fully prepared to meet them; but with the other he signed an order for the weakening of his force. The consequences came when Burgoyne, having descended from Canada and invaded northern New York, Putnam found himself between two fires, that of the former and that of Sir Henry Clinton, who finally set out on the long-meditated trip up the Hudson in order to cooperate with the southward-marching army.

Putnam had learned of the successive moves on the military chess-board as Burgoyne progressed in his triumphal march. First, of the fall of Ticonderoga, in June; then of Fort Edward; finally, of the glorious victory achieved by his former comrade in the Indian wars and at Bunker Hill, the redoubtable General Stark, at Bennington. He was called upon to furnish reenforcements not only to Washington, unfortunate in his defense of Philadelphia, but to Schuyler and Gates in the north.

The post of danger, as usual, Old Put occupied in the Highlands, and he was delighted; only repining that whenever he was nearly ready to do something, away went his troops on some wild-goose mission, of which he knew neither the end or aim.

Washington surmised that Howe's scheme of sailing southward with an army aboard his ships was for the purpose of luring him away from the real point of attack, which was to be in the Highlands, so he wrote Putnam to be on the alert and to send spies down to New York to ascertain Clinton's plans. "If he has the number of men with him that is reported, it is probably with the intention to attack you from below, while Burgoyne comes down upon you from above." Thus wrote Washington in August, but still the depletion of the perplexed Putnam's command went steadily on. When he protested he was recommended to hurry up the militia from Connecticut, or some other New England State, and thus supply the place of the seasoned troops he had trained, with raw recruits.

"The old general, whose boast it was that he never slept but with one eye, was already on the alert. A circumstance had given him proof positive that Sir Henry was in New York, and had aroused his military ire," writes Washington Irving. This paragraph refers to one of Clinton's spies, who was captured while gathering information in Putnam's camp at Peekskill. When Clinton heard of it he sent a war-vessel up the Hudson with a flag of truce, claiming the man as one of his officers. This was Old Put's reply:

Headquarters, 7th August, 1777.

Edmund Palmer, an officer in the enemy's service, was taken as a spy lurking within our lines. He has been tried as a spy, condemned as a spy, and shall be executed as a spy; and the flag is ordered to depart immediately.

I have the honor to be, etc., etc., Israel Putnam.

P.S.—Afternoon. He is hanged!

The last week in September, Washington drew upon the patient commander in the Highlands for more soldiers, so that he had only eleven hundred men left with which to meet and withstand the British invasion of his territory, which began on the 5th of October. Putnam was fully cognizant of the situation, for he wrote to Governor Clinton, his coadjutor in the defense of the Highlands, on the 29th of September: "I have received intelligence on which I can fully depend that the enemy received a reenforcement at New York last Thursday of about 3,000 British and foreign troops; that General Clinton has called in guides who belong about Croton River; has ordered hard bread to be baked; that the troops are called from Paulus Hook to Kingsbridge; and the whole are now under marching orders. I think it highly probable that the designs of the enemy are against the posts of the Highlands, or of some parts of the counties of Westchester or Duchess. P.S.—The ships are drawn up in the river, and I believe nothing prevents them paying us an immediate visit but a contrary wind!"

Within a week the enemy were in force on the river near Putnam's position, and within ten days they had completely outmaneuvered both Putnam and Clinton, and had taken forts Montgomery and Clinton, their chief defenses, with great loss to the Americans. Clinton had made a feint on Tarrytown and Peekskill, and after this diversion, under cover of the river mist, landed troops on the west shore of the Hudson, and marched rapidly through ravines and dense woods to the rear of the two forts, which were carried by the bayonet, the defenders being taken by surprise.

The British had twice the number of men that Putnam commanded in this attack, and also the advantage of ships of war in the river, but it is thought that results would have been different from what they were had a despatch for reenforcements from Governor Clinton reached him. It was sent by a messenger who proved a traitor and carried it within the enemy's lines. As it was, however, the British have the credit of consummate strategy on this occasion, and poorly as he was equipped, Old Put was greatly mortified over the defeat. He had good occasion for writing to Washington, as he wrote on the 8th of October: "I have repeatedly informed your Excellency of the enemy's design against this post, but from some motive or other you always differed from me in opinion. As this conjecture of mine has for once proved right, I can not omit informing you that my real and sincere opinion is that they mean to join General Burgoyne with the utmost despatch."

