A PRISONER AND IN PERIL
The good fortune with which Major Putnam had been favored during three
years of fighting a wily and treacherous foe, suddenly deserted him
when, in the month of August, 1758, he found himself confronted by an
Indian warrior of herculean frame, during a skirmish near Fort St. Anne.
He and Major Rogers had been sent out by Abercrombie to ascertain the
whereabouts of a war party which was committing depredations between
Fort Edward and the lakes. The timid general was very much afraid of an
attack in force by the victorious Montcalm, and constantly on the watch.
One morning, as the Rangers were proceeding through a dense thicket,
with Putnam's Provincials in front, they ran into an ambush which the
wary Marin, the French partizan fighter, had prepared, by posting his
men in a semicircular position across the trail. Suddenly the air was
rent with yells and reports of firearms, and several Provincials fell in
their tracks. Putnam, taken unawares, yet as always cool and collected,
gave orders to return the fire, and sent word back for support, which in
the confusion incident to the sudden attack was not promptly
forthcoming. Forging ahead, he was confronted by an Indian chieftain, a
giant in size, against whose breast he at once placed the muzzle of his
fusee, which--as those primitive flintlocks were likely to do in an
emergency--missed fire. The savage then had him at his mercy, and
brandishing his tomahawk above his head compelled him to surrender, when
he tied him to a tree, and then left him to mingle in the fight again.
As the Rangers rallied to battle it happened that the tree to which
Putnam was bound came directly between the fires of both parties, and as
the bullets flew thickly around our hero's position was not by any
means an enviable one. Some of the balls passed through the sleeves and
skirt of his coat, and in this perilous position he remained for more
than an hour, unable either to move a limb or even his head.
No attention was paid to him, except that now and then a savage would
approach, and seeing him there helpless and a conspicuous mark would
throw a tomahawk at his head, to see how near he could come to this
living target without inflicting a fatal wound. An equally savage
Frenchman also approached, and aiming his fusee at his breast, would
have put him out of his misery had it not missed fire. This enraged the
scoundrel so that he gave Putnam a blow on the jaw with the butt-end of
his musket which nearly finished him, and then left him alone.
The battle waged unevenly for a while, but was finally decided in favor
of the Provincials, and the French and Indians hastily gathered their
prisoners together and fled northward toward Ticonderoga. Putnam's
captor stripped him of his coat and waistcoat, socks and shoes, then
after binding his wrists together he loaded him with as many packs as he
could pile upon his shoulders, and giving him in charge of another
Indian, left him to attend to the wounded.
Poor Putnam was soon in a deplorable condition, with hands swollen
terribly from the tightness of the ligature, and his feet gashed and
bleeding, as he trudged along the trail beneath his enormous burden. He
begged the savages to knock him on the head and end his sufferings; but
he was soon to experience even more horrible sensations, for, arriving
in advance of the main party at the place where they were to camp for
the night, the small body of Indians that had him in charge concluded to
burn him at the stake! He was suffering terribly from the blow on his
jaw, from his swollen hands and mutilated feet, and also from a tomahawk
gash in his cheek, so that he cared little what became of him, provided
the end came quickly. To be burned alive, however, was a fate that
brought a shudder to the frame of even stout-hearted Israel Putnam, and
he looked on in horror while his captors stripped him naked, bound him
to a tree and piled the dry brush they had gathered for fuel around him
in a circle. All the while, as they labored at their fiendish task, they
chanted a funeral dirge, which was almost as depressing to their captive
as their sinister preparations for his immediate immolation.
"Major Putnam soon began to feel the scorching heat," says his
biographer, Colonel Humphreys, who had these details from the chief
actor's own lips. "His hands were so tied that he could move his body,
and he often shifted sides as the fire approached. This sight, at the
very idea of which all but savages must shudder, afforded the highest
diversion to his inhuman tormentors, who demonstrated the delirium of
their joy by yells, dances, and gesticulations. He saw clearly that his
final hour was inevitably come. He summoned all his resolution, and
composed his mind, as far as the circumstances would admit, to bid an
eternal farewell to all he held most dear.... His thought was ultimately
fixed on a happier state of existence, ... the bitterness of death, even
of that death which is accompanied with the keenest agonies, was in a
manner past, ... when a French officer rushed through the crowd, opened
a way by scattering the burning brands, and unbound the victim."
The officer was no other than the redoubtable partizan, Marin, who
exerted a wonderful influence over his savage company. He at once sent
for the Indian who had captured Major Putnam, who did what he could to
make amends for the dreadful treatment the latter had received; but that
night, in order to prevent his prisoner from escaping, he stretched his
limbs out in the shape of a cross and bound them to four saplings, then
placed poles and bushes across his body as it lay on the ground with
several Indians at either side, who kept watch the night through.
Arrived at Fort Ticonderoga, Major Putnam had an interview with the
Marquis de Montcalm, who ordered him sent to Montreal, whither he was
taken without delay, and where he met a brother American, Colonel Peter
Schuyler, of New Jersey, who, possessing considerable influence,
compelled the Frenchman to treat their prisoner more humanely. The
capture of Louisburg, Frontenac and other posts, by the English that
year gave them numerous prisoners, which they were not slow to exchange
for those in the hands of the French. Thus it came about that the period
of Major Putnam's captivity was quite short, for he was in Montreal and
Quebec in the last days of August, his exchange was accomplished in
October, and in November he was on his way to his home in Connecticut.
