TAVERN-KEEPER AND ORACLE
No one could call in question Israel Putnam's loyalty, yet the year
following his last campaign in behalf of King George, he might have been
found opposing the Government and riding from town to town, for the
purpose of inciting men to make armed resistance to the iniquitous
"Stamp Act," which had been passed and made a law early in 1765. While
James Otis, Samuel Adams, and Patrick Henry were eloquently declaiming
against it, Putnam was for putting words into action, and as one of the
"Sons of Liberty" was active in urging his countrymen to make a stand
for freedom.
Though prevented by an accident from taking part in the proceedings by
which the "stamp-master" for Connecticut was compelled to resign his
position and disavow the office to which he was appointed, yet Putnam
was foremost in bringing this condition of affairs about. It seems that
one Mr. Ingersoll was appointed stamp-master by the Crown, and, on being
requested to resign from such an obnoxious office by the Sons of
Liberty, he returned an evasive answer. Consequently, a body of them
mounted their horses and went out to meet him, as he was on his way to
Hartford. Finding him on the road, they caused him to dismount and, in
the presence of the company, now swelled to several hundred, to read his
resignation as a royal appointee, and to shout for "liberty and
property," three times, as loud as he could.
The spirit of the people, now thoroughly aroused, was very accurately
expressed by Colonel Putnam, who, deputed by the Sons of Liberty to wait
on the Governor of his State and inform him of the public sentiment
respecting the Stamp Act, made him understand that there would be no
temporizing whatever in the matter.
"But what should I do," asked the perplexed Governor, "if the stamped
paper should be sent me by the King's command?"
"Lock it up until we shall visit you again," replied Putnam, boldly.
"And what will you do then?"
"We shall expect you to give us the key of the room in which it is
deposited, and if you think fit, in order to screen yourself, you may
forewarn us not to enter that room upon our peril."
"And then what will you do?"
"Send the paper safely back again."
"But if I should refuse you admission?"
"In that case, your house will be leveled to the ground in five
minutes!"
The Governor, who desired to be loyal, and was inclined to receive the
paper, was not called upon to act, the determined attitude of the Sons
of Liberty, preventing any from being sent into the State. Elected a
representative in 1766, Putnam was prepared to do all in his power to
frustrate the intent of the Act; but, in common with his fellow
citizens, was made happy by the news of its repeal. As this was then
the only bone of contention between the Colonials and the King, the
former hastened to send the latter a loyal address of thanks, assuring
him of their continued devotion, etc., etc.
It would seem that farming, in colonial days, was almost as hazardous an
employment as fighting in the wilds, for Putnam was the victim of two
different accidents, by one of which he lost the first joint of his
right thumb, and by the other he received a compound fracture of his
right thigh. The latter being imperfectly attended to, rendered that leg
an inch shorter than the other, "which occasioned him ever after to limp
in his walk." Notwithstanding these injuries, he faithfully attended to
his duties as representative at Hartford. In June, 1767, two years and
two months after the death of his wife, Hannah, he was married to Mrs.
Deborah Lothrop, widow of John Gardiner, of Gardiner's Island, New York.
As his second wife had a fine property on Brooklyn Green, in the center
of the town, and as the entertainment of his numerous admirers (who
came from all over the country to see him) was becoming burdensome,
Farmer Putnam concluded to convert the newly acquired mansion into an
inn. So he moved himself and most of his belongings (including his stock
of war relics and anecdotes) from the farmhouse to the "Green," nearly
two miles distant, and there set up as "mine host" Putnam, putting out a
sign of the Wolfe--not of the beast he had slain in early life, but the
gallant general of that name who fell at Quebec. This veritable sign may
now be seen in Hartford, at the rooms of the Connecticut Historical
Society, where also are several other precious relics of Putnam and his
time, including some autograph letters by the hero himself.
Some one, long ago, wrote of this sign, which was affixed to one of the
great trees that stood in front of the tavern on the Green, "It
represents General Wolfe in full uniform, his eye fixed in an expression
of fiery earnestness upon some distant object, and his right arm
extended in emphatic gesture, as if charging on the foe or directing
some important movement of his army. The sign seems to have fared hardly
in one respect, being plentifully sprinkled with shot-holes!"
A contemporary wrote of him, about this time: "Col. Putnam served with
the Connecticut troops under Amherst in the last war. By his courage and
conduct he secured to himself a good share of reputation. When peace
commenced he returned to the civil line of life. Of late he has occupied
a tavern with a farm annexed to it."
As the landlord of a country tavern, the genial and loquacious colonel
with a past peculiarly his own, possessing the rotund figure, the frame
and habit of the traditional Boniface, seemed at last to have fallen
into his proper groove, where he fitted exactly. Now nearly fifty years
of age, with a record of ten years' fighting any one might well be proud
of, a reputation not confined within the boundaries of his own country,
and with some of his children already married and settled around him,
he had good reason to consider himself a fixture at Brooklyn Green.
He had joined the Congregational Church, soon after the death of his
first wife, in 1765, and took a leading part in building the structure
that stands to-day near the site of the first meeting-house, which was
erected in 1734. It was in the year 1771 that the new church was
erected, opposite the house that Putnam turned into a tavern, and the
old tree that bore the sign of Wolfe. Church and trees remain to-day,
separated only by the public road; but the tavern itself no longer
exists, the building having been torn down some time ago.