Further proof of British intentions was afforded by the capture of a spy, who, on being arrested, was seen to swallow a silver bullet which, being recovered, was found to contain a message written on very thin paper and dated October 8th—the day before. This message read: "Here we are, and nothing between us and Gates. I sincerely hope this little success of ours will facilitate your operations." It was from Sir Henry Clinton to General Burgoyne, and showed conclusively that the former had set out to join with the latter. But events had so shaped in the north that poor Burgoyne was then past all aid, General Gates then having him at bay. Within a few days was fought the decisive battle that brought about Burgoyne's surrender, and when the news reached Sir Henry Clinton he immediately set about returning to New York, there being no longer any incentive for action in the Highlands. Putnam and Clinton, after blowing up their two vessels in the river, had effected their retreat to Fishkill, where they entrenched; but on learning of the British retreat they moved down to their former positions.

The saying that "troubles never come singly" proved true for General Putnam that month of October, 1777, for on the 14th he lost by death his faithful wife, who had been with him at headquarters. Washington wrote him, on being informed of the bereavement: "I am extremely sorry for the death of Mrs. Putnam, and sympathize with you upon the occasion. Remembering that all must die, and that she had lived to an honorable age, I hope you will bear the misfortune with that fortitude and complacency of mind that become a man and a Christian."

The surrender of Burgoyne left the north free from foes, and consequently with no use for great numbers of soldiers, so that Putnam was soon in command of more than nine thousand men, mainly drafts from Gates's army. He was then determined to carry out his twice-frustrated scheme of marching upon New York, and was pushing forward his plans with great confidence, when there appeared a marplot on the scene in the person of Colonel Alexander Hamilton, at that time aide-de-camp to General Washington, who peremptorily ordered Putnam to forward all the new arrivals to the Commander-in-Chief and fill their places with militia.

The order was a verbal one and delivered by a slender "snip of a boy" scarcely out of his teens, so it received scant attention from Old Put, who went on with his plans, while Colonel Hamilton mounted a fresh horse and posted off to Albany, where he had also great difficulty in impressing General Gates with the need of Washington for the best men in his command. But he succeeded in detaching a few regiments, and then hastened back to Peekskill, there to find, to his surprise and indignation, that Putnam still had all his men—and what was more, seemed inclined to keep them with him.

"I am pained beyond expression," wrote this precocious youth to Washington on the 10th of November, "to inform your Excellency that, on my arrival here, I find everything has been neglected and deranged by General Putnam.... Not the least attention has been paid to my order, in your name, for a detachment of one thousand men from the troops hitherto stationed at that post. Everything is sacrificed to the whim of taking New York.... By Governor Clinton's advice, I have sent an order, in the most emphatical terms, to General Putnam, immediately to despatch all the Continental troops under him to your assistance, and to detain the militia instead of them."

This order "in the most emphatical terms" finally moved the general to compliance; but it quite naturally excited his just resentment, and he sent it to the Commander-in-Chief, with his comments. It would have been a serious matter—detaching such a large body of troops on a mere verbal order from a hot-headed stripling; yet Washington in effect reprimanded the honest veteran by writing:

I can not but say, there has been more delay in the march of the troops than I think necessary; and I could wish that in future my orders may be immediately complied with, without arguing upon the propriety of them. If any accident ensues from obeying them, the fault will be upon me, not upon you.

Death, defeat, a reprimand—all within one short month—might have affected a stouter heart than Old Put's. But was there ever a stouter one?



CHAPTER XVII

LAST YEARS IN THE SERVICE

Care sat lightly on Israel Putnam, who never went about looking for trouble, nor gave it more than a scant welcome as a guest. Possessed of sturdy common sense, an unblemished character, and a conscience "void of offence," Old Put did not long harbor the hasty words of Hamilton, nor dwell upon the tacit reprimand of his chief. He still sat astride his "hobby-horse," as Hamilton had contemptuously termed his desire for descending upon New York, and as soon as the latter had departed with the reenforcements for Washington, he resolved to take a look at the city, anyway. Taking some of his men down the east bank of the Hudson, he himself reconnoitered to a point within three miles of the enemy's outpost, and went to New Rochelle with the intention of invading Long Island. The British got wind of his intent, and hastily left their forts, having no relish for a brush with their dreaded enemy.