If the French had known who it was they held a prisoner in the person of
Major Putnam, doubtless they would have been slow to permit his
exchange; but Colonel Schuyler kept this information to himself, and
when told by the governor that he might select whatever officer he liked
to be included in the cartel, he chose his friend.
"There is an _old man_ here," he said, "who is a Provincial Major, and
who wishes to be at home with his wife and children; he can do no good
here or anywhere else; I believe your Excellency had better keep some of
the young men, who have no wife or children to care for, and let the old
fellow go home with me."
This subterfuge availed, and Putnam went along with his friend; but
whether the latter was justified in alluding to him as an "old man" is
doubtful, as he was then only forty years of age. He had, however, won
the sobriquets of "Old Wolf Putnam" and of "Old Put," long before, and
doubtless was accustomed to be regarded as elderly, despite his jolly
countenance and ever-cheerful disposition.
His kind and affectionate nature was displayed at its best on the
journey home, which was long and wearisome, when he took charge of a
lady, Mrs. Howe, whose husband had been killed and scalped three years
previously. She had been in captivity ever since, and had endured untold
outrages from her captors. Her seven children were dispersed, but five
of them were recovered, and accompanied her back to her home in New
Hampshire. Colonel Schuyler had rescued her from captivity, and Major
Putnam constituted himself her protector during the long and toilsome
journey, leading her little ones, assisting the sorrowful mother over
the rough places, and sharing his meals with the unfortunate family.
What a welcome the hero received on his home-coming, from his loving,
constant wife and children! They had heard of his vicissitudes, had
almost given him up for dead; but at last he was with them again, and
the dismal past was buried. The joy of the family at meeting again was
clouded by sorrow, however, for death had entered the family circle
since the father and husband's departure. Israel, the eldest son, was
there, and the daughters; but the second son was absent, never to
return.
On an old tombstone in the graveyard at Brooklyn, Connecticut, is this
inscription:
"In Memory of Mr. Daniel Putnam, son of Col^o. Israel Putnam & Mrs.
Hannah his wife, who died Aug. 8th, 1758, Aged 17 Years."
Also of David Putnam, Son of y^e above Col^o. Israel & Mrs. Hannah
Putnam, who died Nov. 21, 1761, aged 1 month."
The first death, of Daniel, his pet and pride, occurred, it is said, on
the very day (August 8, 1758), at the close of which Major Putnam was in
direst peril, tied to a tree in the forest, environed by fire and within
a circle of whooping, yelling savages. The demise of David, whom he
never saw, took place while the father was away on the Amherst
expedition, or just before his return from that campaign. Sturdy Israel,
the first-born son, had taken charge of the farm while his father was
off on his various campaigns--or at least had done his best to do so,
and the family had not wanted for provisions during the enforced
absences of the head of the family. As he was now a robust young man of
nearly twenty, and possessed all the home-loving traits of his father,
Israel was considered perfectly competent to carry on the farm at least
another season, and in the spring of 1759 his father, now advanced to
the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel, went away again to the wars.
Israel Putnam seemed never to know when he had enough of fighting; or
else his sense of duty to the king and his country was paramount to all
other considerations else. At all events, one of his bravery and force
could not be omitted from the great expedition that General Amherst (who
had been sent by Pitt to supersede Abercrombie) was then organizing. In
July, 1759, we find him with his command at Lake George, where the
second expedition against Ticonderoga set forth, following the route
taken by Abercrombie, over the lake to Ticonderoga, which was reached on
the 22d. On the 23d, the French officer in command of the fortress
suddenly departed down Lake Champlain with nearly all his men; but
Amherst did not know it, and kept on with his preparations for
bombardment, having his batteries in position before he was made aware,
by French deserters, that the place had been abandoned. Soon the powder
magazine blew up, having been left by the French with a lighted
slow-match attached for the purpose, the barracks caught fire, and
Ticonderoga, which had held out so well against British and Provincial
assaults, was at last laid low. It was reconstructed, as we know, and
served both British and Patriots in the Revolutionary War; but is now in
ruins, picturesque and imposing in their decay.
Crown Point was also evacuated by the French, and thus at last the main
object of so many months' toil in the wilderness with such woful waste
of life and vast expenditure of treasure, was accomplished. While Putnam
and his comrades were engaged in restoring the fortifications of Crown
Point, they heard the news of British victories on every hand: of the
fall of Fort Niagara; and of the storming and capture of Quebec, when,
on that fateful thirteenth of September, 1759, Wolfe and Montcalm found
death and fame, the former at the hour of victory, the latter in defeat.
Israel Putnam met nearly all the great British commanders, with the
possible exception of Wolfe, and had assisted with all his might at the
upbuilding of English power in America, so it was not strange that when,
later, the Revolution opened, he was looked upon by them more as a
friend than an enemy. The next year, when Amherst moved upon Montreal,
then the chief, almost sole possession of the French in Canada, Colonel
Putnam went along, as a matter of course, and, it is gravely related by
his first biographer, he assisted the general at a critical moment and
in a very novel way. Two armed vessels of the enemy were likely to cause
trouble to the British on the St. Lawrence, and Amherst was anxious to
put them out of the way before they could sink his boats. Putnam
proffered his services, declaring he could take the vessels in short
order.
"How?" asked the General, somewhat amused as well as surprised.
"With beetles and wedges, and a boat-load of men," answered "Put." And,
the story goes, he rowed out to the vessels, in the dead of night, drove
wooden wedges in behind their rudders, and left them helpless, for when
the wind came up they would not answer the helm and were driven ashore,
where their crews were easily taken by the English.