In 1772, it was voted by the parish that "Colonel Putnam take care of ye
new meeting-house and ring ye bell," for which service he was to receive
three pounds a year. Thus the duties of sexton and bell-ringer were
assumed by this many-sided man; but he had not performed them long
before he was called to go on a strange voyage in quest of lands in
West Florida, which were reported to have been granted to the survivors
of the French-and-Indian wars. The claims of the survivors were just
enough; but their quest was fruitless, for they were not given the
lands. However, a band of "military adventurers" set out, under the
leadership of General Phineas Lyman, who had been in command of
Connecticut's troops all through the wars, and Landlord Putnam was one
of them.
Urged, perhaps, by his admirers to preserve some chronicle of his doings
this time (having been so neglectful in this respect in the past) our
hero actually began a journal, writing on the blank leaves of the
"orderly book" which he used in his Havana campaign. This book, doubly
interesting to the present generation, is still preserved by a lineal
descendant of Putnam, and attests to the fact that the soldier of many
wars was not equal to the intellectual effort of writing even a legible
diary of his doings. He soon gave it up, in fact; but the few entries
he made are exceedingly quaint and simple, as for example:
"friday ye forst of jenauary, 1773--this Day no work don--went to
Church.... satorday ye 2--this day taking in goods for ye
voige--good weathor. thorsday ye 7--this was a varey good Day and
had almost all completed. Satorday ye 9 of Jenauary--had all things
on bord and ready for sailing But the wind was so much to ye south
it would not Do."
At last the "military adventurers" got away. On the 30th of January they
touched in at Mole San Nicolas, island of Haiti, and a week later made
port at Montego Bay, Jamaica, where, according to the veracious diarist,
"we waited on ye mannegor of the plantation who treted us very
hamseley--walked with ous--shewed ous all ye Works and the mills to
grind ye _Cain_ and as we went thare was a dog atacked ye manegor and in
ye fight I tumbelled into won of the vats that was full of Liquer to
make rum of--shifted all my Cloths and went on borde."
They finally arrived at Pensacola, where, learning to their sorrow that
no lands had been granted them, they set out on a short exploring trip
of the Mississippi, by the way of New Orleans, which ended north of
Natchez, to which spot General Lyman later returned and founded a
settlement, where he passed his last days. The gallant adventurers
returned to Pensacola, thence sailed to New York, where they arrived the
first week in August, 1773.
It was Colonel Putnam's intention to invest in lands on the Mississippi,
it is believed, but the events that shaped toward and brought about the
Revolution were yearly getting more exciting, intense, and his soldier
instinct was aroused. He keenly watched the trend of events, he
discussed in his tavern the exciting news of the day with visitors from
all parts of the country, and his convictions were becoming stronger and
stronger that something dire and dreadful was to happen.
The Boston massacre of the 5th of March, 1770, fired our hero almost to
a frenzy, and while there may have been men more eloquent in their
denunciations of the British soldiery, like Otis and Adams, there was
none more emphatic and in earnest. Between the massacre and the Boston
"Tea Party" in 1773, Putnam made his journey to the Mississippi; but he
was home, and as usual alert and anxious, when the latter event
occurred.
From that moment he was most attentive to what was going on in Boston,
which was then the "danger spot" of the Colonies. He gave his time
freely to the anticipatory work of organizing his fellow citizens into
military companies and drilling them into proficiency, and he was made
chairman of the "Committee of Correspondence" for Brooklyn. As such he
bore to Boston, when the infamous "Port Bill" was passed, the
condolences and sympathy of his fellow citizens, in a letter eloquently
phrased, and--what was more satisfactory and substantial--the gift of a
flock of sheep.
"We send you," the committee wrote, "one hundred and twenty-five sheep
as a present from the inhabitants of Brooklyn, hoping thereby you will
stand more firm (if possible) in the glorious cause in which you are
embarked." And Israel Putnam, always the man for the emergency, always
ready to mount and away at a moment's notice, rode all the way to
Boston, driving that flock of sheep before him! When arrived there he
was not received as the farmer, the tavern-keeper, the drover, but as
the famous military man, hero of many battles, an American of renown. He
was the guest of Dr. Joseph Warren, the patriot who was killed at Bunker
Hill; but people of all classes and conditions united to do honor to
"the celebrated Colonel Putnam," one of the "greatest military
characters of the age," and "so well known throughout North America that
no words are necessary to inform the public any further concerning him
than that his generosity led him to Boston, to cherish his oppressed
brethren and support them by every means in his power." The newspapers
alluded to him as "the old hero, Putnam"; and yet he was only
fifty-four at the time, at the period of life in which a man should be
able to do his best work. "He looks fresh and hearty," wrote one of his
friends to another, "and on an emergency would be as likely to do good
business as ever."
And why not? Putnam himself might have asked this question, for he had
by no means reached his "grand climacteric," and was still ready,
willing--and able, as well--to fight the enemies of his country. He was
zealous in behalf of his fellow patriots, but during this visit to
Boston he found almost as many friends on the British side as on the
Colonial, including Governor Gage, with whom he had fought their common
enemies, the Indians. When one of them banteringly asked them whether he
was going to stand by the flag or the country he answered seriously, but
with perfect good nature: "I shall always be found on the side of my
country!"
"Now, Putnam," another asked him, "don't you seriously believe that a
well appointed British army of say five thousand veterans could march
through the whole continent of America?"
"No doubt," he promptly replied, "if they behaved civilly, and paid well
for what they wanted; but," he added, after a moment's pause, "if they
should attempt it in a hostile manner (though the men of America were
out of the question) the women would knock them all on the head with
their ladles and broomsticks!"