Although accused to Washington of being very lenient to Tories and other disaffected persons, Putnam knew how to be severe on occasion, and in reprisal for the repeated outrages committed by Governor Tryon's murderous marauders, he destroyed by fire several residences of noted loyalists, and fell upon Colonel DeLancey's infamous "Cowboys," taking seventy-five prisoners, including the Tory officer himself, who was drawn out from beneath a bed, where he had taken refuge at the approach of Putnam's scouts.

Washington himself had given Putnam the idea of descending upon New York, some time before; but circumstances had changed, and along with them the need for this diversion. Having satisfied himself with this reconnoitering expedition, however, Old Put went back very amiably to his post in the Highlands, and proceeded to carry out his commander's instructions respecting the selection of a new fort for the defense of the Hudson. In January, 1778, we find him at West Point, directing the men of Parson's brigade where to break ground—frozen ground, at that, with snow two feet deep above it—for the first fort at the picturesque post on the Hudson since become historic. It was subsequently named Fort Putnam, either after Old Put himself, or his cousin Rufus Putnam, whose great natural talents as an engineer were subsequently availed of here, as they had been before Boston, at Dorchester Heights.

About mid-February, Putnam wrote to Washington, who had been constantly and urgently pressing him to complete the work without delay, that "the batteries near the water, and the fort to cover them, are laid out. The latter is, within walls, 600 yards around, 21 feet base, 14 feet high, the talus two inches to the foot. This I fear is too large to be completed by the time expected." Even his placid disposition was by this time slightly ruffled at the scarcely veiled distrust of his capabilities by his chief, who had veered about with the wind blowing from New York, and seemed to trust him no longer. His letter begins stiffly: "The state of affairs now at this post, you will please to observe, is as follows," and after this business has been stated, he goes on to give some of the reasons for delay. One of his regiments was at White Plains, "under inoculation with the smallpox. Dubois's regiment is unfit to be ordered on duty, there being not one blanket in the regiment. Very few have either a shoe or a shirt, and most of them have neither stockings, breeches, or overalls.... Several hundred men are rendered useless, merely for want of necessary apparel, as no clothing is permitted to be stopped at this post."

No complaint was made, but merely a statement of facts; for Putnam must have known that many of the soldiers under his commander were at that very time half starved and half naked at Valley Forge. The day after writing this letter to Washington, having secured permission for a brief furlough, General Putnam went home to attend to private affairs which demanded his attention. He had applied for this leave of absence two months previously, but before receiving it had attended to the exigent matter of fortifying West Point, like the good soldier that he was.

Since he last left home much had happened to distract and break him down, including the loss of his wife by death, and the loss of Washington's friendly support, through no fault of his own. He was deeply grieved over the change in the commander's attitude toward him, as well as puzzled to account for it, knowing full well that he had done nothing to incur his displeasure, now so plainly manifested, not alone to General Putnam but to others.

The change was probably due to their radical differences of temperament, habits of life and education. While Washington the soldier recognized the sterling qualities of Old Put, the veteran fighter, yet Washington the aristocratic planter shrank from contact with Putnam the blunt, and at times perhaps uncouth-appearing, farmer. Writing about that time, a surgeon in the American army said: "This is my first interview with this celebrated hero, Putnam. In his person he is corpulent and clumsy, but carries a bold, undaunted front. He exhibits little of the refinements of a well-educated gentleman, but much of the character of the veteran soldier."

This was not the style of soldier that the Commander-in-Chief liked to have about him, and he allowed his personal prejudices to pervert his judgment.

"What shall I do with Putnam?" he breaks out in a letter to Gouverneur Morris. "If Congress mean to lay him aside decently, I wish they would devise the mode."

"It has not been an easy matter to find a just pretense for removing an officer from his command" (he writes to Chancellor Livingston on the 12th of March, 1778) "where his misconduct rather appears to result from want of capacity than from any real intention of doing wrong...." Livingston had written complaining of Putnam's "imprudent lenity to the disaffected, and too great intercourse with the enemy"—or, in other words, that he had not persecuted the people Livingston disliked, and had shown generosity to the foe when in distress. Yet he felt compelled to add: "For my own part, I respect his bravery and former services, and sincerely lament that his patriotism will not suffer him to take that repose, to which his advanced age and past services justly entitle him."

But Congress did not, fortunately, share the views of these white-fingered, thin-skinned gentlemen, to whom a man's personal appearance was vastly more than his distinguished services. They held, with the doughty hero of many battles himself, that, as a soldier's duty in war was to fight, it mattered not so much how he fought, nor in what garb, so long as he won the victories. As to lack of capacity, and being responsible for the loss of Forts Clinton and Montgomery, the court of inquiry, which sat in the spring of 1778, entirely vindicated him, holding that they fell, "not from any fault, misconduct, or negligence of the commanding officers, but solely through the want of an adequate force under their command to maintain and defend them."

Who was responsible for the lack of that "adequate force" none knew better than the Commander-in-Chief, who had withdrawn Old Put's veterans on six different occasions and compelled him to clothe the skeleton ranks with raw militia, so that it ill became him to write (in his letter to Livingston): "Proper measures are taking to carry on the inquiry into the loss of Fort Montgomery, agreeable to the direction of Congress, and it is more than probable, from what I have heard, that the issue of that inquiry will afford just grounds for the removal of General Putnam."

But the "issue of that inquiry" was in favor of Putnam, who demanded not only a court of inquiry, but a trial by court-martial, "so that my character might stand in a clearer light in the world." For, as he justly observed in a letter to Congress, "to be posted here as a publick spectator for every ill-minded person to make remarks upon, I think is very poor encouragement for any persons to venture their lives and fortunes in the service."

General Putnam received notice of this court of inquiry and of his suspension from command pending its proceedings, as he was returning from Connecticut, in March; but the month of July had arrived, the battle of Monmouth fought, and General Lee's court-martial had been ordered, before he was reinstated. Then Washington rather grudgingly gave him command of the right wing of the grand army, at White Plains, near or on Chatterton Hill, where he had vainly tried to reenforce McDougall, in the fierce fight that took place there not quite two years before. The three armies were then collectively of "greater strength than any force that had been brought together during the war," consisting, says Major Humphreys, of sixty regular regiments of foot, four battalions of artillery, four regiments of horse, and several corps of State troops. "But, as the enemy kept close within their lines on York Island, nothing could be attempted."

Putnam was afterward sent across the Hudson, where, notwithstanding the prejudices alleged against him in that region, where he had formerly commanded, he was retained until the army was ordered into winter quarters. These quarters were finally located in his own State, and were admirably chosen for the purpose at that time, which was to hold the troops together until the spring campaign should open. "The site for the winter cantonment became an important question," writes Charles B. Todd, a talented son of Connecticut, and an authority on her history, "and was long and anxiously debated. Many of the general officers were for staying where they were in the Highlands. Putnam pronounced in favor of some central location in western Connecticut, where they could protect both the Sound and the Hudson, and especially Danbury, which was a supply station, and which had been taken and burned by the enemy the year previous. General Heath's brigade had been on guard in Danbury during this summer of 1778, and while visiting him Putnam had no doubt discovered the three sheltered valleys formed by the Saugatuck and its tributaries which lie along the border line of what was then Danbury (now Bethel) and Redding. These valleys, open to the south, are warm, sunny, well watered, and in that day were well wooded, and so defended by dominating hills and crags, that a handful could hold them against an army. They were but three days' march from the Highlands."

Putnam himself superintended the laying out of the three camps, one for each valley, where, in log huts similar to those erected at Valley Forge the winter previous, the soldiers were quartered. Here the Army of the North, consisting of two brigades of Continental troops, two of Connecticut, one brigade from New Hampshire, with artillery and cavalry, wore away the long and weary winter of 1778-'79. There were two major-generals, including Putnam as commander-in-chief, and five brigadiers, so it will be seen that the cantonment was one of great importance.

"Putnam pilgrims" should by all means refresh their patriotism by a visit to the site of that winter camp in western Connecticut, for it has been carefully preserved by the State, which has laid out a magnificent park, erected a monument, restored some of the huts, and collected every relic available of that noble Army of the North. The house which Old Put occupied that winter, as headquarters, was on Umpawaug Hill and is still pointed out, while at a little distance stands the one-time residence of Joel Barlow, the Revolutionary poet, who, with Major Humphreys, Putnam's aide-de-camp and later his biographer, enlivened the camp that winter. From the summit of Gallows Hill, where General Putnam hung a spy, and had a deserter shot to death, one may see the sites of the original camps, the only visible remains of which are rude piles of stones, the ruins of the "chimney-backs."

In or near the camp preserved within the park, General Israel Putnam once performed a deed which some have called his greatest act. "Greatest if measured by results, and most typical of him. Who is not thrilled with the poem of Sheridan's ride—turning a panic-stricken army, and snatching victory from defeat; and here, near a century before, Putnam rode after a deserting army and brought them back to victory ... a victory over themselves."

These remarks refer to the defection of the Connecticut troops, that winter, who, half starved and half frozen in their narrow quarters, "badly fed, badly clothed, and worse paid," resolved to march to Hartford, lay their grievances before the General Assembly, and demand redress at the point of the bayonet.

"Word having been brought to General Putnam," says Major Humphreys, who was present, "that the second brigade was under arms for this purpose, he mounted his horse, galloped to the cantonment, and thus addressed them: 'My brave lads, whither are you going? Do you intend to desert your officers, and to invite the enemy to follow you into the country? Whose cause have you been fighting and suffering so long in—is it not your own? Have you no property, no parents, wives or children? You have behaved like men so far—all the world is full of your praise—and posterity will stand astonished at your deeds; but not if you spoil all at last. Don't you consider how much the country is distressed by the war, and that your officers have not been any better paid than yourselves? But we all expect better times, and that the country will do us ample justice. Let us all stand together, then, and fight it out like brave soldiers. Think what a shame it would be for Connecticut men to run away from their officers!'"

The gallant general's rude eloquence prevailed, the men saw their error, were indeed ashamed of it; they listened with attention, presented arms, as their beloved commander rode along the line to the din of the drums, and about-faced for camp, which they did not desert again during the winter. "Thus was a great and mighty battle fought and won. A battle fought with the British far away. A battle fought with hunger, want, cold, and banishment from home. A battle fought in the wilderness, where most of the world's greatest battles are fought."[3]

[Footnote 3: From an historical address by Prof. George A. Parker, of Hartford, Conn., on the occasion of the visit of the famous Putnam Phalanx to Putnam Park and Camp, June 17, 1903.]

This episode of the winter camp of 1778-'79 forms a fitting prelude to another feat performed by Old Put, this time a physical one, which, while not so worthy of renown, perhaps, as the great moral victory he achieved over his men, has brought him greater fame. Both taken together absolutely refute the insinuations of his enemies, to the effect that he had suffered a decline of mental, moral, or physical force. Washington wrote, commending him for his action in suppressing the mutiny; and as for the feat now to be mentioned, it may be said to speak for itself. In fact, it has been speaking, now, for a century and a quarter, since it is that famous ride down the stone steps of Horseneck Height to which reference is made.

It took place one morning in the last week of February, toward the close of the long winter's vigil at Redding. Putnam and his men were out as soon as the sap in the trees was flowing, and long before, in fact, keeping watch upon and trying to check the operations of the notorious Tryon and his crew. It chanced that he met the British, fifteen hundred strong, when on a visit to his outpost at Horseneck, now "Putnam's Hill," in Greenwich, Conn. Having but one hundred and fifty men and two old iron guns, which latter he had posted "on the high ground by the meeting-house," he was obliged to retreat. Ordering his men to seek shelter in a near swamp, Old Put waited till the British dragoons were almost within sword's length of him, when he put spurs to his horse and dashed over the brow of the hill, zigzagging down a rude flight of seventy stone steps set into the precipitous declivity.

The dragoons dared not follow after this intrepid horseman, but they sent a flight of bullets, one of which passed through his hat. Arrived on level ground he made no halt until he had reached Stamford, where he collected a force of militia in short order, with which he turned upon Tryon, compelling him to retreat, and chasing him to his lair, capturing forty prisoners and retaking a large amount of plunder.



CHAPTER XVIII

THE DISABLED VETERAN

General Putnam was sixty-one years old at the time of his famous exploit at Horseneck, and apparently in the full possession of his powers; but, as it eventuated, this was the beginning of his last campaign, which actually opened with the removal of the soldiers from Redding to the Hudson, about the last of May, where Putnam was appointed to the command of the right wing of the army, with headquarters on the west bank of the river. Previous to removal, he wrote the following interesting letter to a friend, Colonel Wadsworth, of Hartford, which the author of this memoir copied from the original in possession of the Connecticut Historical Society:

Redding, ye 11 of May, 1779.

Dear Sir: On my arrivol to this plas I could hear nothing of my hard mony and so must conclud it is gon to the dogs we have no nus hear from head Quarters not a lin senc I cam hear and what my destination is to be this summer cant even so much as geuss but shuld be much obbliged to you if you would be so good as to send me by the teems the Lym juice you was so good as to offer me and a par of Shoes I left under the chamber tabel. I begin to think the nues from the sutherd is tru of ginrol Lintons having a batel and comming of the leator it is said he killed 200 hundred and took 500 hundred what makes me creudit it is becaus the acounts in the New york papers peartly agree with ours

my beast Respeacts to your Lady and sistors and Litel soon.

I am dear sir with the greatest respects your most obed and humbel Sarvant

Israel Putnam.

Old Put's anxiety as to his destination having been allayed, he established his military family at or near Buttermilk Falls, about two miles below West Point, where, says Major Humphreys, "he was happy in possessing the friendship of the officers of the line, and in living on terms of hospitality with them. Indeed, there was no family in the army that lived better than his own. The General, his second son, Major Daniel Putnam, and the author of these memoirs, composed that family."

Putnam was probably at this point when, on that dark and stormy night of the fifteenth of July, "Mad Anthony" Wayne stormed and captured Stony Point, on the river not far below. This remarkable exploit was not only the most important event of the year, but, like the battle of Monmouth of the year previous, almost the only action worthy of note. It had the effect, probably, of causing the British to withdraw their troops from along the Sound, where they were engaged in ravaging the seaboard places of Connecticut; but the post was again taken by the enemy, who, like the Americans, did not find it worth the while to hold it.

The most important members of Putnam's military family, his son Daniel and Major Humphreys, accompanied him home on leave of absence, in November, whence, early in December, the General set out on his return to the army, which was to winter at Morristown. Soon after leaving Brooklyn, and while on the road to Hartford, he "felt an unusual torpor slowly pervading his right hand and foot. This heaviness crept gradually on until it had deprived him of the use of his limbs on that side, in a considerable degree, before he reached the house of his friend Colonel Wadsworth"—the gentleman to whom he had written the letter of the eleventh of May previous.

Having tried, though vainly, to shake off the terrible torpor and regain the use of his limbs by exercise, the stricken soldier was at last compelled to admit defeat and resign himself to the inevitable. He returned home after a short tarry with his friend, and passed the remainder of that winter at the farmhouse he had built in his younger days, surrounded with loving care and affection by his children. At first disposed to rebel against this stroke that had rendered him useless while his country still stood in need of his services, eventually he regained his cheerfulness and gave himself up to the enjoyment of the home comforts of which for so many years he had been deprived.

The partial paralysis from which he suffered was premonitory of the final stroke; but it was eleven years before it came and removed from earth this stout-hearted man who had given his best years and his best efforts to battling for his native land. There is no doubt that his mighty struggles in the several wars—his daylight marches and nighttime vigils; his tremendous exertions in emergencies like the fire at Fort Edward, the running of the rapids at Fort Miller; long hours without rest in the saddle, and in the trenches, with wet and frozen clothing sometimes unchanged for days—all conduced toward the weakening of that mighty frame prematurely stricken with paralysis.

But he had regrets only for what he was prevented from doing; not for what he had done. Having recovered somewhat, he entertained hopes—vain hopes—of rejoining the army; but was finally convinced that his active career was ended. Major Humphreys having visited him in May, 1780, by his hand he sent a missive to Washington, informing him of his condition, and ending with this pathetic postscript: "I am making a great effort to use my hand to make the initials of my name for the first time. "I.P."—Israel Putnam."

Washington replied in July, congratulating him on his improved state of health, and four years later, after peace was declared between Great Britain and the United States, he wrote a long and cordial letter, which the old General regarded as one of his most precious treasures. The opening paragraph shows Washington's real and lasting estimate of his former comrade in adversity, and is as follows:

Your favor of the 20th of May I received with much pleasure. For I can assure you that among the many worthy and meritorious officers with whom I have had the happiness to be connected in service throughout this war, and from whom I have had cheerful assistance in the various and trying vicissitudes of a complicated contest, the name of a Putnam is not forgotten; nor will it be but with that stroke of time which shall obliterate from my mind the remembrance of all those toils and fatigues through which we have struggled for the preservation and establishment of the Rights, Liberties, and Independence of our Country.

It was not like Old Put to give up the fight so long as life held out, and by the exercise of his iron will he kept up and about for years. Within less than a twelvemonth from having been disqualified from service on account of his affliction, he paid a visit to his former command on the lower Hudson, where one of his old friends, General Greene, complains, in a letter, that he is "talking as usual, and telling his old stories."

It can not be denied that he was somewhat loquacious, especially in his later years, and those "old stories" were not alone his solace, but the delight of numerous audiences of admiring friends and neighbors. At Major Humphreys's request he retold them, two or three years before he died (1788) and they form the basis of his first biographical memoir. But they were doubtless very stale to those of his hearers who had listened to them again and again, as plainly intimated by General Greene.

As they were mainly about himself and his exploits, and as many of them were of events that happened in the distant past, it is not unlikely that some of them were slightly exaggerated, to say the least. Some others told of Old Put and his doings are perhaps not entitled to credence. Among these latter may be the tales of his dueling days, as, for instance, the story of his challenge by an English officer on parole, who, when he came to the place appointed, found Old Put seated near what appeared to be a keg of powder, serenely smoking his pipe. As the officer reached the rendezvous, Putnam lighted a slow-match from his pipe and thrust it into a hole bored in the head of the keg, upon which were scattered a few grains of gunpowder. Viewing these sinister preparations for the "duel," the Englishman concluded that the best thing he could do was to run away, which he did very promptly. "O ho!" shouted Putnam after him, taking his pipe from his mouth. "You are just about as brave a man as I thought, to run away from a keg of onions! Ha, ha, ha!"

No date is given to this occurrence, nor to another account of the "duel" he didn't fight with a brother officer whom he drove from the field at the muzzle of a loaded musket. In fact, the "field of honor" was not much frequented by Putnam, who preferred the field of battle, where he always gave a good account of himself.

During his declining years he was cheered by the companionship of his children, most of whom were married and settled near him, and being in the enjoyment of a competence, he was vastly better off than the majority of the soldiers who had fought with and under him during the Revolution, for many of them were impoverished.

He preserved his strong will-power and great physical strength to the end of his days, notwithstanding the ravages of disease, and in 1786, four years before he died, performed a journey to his birthplace in Danvers, riding all the way on horseback, though with frequent stops by the way not only for rest, but on account of the people who flocked out to see him and desired to entertain the famous fighter in so many wars.

This was the last of his ventures afield, and henceforth he confined his excursions to visiting the homes of his sons and daughters, and to trips around his farm, though on Sundays and "prayer-meeting nights" he would always be found in the meeting-house at the Green, where he was a regular attendant. It is related that at one of the evening meetings one of his fellow worshipers aroused him, by expressing his own conviction that any person who had ever used profane language could hardly be considered a model Christian. Old Put at once accepted the reproof as intended, for it was well known that in moments of excitement, when carried away by the furore of battle, he had often used words which he would not care to review in print. He detested a coward, and when he met one in retreat he did not hesitate to employ strong language in expressing his opinion. At Horseneck, declared the only witness of his reckless ride down the hill, "Old Put was cursing the British terribly." There was no evading his friend's pointed remarks, so the honest old man rose from his seat and "confessed the failing which he had finally overcome"; but he added, with a twinkle in his eye, "it was enough to make an angel swear at Bunker Hill to see the rascals run away from the British!"[4]

[Footnote 4: Livingston's Life of Israel Putnam. An exhaustive work, by a conscientious and painstaking author.]

In this respect he was no worse than his former Commander-in-Chief, though he may have been oftener culpable, being so much more excitable than the phlegmatic Washington.

The final summons came on Saturday, the twenty-ninth of May, 1790, when, in a lower room of the house he had built nearly fifty years before, the battle-scarred warrior, life's fitful fever ended, passed peacefully away to his rest.

Israel Putnam was well prepared to die, declared his pastor in his funeral sermon, and perfectly resigned to the will of God.

"He had been for years," says Major Humphreys, "in patient yet fearless expectation of the approach of the King of Terrors, whom he had full often faced on the field of blood."

On the first day of June the earthly remains of Israel Putnam, attended by a distinguished company of former comrades and sorrowing friends, were taken to the Brooklyn burying-ground, and placed in a brick tomb.

Upon the slab of the tomb was carved the lengthy epitaph, printed on the next page, as composed by Dr. Timothy Dwight, Putnam's former friend and chaplain in the army, who subsequently became President of Yale College.



To the memory of Israel Putnam, Esquire, Senior Major-General in the Armies of The United States of America Who Was born at Salem In the Province of Massachusetts On the seventh day of January AD. 1718, And died On the twenty-ninth day of May AD. 1790.

PASSENGER If thou art a Soldier Drop a Tear over the dust of a Hero Who Ever attentive To the lives and happiness of his Men Dared to lead Where any Dared to follow; If a Patriot, Remember the distinguished and gallant services Rendered thy Country By the Patriot who sleeps beneath this Monument; If thou art Honest, generous & worthy Render a cheerful tribute of respect To a Man Whose generosity was singular Whose honesty was proverbial Who Raised himself to universal esteem And offices of Eminent distinction By personal worth And a Usefull life.

With the passing of the years, Putnam's tomb in the pleasant little cemetery in Brooklyn became defaced through the ravages of time and heartless relic hunters, so the State resolved to erect a more enduring monument to "Connecticut's hero of the Revolution." This monument was dedicated June 14th, 1888, nearly a century after the death of the one it is intended to commemorate, and is in the shape of a beautiful bronze statue, representing Putnam on his war-horse, beneath the pedestal supporting which, embedded in the foundation, is a sarcophagus containing his ashes. It stands near the old church which Putnam helped to build, and not far distant from the field in which he was plowing when the call came from Lexington and Concord. Dr. Dwight's original epitaph is inscribed on the tablets, and a wolf's head in bronze ornaments the pedestal on each side.

Little now remains to be added, except to call attention to Putnam's character, eulogies upon which have been delivered by the ablest men of his time and of the generations after him. This sterling character has shone resplendent in his deeds, which we have noted; and we may almost say of him, as of Washington, his great commander, "Whatever good may at any time be said, it can never be an exaggeration!"

General Putnam, remarked his first biographer, "is universally acknowledged to have been as brave and honest a man as ever America produced.... He seems to have been formed on purpose for the age in which he lived. His native courage, unshaken integrity, and established reputation as a soldier, were necessary in the early stages of our opposition to Great Britain, and gave unbounded confidence to our troops in their first conflicts on the field of battle."

Over his open grave, on that day in June so long ago, were pronounced the following words, as true now as yesterday, as they will be henceforth, forever: "Born a hero, whom nature taught and cherished in the lap of innumerable toils and dangers, he was terrible in battle.... But from the amiableness of his heart, when carnage ceased, his humanity spread over the field like the refreshing zephyrs of a summer's evening. ... He pitied littleness, loved goodness, admired greatness, and ever aspired to its glorious summit."

The name of Putnam, as Washington declared, is not forgotten—nor will be, until time shall be no more.

"He dared to lead Where any dared to follow. In their need Men looked to him. A tower of strength was Israel Putnam's name, A rally-word for patriot acclaim; It meant resolve, and hope, and bravery, And steady cheerfulness and constancy. And if, in years to come, men should forget That only freedom makes a nation great; If men grow less as wealth accumulates, Till gold becomes the life-blood of our States; Should all these heavy ills weigh down our heart, We'll turn to him who acted well his part In those old days, draw lessons from his fame, And hope and strength from Israel Putnam's name."

THE END.